Yesterday we moved our home, the wind blew her to the hale. Her batteries are full of sunshine. Her body full of books. I love her. Forever. X
My Mother, my father and my place of birth.
This Transit map of New York sits to the left of the toilet in the DO ONE residence.
I have never been to New York but when I do I will visit these streets.
These streets are also the setting for a book I adored as a teenager
“Kafka was the rage”
I look forward to it.
My father, world-renowned virtuoso violinist and teacher Roman Totenberg, whose professional career spanned nine decades and four continents, died early Tuesday morning at the age of 101.
His death was as remarkable as his life. He made his debut as a soloist with the Warsaw Philharmonic at age 11, performed his last concert when he was in his mid-90s, and was still teaching, literally, on his deathbed. This week, as word flew around the musical world that he was in renal failure, former students flocked to his home in Newton, Mass., to see the beloved “maestro.”
Mainly, he wanted to hear them play, and several of the sessions turned into long lessons, with my father, eyes closed, conducting with one hand to keep the tempo, slowing the phrasing here and there, and at one point, asking Daniel Han, now a member of the Philadelphia Orchestra, to hand over his violin so my dad could show him some fingering.
Letitia Hom, who has a class of students of her own now, wanted a lesson on the Brahms violin concerto, so on Saturday, she stood at his bedside playing beautifully for him. At one stopping point, though, he spoke so softly, she had to bend her ear to his lips. His words: “The D was flat.”
Solo violinist Mira Wang, who came from China decades ago to study with him, played for hours on Sunday. Every time she would stop, he had just one word: “More.” And still they came, one after another, describing how he had changed their lives. So widespread was the outpouring, that one former student in Poland had to be dissuaded from jumping on a plane to the United States.
He was a caring and wise father not just to us, his three daughters, but to literally thousands of students around the world who had studied with him. I dare say there is not a major orchestra in Europe or the U.S. that does not have at least one student who studied with him. When Wang, who is 40-something with a husband and two children of her own, left our house on Sunday, she said to my brother-in-law Ralph, “Now, I finally have to be a grown-up.”
(via Roman Totenberg’s Remarkable Life And Death by Nina Totenberg)
Photo courtesy of Nina Totenberg
A beautiful story to keep us all practising. X
A place so misunderstood. Behind the many candy pink Jean Michele Jarr soundtracked amusement arcades are beautiful red bricked British art nouveau architectural dreams. They tower beautifully to the sky, it feels like being on a film set as its bustled between the garish and the beautiful old cafe.
Spring has sprung.
It has been a long time in my posting. So much has happened.
So I am going to post pictures of what I have been up to.
Pictures for me have spoken louder than words in the last few months.
Last night i had a stone cold freezing bout of freight, a sinking feeling that made me feel so sad and lost, i wanted to run away from the situation that i had put myself into, to push the button for invisibility, to push away from all the busy people around me. No one can help in that instance. But i may have found something to help. i found myself scrolling through the internet galaxies to try to find myself a cure, the truth is that there is not one, and will never be. Remedies however can keep me longer.
This is my remedy for today.
The Album Leaf - Tied Knots
I often float off somewhere else but this provided beautiful ground for me to walk upon.
Static noises married to the most beautiful harmonies my ears will listen to today. and its all about today. I too shall probably listen to this tomorrow and often for the next few weeks. It makes my heart sing.
Harmonies make the world turn. When they stop i will too.
10 years ago i promised myself that i would write a lot more, 10 years ago i promised that i would listen to as much music as i could, 10 years ago i promised i would write and record as many pieces of music as i could, 10 years have passed.
Time has a funny upsetting way of derailing us, making us believe that we have all the time in the world. I am a big beleiver in time changing us and pushing us towards funny old things and beautiful strange situations. I seem to have forgotton how to share with other people the beautiful crazy places i have been, the men, women and other beautiful creatures who have moved me. They are locked in notebooks for my eyes only.
they sit alone with words that no one will ever read, they sit there with telephone numbers and bar receipts.
I think it is about time that we all start writing, sharing, inspiring, deciding and creating. I think its about time i write something that i 10 years ago would like to read.
Below is a picture of a place dear to my heart. Here lies the beach hut and spirit of a lovely chap i used to know called Tim he and his darling girl own a beach hut on this stretch of North Norfolk coastline, in the old fishing town Sheringham. This beach hut and Tim and Bridget’s love single handedly brings many fine threads of family and friends together, adults play and rock pool, children draw, aunties cry, birds call, dogs run and eat your chips. It is a truly wonderful place to be.
This is Tims Place. We miss him there.
Lots of love Tim
a small song i recorded in my cellar.