As my choir season starts to wind down, the farming season is starting to ramp up. I love this time of year at the farm!
Everything is full of potential and optimism as we plant seeds and put all the winter’s plans into action. The greenhouse fills up with trays of seedlings, and the pace is a little frantic to make sure we set ourselves up for the best growing season.
I’ve written in the past about transplanting seedlings and the artist’s life:
“When we transplant seedlings, we give them new and better nutrients, their roots have more room to spread, and they thrive very quickly.
Think about your life and your creative practices. Do you need ‘transplanting’ so you can stretch your roots and grow? How about some new ‘nutrients’? Are you giving yourself enough ‘water’ and ‘sun’ and taking care of yourself?
This isn’t about taking a huge leap from a little starter pot into a giant planter. Just the next size up. What’s one small thing you can do today to help yourself grow?”
As I was seeding zucchinis this week, I began to think that there is something to be said for planting ‘artistic’ seeds. If you’ll indulge me for another metaphor…
All winter, vegetable farmers look through seed catalogues and order what they think will grow well in the coming year. They plan where each crop goes, and when they need to be planted so that it can be harvested at the right time. But there are a lot of unknowns (weather, pests, disease).
As a conductor, I don’t know how any given performance will go in advance. I choose the pieces for our choirs without really knowing what the outcome will sound like. I can get a pretty good idea by listening to recordings, studying the score, and from my knowledge of the choir’s abilities, but there are a lot of unknowns.
In the spring at the farm, I drop a seed into the soil, and trust that the combination of sun, water, nutrients, skills, and time will help it develop into something beautiful.
At the beginning of a rehearsal, I drop the music into the hands of my singers, and trust that I can nurture it into something beautiful through the combination of skill, time, and effort.
Eventually, I get to harvest the fully grown vegetable and share it with the world!
Eventually, I get to hear the music in all its beauty and share it with the world!
This metaphor can be extended to every part of an artistic practice, what comes to mind for you?
Let’s be nurturing, mindful, and skillful as we tend the seeds we plant.