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Classical music composer Laurie Conrad lives in Ithaca, NY. Her honors include: Who's Who in American Music, The International Who's Who in Music and Who's Who in America. Cds of Conrad's "Early Songs" and "Visions for Harp and Flute" are now available at www.figarobooks.com
A Composer’s Journal Entries November 14 & November 17, 2004
November 14, 11 p.m. M. returns from Seattle tonight. Brought another coal bucket up from the basement, for the ash, & emptied the coal stove. Cleaned the window so that I can watch the flames as the wood burns and put the kettles, without water, on top of the stove. Put wood in & now it is ready for the next cold night. I was covered in coal dust, as usual. There is something about the warmth of the coal stove that our modern heating systems cannot achieve. Cold and clear tonight, the moon stark and brittle against the night. Several visitors today, but tonight I will meditate and write music as the world sleeps.
November 17, 3:20 a.m.
Am finally taking a break from composing. Have almost copied out the second movement. No name for it yet, I have barely sketched out the third movement. Hopefully, a name will present itself. The first two movements will be about 44 pages of ms. I should have the entire piece finished, at least fully sketched out by the end of next week.
It takes about an hour to make final corrections & copy out each page. It is easy to see why J.S. Bach went blind - after some hours of work, the notes start jumping around on the page, like fish or school children during recess. My teacher, Karel Husa, once said that if you turned the manuscript paper sideways, it’s like looking at the bars of a prison cell.
I don’t mind the drudgery of copying out the main score, I just hope that I survive it ... It is a good feeling to look down & see all the notes neatly copied out in black ink, tracing patterns on the page. In a way, it is like being an architect, building edifices in ink. When I was younger I used to work until I fell asleep on the floor & once woke up in the morning with my head on the vacuum cleaner. Luckily, this house doesn’t have rugs. I tend to at least land on the couch. One almost has to push on past natural endurance in order to keep the ideas & intensity flowing. If one leaves a section before it’s done, the next time you look at the blank page all the notes in your head might be gone - or the piece might have taken an entirely different turn in your absence. A wrong turn. And most often, the ideas do not come back, they are gone gone gone. They come in on a tender thread, twirl around and then vanish. In my case, at least. That’s why my sketches are a bunch of scribbles, I can barely write the ideas down fast enough. The concept, the overall form - that is generally embedded in my being, deeply, & barely changes. But the individual notes and phrases - are elusive & transparent, ephemeral.
This was not true of Mozart, who supposedly kept entire operas & symphonies in his head, & carried them around with him until he had the time & energy to write them down.
No, I live in a much more fluid & elusive world, creatively. It is more like catching the leaves in autumn, as they drift in the wind ... Once they touch the ground - I cannot find them.
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"American Composers: A Composer's Journal Entries November 14 & November 17, 2004"
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