- Mr. Edgar has to go to the regional capital and visit the many office buildings of the Chilean bureaucracy to get his ID card. (God willing, he will have it this Friday)
- Worker's Day
- Teacher pay day
- Some teachers didn't get paid on the pay day, so a second teacher's payday.
- The school schedule has been changed
- The lights went out
- Basketball game against another local school
- Day of Coexistence. Assembly!
- Day of School Pride. Assembly!
- The school schedule has been changed...again.
- Classmate's grandfather's funeral
- Student's Day. Assembly ALL DAY!
- Policeman's Day. Parade in the street.
- Teachers went out all weekend and forgot to plan...oops!
- The school schedule has been changed a third time. Hopefully the last time?
- Mother's Day. Another assembly!
- And my favorite one...students are traveling to a nearby city to buy government-subsidized laptop computers.
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
A List of Reasons Why Classes Are Canceled (In No Particular Order)
No, I am not joking. The follow are all reasons I have had a class canceled:
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
Calls for Scores
As I grow frustrated working on my latest piece, I receive yet another email advertising a "Call for Scores." For those unfamiliar, a call for scores is the process by which a musical ensemble solicits composers for new works by sending out a message to the public. Many composers send in their pieces (along with an entry fee), and the ensemble chooses one piece and gives it a performance and perhaps a cash prize. However--
A "call for scores" may as well be read as a "call for entry fees." Why should a composer have to pay a fee--even a nominal one--to enter a lottery where, for most, the only winnings are the privilege of having a piece viewed and disposed of by a panel of judges? Only in the arts does the backward notion that the producer of a work should spend money to have his product viewed, let alone consumed, exist. Can you imagine if a Christmas tree farmer, after growing and maintaining a field of fir trees for three years, paid you for the privilege of having you display their product in your window at the end of December? The vacuum of demand for new music and the means to pay for it where it does exist, are, for a composer, discouraging at best.
And yet, I constantly hear musicians and audiences alike complain that there is not enough good new music. Maybe this is true. But the problem isn't that there aren't good composers. The problem is that the relationship between composer, performer, and audience is terribly broken. The cost of creating music is far too high at the source.
A "call for scores" may as well be read as a "call for entry fees." Why should a composer have to pay a fee--even a nominal one--to enter a lottery where, for most, the only winnings are the privilege of having a piece viewed and disposed of by a panel of judges? Only in the arts does the backward notion that the producer of a work should spend money to have his product viewed, let alone consumed, exist. Can you imagine if a Christmas tree farmer, after growing and maintaining a field of fir trees for three years, paid you for the privilege of having you display their product in your window at the end of December? The vacuum of demand for new music and the means to pay for it where it does exist, are, for a composer, discouraging at best.
And yet, I constantly hear musicians and audiences alike complain that there is not enough good new music. Maybe this is true. But the problem isn't that there aren't good composers. The problem is that the relationship between composer, performer, and audience is terribly broken. The cost of creating music is far too high at the source.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Today I learned how to put together a panorama
This is Llifen, the town where I am currently living in Southern Chile. Clicking on the image will enlarge it.
This is a view from the summit of my hike last weekend. The Villiage of Llifen can be seen on the lake shore at the left of the photo.
This photograph is from last year. It was taken in the desert mountains behind Alto Hospicio, the city that can been seen between the two hills in the mid-ground of the photo. This is in the North of Chile.
2012. Hornopiren, Southern Chile.
2012. Sunsent at the shore of the Pacific in Estaquilla, Southern Chile.
Monday, March 25, 2013
View of Llifen from the Small Hill
It is such an odd and wonderful thing; that in the vast expanse of time not only does life exist, but we of humanity have the intellect to contemplate our place and meaning within it. There is so much beauty in the world. How lucky are we who have the opportunity to appreciate it and the heart to recognize it!
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Another View of Llifen
Yesterday I experienced what was probably the most grueling and intense outdoor experience of my life. It was a feat of endurance such that had it been my first time mountain climbing, I would have certainly been overcome. I would have sat down on the trail and refused to go any farther. The only thing is that there was nowhere to sit down. It was a 5 hour ascent, with the angle almost never dropping below 45 degrees. Though mostly dense forest, the summit of the mountain was an almost vertical crag of brittle rock, about 50m high.
Here are some pictures, in no particular order:
Here are some pictures, in no particular order:
The following to pictures are the same, but the second one is zoomed in on the center of the first picture. The second picture shows the village of Llifen in more detail.
Thursday, March 14, 2013
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Finger of Death
First, check out this recording: It's of a piece I composed for the New Brunswick Chamber Orchestra. I recieved the recording the other day.
The school at Llifén has but one small problem: the view out the classroom windows. For the majority of today, and this week, my job is to observe my head teacher and assist where needed. As soon as I sit down , I look outside and my mind fast drifts to the forests of the distant steep mountains I see out the window. The view is incredible. The school sits on a small hill, and in the immediate foreground there is a fenced in courtyard with stone pathways. The ivy on the fence obscures the houses immediatley beyond, but farther on, one can see the corrugated metal roofs of homes on the side of the hill, and the tops of trees that mark the summits of hills.
