Kandinsky's Theories (1)

Wassily Kandinsky (1866–1944) is one of the best-known 20th-century artists (he is regarded as the originator of abstract art), but he did not begin painting studies until he was 30. Kandinsky had previously studied Law and Economics at the University of Moscow and was evidently very successful, because he was offered a professorship (chair of Roman Law) at the University of Dorpat (Estonia).

And I thought I was a late starter… ^{[ 3 ] ←}

In addition to his accomplishments as a painter (visit this website to see his paintings and learn more about him: https://www.artsy.net/artist/wassily-kandinsky), he was also a theorist with strong convictions about the role of art and the artist in society, and more painting-specific issues such as colour theories (he believed that certain colors have an affinity for certain shapes; see more here).

My friend and fellow composer John Oliver wrote a blog ("Artist's Statement") in which he cites Kandinsky's three "mystical necessities" that define artwork of lasting value: The Personal, The Ephemeral, and The Eternal. This topic—the role of the artist—fascinates me, and it's something I try to get my students to think about, so I will follow my own advice about not getting too hung-up on originality (see: Is Originality a Detriment in Art?, How Important is Originality in Art?, and Originality — Does it have Any Role in Art? ) and reproduce John Oliver's Kandinsky quote below:

1. Every artist, as creator, must express what is peculiar to oneself (element of personality).

2. Every artist as a child of his time, must express what is peculiar to one's own time (elements of style ...)

3. Every artist, as servant of art, must express what is peculiar to art in general (element of the pure and eternally artistic which pervades every individual, every people, every age, and which is to be seen in the works of every artist, of every nation, and of every period, and which, being the principal elements of art, knows neither time nor space).

I will also add another quote from the same booklet, entitled "On the Spiritual in Art" (the publication date of which I have seen listed as 1910, 1911, and 1912 at various places on the Internet). Kandinsky also wrote:

Every work of art is the child of its age and, in many cases, the mother of our emotions. It follows that each period of culture produces an art of its own which can never be repeated.

Okay; lots to think about there! I will explore Kandinsky's ideas in my next two posts:

• Kandinsky's Theories (2)
• Kankinsky's Theories (3)

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^{[ 3 ]} I decided to become a musician after finishing my BA in Humanities. In retrospect, the decision was rather odd, because I could barely read music and couldn't play any instrument particularly well. Recognizing that my woeful lack of musical skills could get in the way becoming a musician, I began the formal study of music (rudiments) when I was twenty years old, and continued my studies on weekends, evenings, and off-hours while for the next 15 years while working at a variety of jobs (bus information operator, stereo/electronics sales, department store sales clerk), leading eventually, and improbably, to a doctorate in composition. [ ↑ ]

Kandinsky's Theories (2)

(For part 1 on Kandinsky's theories, see previous entry)

Let's examine Kandinsky's three "mystical necessities" that define artwork of lasting value.

The first is a concept that I suspect most would agree with: An artist must express something personal through their art. Kandinsky goes even further, however, by writing that what the artist expresses must not only be personal, but "peculiar to oneself."

But what is unique to any of us? I'm pretty sure that there is absolutely no attribute that I possess that is not also possessed by other people. My belief is that the combination of the traits that we possess that makes up our personality, and it is from this combination that we derive a sense of uniqueness. 

I'm fine with the idea that there is a connection between one's personality and one's artistic creations, but I'm proposing that it is impossible to "express what is peculiar to oneself," because nothing is.

Just for fun, I'm going to flip Kandinsky's first 'mystical necessity' to:

1. Every artist, as creator, must express what is universal.

I'm not sure I agree with it 100%, but it seems to me that it is true of much artwork of lasting value. I recall reading at some point that most songs are love songs. If true, the reason for this would seem to be obvious; love is something that we've all experienced, and something that affects us profoundly. It is as close to a universal experience as there is.

But so are basic bodily functions, and you don't hear too many songs about being hungry, or needing to pee. You may conclude from this that there is a vast, untapped market for songs relating to bladder control (the "I had to pee but the teacher wouldn't let me" blues, for instance?), but my own take is that a quality in addition to universality must be present for my above statement to have some validity.

What to name this quality? Perhaps 'poetry,' or 'mystery,' or simply 'something that causes us to reflect on the subject in a different way.' And perhaps this quality, whatever you wish to call it, is tied in with the personal, which would bring it back to the territory covered by Kandinsky's first 'mystical necessity.'

