Post by Ann on Sept 21, 2004 12:57:50 GMT -5
Using All you Have!!- A story to brighten your day!! 
USING ALL WE HAVE
On November 18, 1995, world renowned violinist, Itzhak Perlman, came on stage to give a concert at Avery Fisher Hall at Lincoln Center in New York City.
If you have ever been to a Perlman concert, you know that getting on stage is no small achievement for him. He was stricken with polio as a child, and so he has braces on both legs and walks with the aid of two crutches.
To see him walk across the stage one step at a time, painfully and slowly, is an unforgettable sight.
When he reaches his chair, he sits down, slowly, puts his crutches on the floor, undoes the clasps on his legs, tucks one foot back and extends the other foot forward.
He bends down and picks up the violin, puts it under his chin, nods to the conductor and proceeds to play.
By now, the audience is used to this ritual. They sit quietly while he makes his way across the stage to his chair. They remain reverently silent while he undoes the clasps on his legs. They wait until he is ready to play.
But this time, something went wrong. Just as he finished the first few bars, one of the strings on his violin broke. You could hear it snap — it went off like gunfire across the room. There was no mistaking what that sound meant. There was no mistaking what he had to do.
People who were there that night thought to themselves: “We figured that he would have to get up, put on the clasps again, pick up the crutches and limp his way off stage — to find another violin or else find another string for this one.”
But he didn’t. Instead, he waited a moment, closed his eyes and signaled the conductor to begin again. The orchestra began, and he played from where he had left off. And he played with such passion and such power and such purity as they had never heard before. Of course, anyone knows that it is impossible to play a symphonic work with just three strings.
I know that, and you know that, but that night Itzhak Perlman refused to know that. You could see him modulating, changing, recomposing the piece in his head. At one point, it sounded like he was de-tuning the strings to get new sounds from them — sounds they had never made before.
When he finished, there was an awesome silence in the room. And then people rose and cheered. There was an extraordinary outburst of applause from every corner of the auditorium. Everyone was on their feet, screaming and cheering, doing everything they could to show how much they appreciated what he had done.
He smiled, wiped the sweat from his brow, raised his bow to quiet us, and then said, not boastfully, but in a quiet, pensive, reverent tone ...
“You know, sometimes it is the artist’s task to find out how much music you can still make with what you have left.”
What a powerful line that is. And who knows? Perhaps that is the way of life — not just for artists but for all of us.
Perhaps our task in this shaky, fast-changing, bewildering world in which we live is to make music, at first with all that we have, and then, when that is no longer possible, to make music with what we have left.
Itzhak Perlman is noted for the warmth of his violin tone and brilliant technique.
A child prodigy born in Tel Aviv, 1945, Perlman came to New York and soon was propelled
into the international arena with an appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show in 1958.
Following his studies at the Juilliard School he won the prestigious Leventritt
Competition in 1964, which led to a burgeoning worldwide career.
One of Perlman's proudest achievements was collaborating with film score composer
John Williams in Steven Spielberg's Academy Award winning film Schindler's List,
in which he performed the violin solos. His presence on stage, on camera and in
personal appearances of all kinds speaks eloquently on behalf of the handicapped
and the disabled, and his devotion to this cause is an integral part of his life.
Itzhak Perlman lives in New York with his wife Toby and their family.
~From The Houston Chronicle
USING ALL WE HAVE
On November 18, 1995, world renowned violinist, Itzhak Perlman, came on stage to give a concert at Avery Fisher Hall at Lincoln Center in New York City.
If you have ever been to a Perlman concert, you know that getting on stage is no small achievement for him. He was stricken with polio as a child, and so he has braces on both legs and walks with the aid of two crutches.
To see him walk across the stage one step at a time, painfully and slowly, is an unforgettable sight.
When he reaches his chair, he sits down, slowly, puts his crutches on the floor, undoes the clasps on his legs, tucks one foot back and extends the other foot forward.
He bends down and picks up the violin, puts it under his chin, nods to the conductor and proceeds to play.
By now, the audience is used to this ritual. They sit quietly while he makes his way across the stage to his chair. They remain reverently silent while he undoes the clasps on his legs. They wait until he is ready to play.
But this time, something went wrong. Just as he finished the first few bars, one of the strings on his violin broke. You could hear it snap — it went off like gunfire across the room. There was no mistaking what that sound meant. There was no mistaking what he had to do.
People who were there that night thought to themselves: “We figured that he would have to get up, put on the clasps again, pick up the crutches and limp his way off stage — to find another violin or else find another string for this one.”
But he didn’t. Instead, he waited a moment, closed his eyes and signaled the conductor to begin again. The orchestra began, and he played from where he had left off. And he played with such passion and such power and such purity as they had never heard before. Of course, anyone knows that it is impossible to play a symphonic work with just three strings.
I know that, and you know that, but that night Itzhak Perlman refused to know that. You could see him modulating, changing, recomposing the piece in his head. At one point, it sounded like he was de-tuning the strings to get new sounds from them — sounds they had never made before.
When he finished, there was an awesome silence in the room. And then people rose and cheered. There was an extraordinary outburst of applause from every corner of the auditorium. Everyone was on their feet, screaming and cheering, doing everything they could to show how much they appreciated what he had done.
He smiled, wiped the sweat from his brow, raised his bow to quiet us, and then said, not boastfully, but in a quiet, pensive, reverent tone ...
“You know, sometimes it is the artist’s task to find out how much music you can still make with what you have left.”
What a powerful line that is. And who knows? Perhaps that is the way of life — not just for artists but for all of us.
Perhaps our task in this shaky, fast-changing, bewildering world in which we live is to make music, at first with all that we have, and then, when that is no longer possible, to make music with what we have left.
Itzhak Perlman is noted for the warmth of his violin tone and brilliant technique.
A child prodigy born in Tel Aviv, 1945, Perlman came to New York and soon was propelled
into the international arena with an appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show in 1958.
Following his studies at the Juilliard School he won the prestigious Leventritt
Competition in 1964, which led to a burgeoning worldwide career.
One of Perlman's proudest achievements was collaborating with film score composer
John Williams in Steven Spielberg's Academy Award winning film Schindler's List,
in which he performed the violin solos. His presence on stage, on camera and in
personal appearances of all kinds speaks eloquently on behalf of the handicapped
and the disabled, and his devotion to this cause is an integral part of his life.
Itzhak Perlman lives in New York with his wife Toby and their family.
~From The Houston Chronicle