Looking farther still, about 2km ahead lies a deforested hill with light green grass and sparse patches of dark green trees and shrubs. Sometimes it looks like there are cattle on that hill and I wonder what the cattle do when they are on the other side of the hill. How large is their pasture? I cannot see the part that lies beyond the hilltop. On all sides of this small rolling hill are steep and tall hills...to me they look as small mountains...with vertical rock faces scarred from years of erosion by hardy scrubs and running water. These small mountains roll on and on as far as the eye can see, high enough to stop low clouds.
Most tremendous of all is the mountain on the immediate right view of the window, which towers over the town such that it is impossible to see in its entirety from any window in the school. Though some trees in the foreground block large areas of the mountain, there are still so many precipices populated with singly visible trees, vast rock faces, and thick sections of forest, that it constantly draws my eye. I wonder if I could climb up it. I'm sure I will try before the last exhale of summer passes in the coming weeks. The view from the top--of the town, other mountains, the lake, is sure to be breath taking.
Yesterday Matio, the youngest son in the house, walked with me to the shores of the lake. It was a long walk but on the way we passed abundant blackberry bushes and apple trees. My left hand was filled with mushy blackberries whose sweet juice stained my hands and slipped between my fingers to land on my left pant leg. I was wearing white pants but I didn't care. The berries were too sweet.
The road we walked down curved and the pavement stopped. A sign notified pasajeros that the beach was not safe for swimming. The dirt road meandered down the side of the hill to the beach and on both sides of us there was a tall iron fence that clearly demarcated the land of one of the town's affluent seasonal denizens.
The dirt road terminated at the rocky shores of the lake. Sun was setting on the horizon and a slight breeze pressed water against the shore. Mountains are all around, and to the left a cliff meets the lake. We walk to the right. about 50ft into the water there are delapidated wood pilings that may have been a dock some years ago, but the water is shallow and they are too high to be a dock. Perhaps there was a house here that fell into the lake. The shore is also littered with small wooden boats, green, white, and yellow, chained to rocks. With the sun setting, it is beautiful. The beach is also a sentimental place for Matio. His cousin is the reason for the sign at the dirt path. On the day of his cousin's 15th birthday, he swam too far into the lake. He never came back. My spanish is bad, but it doesn't matter. All I can say is sorry.
The school at Llifén has but one small problem: the view out the classroom windows. For the majority of today, and this week, my job is to observe my head teacher and assist where needed. As soon as I sit down , I look outside and my mind fast drifts to the forests of the distant steep mountains I see out the window. The view is incredible. The school sits on a small hill, and in the immediate foreground there is a fenced in courtyard with stone pathways. The ivy on the fence obscures the houses immediatley beyond, but farther on, one can see the corrugated metal roofs of homes on the side of the hill, and the tops of trees that mark the summits of hills.
Looking farther still, about 2km ahead lies a deforested hill with light green grass and sparse patches of dark green trees and shrubs. Sometimes it looks like there are cattle on that hill and I wonder what the cattle do when they are on the other side of the hill. How large is their pasture? I cannot see the part that lies beyond the hilltop. On all sides of this small rolling hill are steep and tall hills...to me they look as small mountains...with vertical rock faces scarred from years of erosion by hardy scrubs and running water. These small mountains roll on and on as far as the eye can see, high enough to stop low clouds.
Most tremendous of all is the mountain on the immediate right view of the window, which towers over the town such that it is impossible to see in its entirety from any window in the school. Though some trees in the foreground block large areas of the mountain, there are still so many precipices populated with singly visible trees, vast rock faces, and thick sections of forest, that it constantly draws my eye. I wonder if I could climb up it. I'm sure I will try before the last exhale of summer passes in the coming weeks. The view from the top--of the town, other mountains, the lake, is sure to be breath taking.
Yesterday Matio, the youngest son in the house, walked with me to the shores of the lake. It was a long walk but on the way we passed abundant blackberry bushes and apple trees. My left hand was filled with mushy blackberries whose sweet juice stained my hands and slipped between my fingers to land on my left pant leg. I was wearing white pants but I didn't care. The berries were too sweet.
The road we walked down curved and the pavement stopped. A sign notified pasajeros that the beach was not safe for swimming. The dirt road meandered down the side of the hill to the beach and on both sides of us there was a tall iron fence that clearly demarcated the land of one of the town's affluent seasonal denizens.
The dirt road terminated at the rocky shores of the lake. Sun was setting on the horizon and a slight breeze pressed water against the shore. Mountains are all around, and to the left a cliff meets the lake. We walk to the right. about 50ft into the water there are delapidated wood pilings that may have been a dock some years ago, but the water is shallow and they are too high to be a dock. Perhaps there was a house here that fell into the lake. The shore is also littered with small wooden boats, green, white, and yellow, chained to rocks. With the sun setting, it is beautiful. The beach is also a sentimental place for Matio. His cousin is the reason for the sign at the dirt path. On the day of his cousin's 15th birthday, he swam too far into the lake. He never came back. My spanish is bad, but it doesn't matter. All I can say is sorry.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)