We’re heading into the third summer of the pandemic. Unlike one year ago when a heat dome filled the air over the Pacific Northwest with a granular dryness so thick one could smell the threat of cinders ready to spark to life, this year, heavy and dark grey clouds have kept the lands verdant, the mountaintops still snowy and the waterways coursing.
Life has been anything but boring for me. But if I’m honest …
When honest, self-reflective discussions about social justice—in Canadian (and American) society generally, and in Western art music specifically—began two years ago, it was exciting. Finally, people seemed ready to hear what I and other cultural thinkers had been investigating for years: the subtle injustices that were so behaviourally normalized no one dared call or consider them racist. Artists who had put up with these behaviours suddenly had agency, and abundant opportunity to air decades of slights, oversights, and grievances. We were also suddenly gifted (“gifted”, “offered” – are either of these words bereft of colonial patronizing?) opportunities to express our full and complicated selves in positions of artistic creation and leadership.
But when a person gets used to repressing significant portions of themselves in order to be acceptable to the status quo; when a person has supressed any inclinations toward positions of leadership in order to keep themselves safe both at work and at home (i.e. emotionally and physically safe; and here, the intersection with gender also comes into play); when such a person is suddenly offered opportunity to be everything previously denied them—without their having experienced mentorships and support systems equivalent to the years (or decades) of experiential learnings their peers have had—the chances that they will live up to expectations set for them are far from certain.
Yes, to a certain extent I am speaking about myself. But I also speak of colleagues with whom I have shared stories over the past two years. The elation of opportunity is accompanied by exhaustion from multiple and simultaneous steep learning curves that heave on top of the daily responsibilities of our lives.
What am I trying to say? Am I apologizing to all the people (including, and especially, myself) that I feel I have disappointed? Yes, partly.
I am also asking—in the spirit of social justice—for others (allies) to step up. I am asking that those for whom opportunities have been abundant to share your knowledge and skills. Give us the tools and the time to succeed. Be honest about the limits to which you can imagine change, then add 50% more to that. That is what is needed for us to succeed together. That is what will bridge privileged and suppressed knowledges. That is what it will take to transform ours into a more compassionate and egalitarian society; and to transform the arts sector into one that can begin to be inclusive.
(When I was growing up, my mother used to tell me: you need to work 150% more before people will imagine you half as good (In retrospect, I see the seeds of my and my brother’s tendency to work 48 hours at a stretch, and seven days a week for months on end; both of us endeavouring to change big systems that have long been inequitable—my brother in medicine, I in expressive culture).
My mother, who was born in North Vancouver in 1931, often claims that she didn’t grow up with racism. I suspect the colonial normalcy of how one was supposed to live and what cultural traditions coloniality inhibited wasn’t obvious to her through childhood and adolescence. Of her childhood she says that everyone who was not Anglo-Saxon was considered “lesser than”, including the Scandinavian (Japanese, Chinese, Indigenous and other Punjabi) families that lived on the West coast in the 30s. My mother did, though, encounter overt racism later—as a university student, as a microbiologist, as my father’s wife, and as my mom.)
What would happen if those who say they are ready to help cultivate a just and fairer world were to add 50% to what they are prepared to change? From my perspective as a musician, without that extra flexibility, Eurocentric musical organizations will lose their power and place.
June 19th – Banff 
Today I’m heading to Banff.
Having been born and raised in Calgary, the land—in, around, and between Calgary and Banff—pulls on the spirit cord to my heart every time I am here. Banff has significance to many artists, and I am no exception. Without Banff, I would not have become a musician.
When I was very young, Tom Rolston brought Shinichi Suzuki to the Banff Centre. I was too shy to join the group onstage, so Tom came to the back of the hall and coaxed me onto the stage by letting me play on his violin (!). Years later, as a member of both the Calgary Youth Orchestra and the Mount Royal Academy, I went to Banff for the occasional weekend to get coaching from whomever was in-residence. (I wasn’t allowed to attend summer programs because there would be boys and alcohol there, and not enough adults to ensure I didn’t encounter either of those things).
Then, when I was in first year at U of Calgary (leaning toward pre-med), I went to Banff to play for Janos Starker. Changing majors to music was the furthest thing from my mind at the time, but that weekend Mr. Starker convinced me to apply to Indiana. Within minutes, all the plans dreamed up in the first 17 years of my life came to an abrupt end.
The road to becoming a violinist is very much like that of becoming a hockey player. One must start young—very young. One needs a lot of pricey gear, dedicated parents, dedicated (and excellent) coaches, and one needs to be on teams that are single-minded in their dedication to technique and craft.
My sudden change in direction was about as weird a shift as a junior hockey player who has no intention of going pro suddenly being drafted to an NHL farm team only because they happen to be playing on a team (in my case, a chamber group) with someone else who is on the scouts’ radar.
Those were the first of my significant connections to the Banff Centre.
Now, I have the privilege of sharing Banff with a next generation of young artists.
June 30 
The last day of the month has arrived. It is cloudy as I look out onto the brightly-hued houses clustering, (as they so often do in port towns) around the port of Juneau, Alaska.
Having not organized a US cell roaming package (wishful thinking?), I have not checked email or the internet for four days. This has allowed me to de-stress for the first time in years. I find myself experiencing “vacation” as people did in the pre-telecommunication days. I talk to the people around me, track my own thoughts and musings, and am present to the happenings around me.
I wonder--have we lost something in being tethered to people and places thousands of kilometres away; in being obligated to output targets seven days a week?
July 7
Well, COVID, you finally caught up with me (and just when I was getting back to my gym workout regimen. sigh …).
The family vacation to Alaska was good, though. My dad was happy to have his grandchildren near, and my mother was toodling around with more energy than I’ve seen in her since this pandemic started. At 90, she still insists on cooking and cleaning by herself; but I suspect that not having to do those things gave her energy for other things.
All in all, the last three weeks have been a joy: visiting my parents' best friends in Calgary--my elders; mentoring a creative group of young musicians in Banff, alongside an incredible team of peers (thank you to Roman Borys for inviting me!); and hanging out with my family for a week. Now, it's time to get back to creating some music. July's menu includes: a sound score for a dance film; a couple of arias; and a chamber piece for Vancouver Inter-cultural Orchestra.