Speaking of which, I don't know about you, but whenever someone says you "must" do something, my natural inclination is to refuse and/or do the opposite. I am not a fan of imperatives, I guess, which is probably part of the reason I became a composer. So when I read Kandinsky's three 'mystical necessities,' I notice they are all 'must' statements and right off the bat there is a part of me that bristles at being told what I must do.

My amended wording of #1 would be something like this:

1. Art of lasting value tends to have qualities that are both personal and universal.

And perhaps mysterious too, but I have to run, so I think I'll leave it at that for today.

Kandinsky's Theories (3)

In my last entry I discussed Kandinsky's theory that the artist "must express what is peculiar to oneself," proposed as one of the three "mystical necessities" that define artwork of lasting value, and I suggested that this may be an impossible challenge to meet since I cannot think of any human attribute that is not shared. In trying to come up with a related set of principles that I felt I could agree with, I came up with:

1. Art of lasting value tends to have qualities that are both personal and universal.

Before I go on, I want to sneak in a second principle, one that was also mentioned in my previous entry:

2. It often causes us to reflect on the subject in a different way (Perspective).

And, while I'm at it, I'll add a couple more:

3. It speaks to us; people (but not all people, necessarily) feel a connection to it.

4. It often touches on the mysterious.

I think that #3 is self-evident (but I'd welcome input from anyone would like to suggest otherwise!); most of us value an art work because we feel a connection to it. I think this is where the notion that "art is in the eye of the beholder" comes from.

I touched on the quality of mystery in part 2 of this series. What I'm getting at is the idea that it is one thing for art to grab our attention, and it is another to hold it. There needs to be something there that makes us want to continue our engagement with the art, and perhaps that thing, or at least one element of that thing, is mystery. The Mona Lisa is a good example of this. What the heck is she half-smiling about? It's a mystery, but maybe if we stare at it long enough…

5. It often touches on the sublime.

Maybe #4 and #5 are two aspects of the same thing, but I made a separate entry for 'the sublime' because of the number of times I have heard people refer to God in reference to art; for some, great art is evidence of the divine, or at least of the way divinity is expressed through human creations. An art work that is highly valued is often said to be greater than the sum of its parts, and perhaps this is because it touches on the sublime, a quality that is difficult to quantify.

6. It usually demonstrates technical excellence.

I throw "technique" into the mix because it's one of my pet causes as a music teacher. The better your technical skills, the better equipped you are to create the kind of art you imagine. Are there 'great' works of art with poor or even average technique? Perhaps; both 'greatness' and 'technique' are qualities that are debatable (although the former more than the latter, I think), but it seems to me that most art referred to as 'great' also demonstrates excellent technique.

Kandinsky's second "mystical necessity" is that the artist "must express what is peculiar to one's own time," and that is something I think is undeniable. What makes it particularly interesting in our time is that post-modernist art often draws on the art of periods other than our own, but in a way that usually is distinguishable from the art of earlier periods. I do this in some (or much?) of my own compositions; "Dream Dance," for example has sections that evoke (for me, at least) the music of Bach, Haydn, Phillip Glass, Scott Joplin, and Gershwin. In my programme note for the piece I call it an example of "Polystylism" because of this, but a composition that mixes styles in this way could not have been written in any period other than our own.

Here's the way I'd put it:

7. It is recognizably of its own time.

Kankinsky's third "mystical necessity" speaks to a transcendent quality in art, which he calls "the pure and eternally artistic which pervades every individual, every people, every age, and which is to be seen in the works of every artist, of every nation, and of every period, and which, being the principal elements of art, knows neither time nor space."

He rather goes over the top here, does he not? In any event, I think I understand what he means, but is any art meaningful to, and understood by, "every individual, every people, every age," etc.? The Taj Mahal might come close to this kind of pan-cultural ideal, but for the most part, it seems to me that artistic appeal tends to have a strong element of culture-specificity.

The art of The Beatles, Beethoven, Kandinsky, van Gogh, and yes, even (or especially) yours truly is not held in equally high regard in all parts of the world (or even within western culture), and, conversely, it has only been in the last few decades that many people in western cultures have begun to appreciate and value music from non-western cultures.

Here is my wording for a version of this principle that I agree with:

8. Its appeal transcends some cultures and periods.

And that concludes my Kandinsky-inspired discussions, at least for now.

