The Cello Can’t Learn

I am fairly certain that I would have been voted “least likely to have a teaching career” upon graduating from the Cleveland Institute of Music.  As someone at home on the stage, I had been pursuing a career in performance since I made the decision to become a cellist at the ripe age of 11.  Would I play in the Chicago Symphony?  Be in a String Quartet?  Play solo concerts?  The answer was undetermined, but the path I was on was well established.

It was a seemingly random act of fate that forever changed my direction in the music field.  I met Doris and Bill Preucil when I was a senior at CIM.  They claim they recognized the “teaching spirit” in me, a fact I found strange at the time, since I had no recognition of that spirit myself, and invited me to teach at their school in Iowa City.  I went because it was a paycheck, and enabled me to buy a little red sports car.  The rest is history—my history.

I could say I love teaching because I enjoy pedagogy, and enjoy figuring out how to unlock the principles of playing the cello in a succinct and efficient manner.  I could also comment on how rewarding it is to watch students of all ages immerse themselves in music and learning.  I can even take the altruistic approach and say I enjoy giving to others.  However, if I am to be completely honest, I would have to admit that I love teaching because I love people.

This past week alone has offered me countless opportunities to reflect upon the connection and interactions I am privileged to have with many amazing people.  From consoling students who did not win a competition, to watching in awe as a determined young girl played her entrance audition with a broken thumb, to being there for a student when her childhood pet passed away, to watching a student become a stand up comedian from the stage as he introduced pieces on his recital, to the amusing and entertaining stories from grad school/summer festival auditions my students share with me, to the daily routine of life in a conservatory…I consider myself lucky to share this experience with so many fabulous human beings.

There is an amazing quote that has become my mantra-“I don’t teach the Cello, the Cello can’t learn.”  (For the record, I cannot recall who originally made this statement) The cello can’t learn, but people can.  The studio is a place where incredible things can happen—from unlocking a skill on the instrument, to learning discipline, motivation, organization, working with others, persistence; from working with others to facing issues with learning, and performance anxieties.  The studio is also a place where humanity is revealed—where we deal with death, divorce, break-ups, failure, frustration, as well as celebrate joys of life—successful performances, marriage, winning a competition/job/scholarship, or even the long-awaited arrival of spring.

Every musician will, at some point, be a teacher.  If you are at all like I was in my youth, you may find that fact surprising.  It may even seem far-fetched.  On the other hand, perhaps you have already begun teaching and it is something that is of interest to you, something you find rewarding and exciting.  Wherever you fall on this spectrum, I can offer you one important piece of advice.  Never forget that behind every cello is a human being, and being a teacher is a privilege and responsibility as well as an honor and joy.  The more you understand the person behind the instrument—how they learn, what motivates them, what are their strengths/weaknesses, what inspires them—the better chance you have of helping them achieve.

The cello can’t learn—people can.  I teach people….the rest is history—my history.