There are people who have changed my life and the way I live it at a very real level. Those people, in almost every circumstance, are teachers. Music lessons, from an early age, became a chance to prove myself to my teachers…which probably isn’t the healthiest reason, but sure kept my rear in the practice room on the days that I would have rather been outside. Winning the admiration of my teachers, and learning everything about who they were and how they taught has been a constant in my life. And I thought when I got to college I had my “ideal” teacher pegged. According to my whopping 18 years of life experience, the teacher who would best fit with my personality would:
· Light a fire under me.
· Accept nothing less than the best.
· Provide positive feedback, but infrequently enough to make it special. Encouragement was something to be earned.
· Not be afraid to let me have it if I wasn’t meeting their standards.
I had a pretty passive flute teacher in middle school, and I quickly figured out the limits of what I could get away with. It wasn’t uncommon for me to sight-read my way through a lesson and get everything checked off. She treated me more like a friend than a student, but in ways that did nothing for my musical development. My high school flute teacher knew better and didn’t put up with my nonsense. She knew that I didn’t care a hoot about practicing flute compared with piano and wasn’t afraid to call me (or my mother) out on it. She scared me, and I worked and respected her because of that.
Then I got to college, and I decided that, even though I was 99.5% sure I wanted to be a pianist, I would continue taking flute lessons…mostly so I could participate in ensembles. My college flute teacher proved to dispel every prior expectation and theory I thought I had about what makes a great teacher. And, looking back, I am in awe of how she did it…
Diane is, in every regard, a pixie. She is petite and cute and wears her hair in a bouncy brown bob. She speaks with the wisdom of somebody who has taught for over thirty years and is equally adept at shooting the breeze with students forty years younger than her. Her smile sparkles and her pout is irresistibly adorable. Her playing is masterful, awash with color and concentration. She may not have the longest performance vita of my past teachers, but I prefer her sound to any other, because it is simultaneously intense and inviting and intimate.
Diane is no drill sergeant. When you enter her studio her first question is, “Sooo…how is Jules?” And don’t you dare say, “Fine,” and leave it at that. She needs to know. Her pedagogy is built around the concept that every person has an individual voice—something unique to say through their music. You have to understand yourself in order to understand your voice. So her lessons are as focused on exploring the individual as much as they are about rhythms and technical challenges. This takes time, and a focused effort to ask penetrating questions, something she excels in.
Diane is an encourager. She builds up, probably because of her respect for the individual. I didn’t feel like I needed to earn compliments from her, because she gave them readily and in all areas. She quickly wiped that “need” out of my teacher-student game plan, which forced me to look beyond positive feedback for sources of nourishment. In hindsight, this was brilliant on her part, as “earning” praise is essentially the equivalent to eating candy for dinner. There is little to no depth or long-lasting significance found in it. She made it clear that she valued me as a person and a musician early on, and we were able to address other needs in my playing and character that were, ultimately, far more beneficial.
Diane is brave. She is a cancer survivor. She has stood at the side of her husband faithfully, even as he fought his own battle with cancer. She has faced career-threatening injuries and lived through those experiences with grace and a quiet strength. She has witnessed countless emotional breakdowns of her students in their lessons, as her gentle questions often reveal the weaknesses and cracks in our walls. It is then that she can truly teach, and she waits patiently for us to remove our masks so that permanent change can occur.
It was through Diane’s investment in me that I left the box of safe timidity and took chances, in life and in my music. I opted to pursue an instrument that is far less lucrative, statistically speaking, because of the power it has to communicate. Learning to speak intentionally and honestly through my breath, through my flute, is one of the most frightening and rewarding things I’ve experienced. And I learned how to do that from a sprite of a woman who refused to use negativity or take advantage of her leadership role to accomplish her agenda. I no longer study privately with Diane, but she has remained a dear friend and mentor. She continues to inspire and challenge me and I am indebted to her for life. Because, you see, she has helped me realize how special my life is.