Notation Software Woes

Once again, this post is based on a response I made to a student's journal/blog entry…

The notation programme I have used for the past 15 years or so is called "Composer's Mosaic," by Mark of the Unicorn (MOTU). As you might imagine, I feel extremely comfortable with it, even though it is a more limited programme than Sibelius, Finale, or Notability Pro [click the links if you wish to find out more about them]. But, because I'm usually composing to meet a deadline, the thought of having to learn new notation software AND meet a deadline is pretty daunting and stressful.

Unfortunately, MOTU stopped supporting Mosaic in 1997. This means that I have to keep an ancient computer around for the sole purpose of running Mosaic, because it doesn't run under the current Mac operating system (OS X).

Obviously, at some point this will no longer be an option — all computers die eventually — so, I bought Sibelius and Finale a few years ago, intending to try both to see which I liked better, and then stick with that one.

But the frustration of having to learn a new notation programme while keeping the creative flow going, AND while trying to meet commission deadlines, is huge… So far, I have written one piece in Finale (Dream Dance, which Kristina Szutor played in the 2008 Newfound Music Festival), and I feel I am slowly getting the hang of it, although the number of times I have to go to the manual to look up how to do something really basic is ridiculous, and a real inspiration killer.

Nevertheless, having learned Finale well enough to have completed one piece, I am ready to try a more ambitious composing project with Finale.

Not to say that Dream Dance wasn't ambitious; what I mean is that, having muddled my way through the process of using Finale to notate a fairly lengthy solo piano piece, I think I may be ready to try writing chamber music with Finale next.

I should probably give Sibelius a try too. I know a lot of people insist that it's easier to use than Finale, although in my very cursory attempts to do anything with it I still found it less intuitive and more inflexible than I was hoping for. But I think that would be true of any notation programme.

Incidentally, one programme that really intrigues me is Notability Pro. It only works on Mac OS X, but it is now FREE (it was not free originally)! Most people, when they see that something is free, conclude that it isn't a high-quality product, but I am told that, not only is it of high quality, but some of my composer friends say it is superior to Finale or Sibelius.

Notability Pro describes itself as:

• "easily the most sophisticated music notation software available on any platform. NoteAbility combines both musical intelligence and graphical flexibility in a direct and intuitive graphical user interface. Notate anything from simple melodies to complex avant garde orchestral music, play the score on your MIDI synthesizer or using Quicktime Musical Instruments and print a publishable copy of your score on any OS-X compatible printer."

And here's the clincher:

• "If you have been frustrated by the awkwardness and inflexibility of other notation programs, or by the time it takes to learn them, then you definitely should have a look at NoteAbility Pro."

Sounds pretty impressive, does it not? You may be thinking, 'but why believe the hype on the company's web page?" Mostly, I feel the same way; be wary of hype!

However, in this case, I am more inclined to believe it than not, because the product was developed by Dr. Keith Hamel, an outstanding composer and professor at the University of British Columbia, and he happens to be a friend of mine. Basically, if Keith says his programme is both easy to use and the most sophisticated music notation software out there, then I'll take his word for it.

Also, as I mentioned above, some composer friends of mine swear by it (not at it, which is something I occasionally did while learning Finale), telling me it is better, and easier to learn, than both Sibelius and Finale. And, in addition to now being free, Notability Pro does not charge for upgrades. Both Sibelius and Finale release yearly "upgrades" and charge fairly hefty upgrade fees for them.

[EDIT (2016): Sibelius and Finale seem to have abandoned the yearly updates. Sibelius is now being sold "by subscription" only, as far as I can tell, meaning they charge you a monthly fee to use their software. This seems lame in the extreme. Finale's current version is 2014 [as of 2017, the current version is 24.5], and you can still buy the software outright (academic price: US$350).]

[FURTHER EDITS (2018):

1. Finale has continued to produce updates, but they no longer appear to be yearly (which is a good thing, IMO; upgrades cost a lot).

2. I'm not sure if Sibelius has changed their "by subscription only" model, but I don't think so, according to what a couple of students have told me.

3. After completing "Dream Dance" (which is mentioned above) in Finale, I ended up using nothing but Finale for the last several years. The reason is the obvious one; once I became comfortable with it, and those long, inspiration-crushing attempts to figure stuff out became mostly a thing of the past, then it became pretty easy to use, and I'm content with it.

4. I'd still like to try Notability Pro at some point, but I'm not sure I want to try it badly enough to go through the learning curve for yet another notation software programme. If I do, perhaps I'll come back here and report on it.]

