S t a g e F r i g h t
and the Dance of Sound
Why is stage fright taboo and how can we address it openly?
Few violinists realise that singing (with the rhythmic pulse) away from their instruments, is one of the greatest releases from tension and anxiety in violin playing, apart from being the real inner source of their musical impulses
Stage Fright by Kato Havas
Breath
When approaching the subject of the artistic voice we must start with the breath. Within the meaning of the Greek and Latin words pneuma, psyche and anima sits the connection between the spirit (or soul) and the breath (or wind). It is hardly surprising that so much spiritual practice centres on the breath, for within the simple act of inhalation and exhalation sits the fundamental paradox on which forms such as Buddhist meditation, Yoga, the poetry of Rumi, and the cantatas of Bach are built. Consciously working with the breath challenges a materialistic society that is addicted to having and holding, in that everything, including life itself, once taken in, has to be let go of. Consequently it challenges an artistic climate that has become fixed in that materialism.
The in-breath followed by the out-breath is expansion and contraction which is the essence of bowing; it is receiving and giving inspiration which is the essence of performance; it is tension and release, flow and ebb, life and death, control and abandon. It is, in effect, our greatest teacher. In a recent survey of dozens of string players some fresh out of college and others experienced professionals, when asked whether breath was ever mentioned in their training, 90% said no. It is no wonder that we suffer from tension and anxiety in performance.
Psyche
The manifestation of blocked or unharnessed energy in performance is fear, or stage-fright. This can appear in the form of breathing irregularities - hypo/hyper-ventilation, a feeling of suspension or heaviness, nervous shaking or even lethargy. It can also affect the memory. Suffering from nerves is a taboo subject because as an energetic pattern it equals the bubbling up or blocking of what one perceives as negative thoughts and emotions; what Carl Jung calls the shadow. In the quest to uphold the reputation of art forms, especially classical art forms, as perfect and masterful, practitioners often strive to suppress such ugliness for fear of opening 'Pandora's Box'. To acheive this they disconnect from their breath - their life force, and disallow the perfection of their own spontaneous impulses as they arise in the body, preferring controlled pre-determined movements. In the process the art is diminished as the artist withdraws his whole presence from the stage. Such psychological beliefs and physical patterns are handed down through generations from teacher to student.
The Stage as a Safe, Spherical Space
One of the initial difficulties that many people encounter when faced with the possibility of making sound is their perception of the space, both physical and psychic, in which the sound waves they create vibrate. They can perceive their space to be square or oblong; with hard surfaces; like clingfilm, or like a frightening expanse with nowhere to hide. It can feel vastly populated or desolate.They rarely perceive it as either safe or spherical.
Throughout history we have mirrored the curved shapes in nature through the architectural spaces in which artistic performance takes place: A minute spherical theatre nestled in the belly of an Italian castle shaped like a turtle; chandeliered Opera houses; the open air theatres of ancient Greece, and perhaps the most literal example of all, Shakespeares Globe Theatre, described by the bard himself as The Wooden O. We have built concert halls with circular stages around which the audience creates a sphere of listening where we are forced away from the idea of sound being frontally orientated as the performer so often is, and drawn back into our first sonorous experience; that of being in the womb. There sound began for us as a physical experience; a sonic skin which enveloped and comforted us: As performers in these marvellous places, we rarely experience the magic of the fact that they are mirroring us.
As image-conscious performers with our surfaces hardened to a brutally competitive profession, we have forgotten this experience of being held; for todays performing artist, the spherical nature of his psychic space is often damaged.
One of the fundamental premises for the creative process is to begin to reawaken this personal spherical space, mapping it out with the contours of our body in movement. Through this we discover what emotions and what voices arise as we begin to feel its size, texture and colour; how it is different at the back, or to the side; how areas within it liberate or inhibit us, and how our placement within it can increase or decrease our ability to listen or our desire to perform.
The Instrument
A classically trained musicians relationship to his instrument can be as complex an affair as any other relationship in his life.
Firstly there is the fact that it is probably worth a great deal of money. For a string player the value could range between the cost of a small flat in Tooting to a mansion with pool on Hampstead Heath and the instrumentalist may not relate to the instrument with any sense of his own value. The instrument may well be hundreds of years old and have been played by great exponents throughout its history. While this can be inspiring, it can also be inhibiting.
Next, the instrument is often what Winnicot would call a transitional object; an inanimate object onto which we project the primary feelings originally attached to a loved one such as the mother.
The intimate contact and level of expression one has with the instrument is carried in its very fibre, as are the disappointments, judgements, hopes and expectations which one has projected onto it. Though inanimate, the instrument is as alive to the instrumentalist as any other transitional object; the childs friend the picky blanket or the imaginary playmate. Opening the case can be like opening Pandoras box and the Box of Delights simultaneously.
In the Dance of Sound workshops we will address the subject of stage fright and stage presence openly. Through the experiential work with breath, voice and movement we will begin to understand that it is not a condition from which we must suffer in silence but rather a fascinating aspect of performance; an energetic pattern which comes from our fierce desire to give, our fear of failure, and the degree to which we are connected -or not- with our body and our individual voice. Thus the 'condition' leads us to a further exploration of our selves and a deepening connection to our art.
Adapted from 'The Dance of Sound' by Ruth Phillips
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