The point is that I know some of you are just learning notation software for the first time so that you can use it in this course, and you are running into frustrations, and I can relate to this!

But, try to persevere (I seem to use that word a lot, don't I?), because it's useful to be able to create beautifully-notated scores with computer software.

And if you get stuck or frustrated, ask for help; you can ask in class, or ask me outside of class, or ask other students, because the number of students who are knowledgeable about Finale seems to increase every year.

Creative Angst... Welcome to the club!

This is another entry based on a reply I just made to a student blog comment.

Students sometimes tell me that they are not content with their composition, be it finished or in progress. They know it could be better, or perhaps feel it ought to be better, but they are not exactly sure how to achieve this. And meanwhile, there's usually a deadline fast approaching... Yikes!

We tend to want our music to be not only good, but personal as well. People who hear unfamiliar works by well-known composers can often recognize who wrote them, which suggests that there is something of ourselves — almost like a strand of DNA — in the things we create; or at least this seems to be the case in the hands of great composers, bands, and artists in general.

Knowing that what we create is in some way a reflection of who we are, and possessing the ability to discern the difference between great and not great music, it is not unusual to wish that our compositions were better, which can lead to frustration when we don't know how to improve them to a standard of which we can feel proud.

If it is any consolation, this "creative angst" is a normal part of the creative process, even, at times, for experienced composers. I suspect that all people who create things experience this on a fairly regular basis. I worry more about people who never experience this, particularly when they are fairly new to composition, because I wonder if it means that they are not sufficiently self-critical, or their ability to distinguish between good and not good ideas is insufficiently developed.

The more you compose, the more developed and sophisticated your compositional skills become, so if this project is one of your first forays into writing music, rest assured that your ability to write the kind of music of which you are capable will grow significantly, as long as you don't give up.

Regarding your weekly composition projects, I would just encourage you persevere until you're pretty sure that each one is as good as you can make it for now, and then move on to the next piece.

When you start out as a composer your ability to discern between good and bad in music (any aspect, such as interpretation, performance, and compositional excellence) generally exceeds your compositional abilities. This is the compositional equivalent to the adage about one's reach exceeding one's grasp, which comes from Robert Browning's poem, "Andrea Del Sarto" (line 98). Browning actually writes, Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp, Or what's a heaven for?

I like Browning's use of the word "should." It suggests to me that we should not become complacent about our work; we should always strive for something better, even if it lies just out of our reach in terms of our current compositional development.

It is nearly impossible to reach a point where you are 100% satisfied with your creations. "I know what good music is," you might think to yourself, "and this [your composition] isn't it!" But how did you come to know what good vs. not good music is? As a general rule, this ability is one we develop over many years of performing, listening, and studying a wide variety of music.

The same is true of compositional skills. If you keep at it, you will reach the point where you become better able to express what you want through music, and thereby become more satisfied with what you create. And the improvement of compositional skills can actually come pretty quickly; when you reach the end of this course, you may surprise yourself by how the speed with which you developed from a compositional neophyte to someone whose compositions became significantly better.

And your skills will get better if you persevere.

There is a beneficial aspect of creative angst: The points in a composition that gave you the most grief in the composition process can become the sections of which you are proudest when your composition is finished, provided that you did not give up in your attempts to improve them. These "angst-ridden" points may turn out to be the most inspired, since greater inspiration is often necessary to work through creative roadblocks. Read more on this in "Running into a Brick Wall," if you like.

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UPDATE:

Mathieu, the first commentator below, writes: One's music software abilities are also in need of development. I found that the hardest part of achieving some satisfaction with my piece was learning to use the software. Much time has been spent on one bar trying to get the right rhythms …

That is an excellent point! I will just add that not only does it take time to become proficient in music notation software, it also takes time to learn how to notate rhythms, particularly tricky ones, whether we use software or write music by hand. Often we only realize that our notation is flawed when, after inputing it into notation software, we discover that the playback does not match the rhythms we had in mind.

More generally, it also takes time to learn how to notate our ideas in the most effective way (and most correct way) for prospective performers. This is one of the reasons we spend so much time discussing notation in classes and lessons, which includes notating rhythms, note spellings, beaming, correct meters (eg, 3/2 is not the same as 6/4), extended techniques, chance & out of time elements, along with instructions for these devices that are as clear as possible for performers, and much more.