Tennis, Emotion, connection

I've spent the last two weeks glued to the BBC watching Wimbledon.

It's been an amazing tournament, full of highs and lows. Disappointments, frustrations, surprises.

What has struck me particularly are the similarities between tennis and so many other disciplines, both ancient and modern. Discussions ensued at home about sports, especially tennis, being almost gladiator like.

We cheer our heroes and taunt the villains.

These sports tap into something absolutely fundamental to a human life: emotion.

I've lost count of the number of times we've lost interest in a match because it was too "safe" or clinical.

And we are not alone in this.

Arthur Fery's meteoric rise throughout this year's tournament was an emotional journey each and every one of us was part of. For many, his story made the tournament. Whilst we can appreciate the technique of a player, it's the emotion and flair that captivates us.

We all enjoy the emotional rollercoaster that makes a tennis match great and it's absolutely not just a display of technique.

The same is true of music and other arts.

What makes them special isn't just the ability of the artist - the speed that an instrumentalist for example can get around their instrument.

It is the expression of emotion and humanity that makes the difference. Warts and all.

Technical proficiency can only be appreciated by those who already have a certain understanding of what is required.

True artistry is communicating emotion to someone who has no idea of what that person is doing.

To create meaning for someone who doesn't even know that meaning exists.

That's magic.

That should be what we are aiming for. Not for recognition within our own field but for a true emotional and human connection.

Even if it only reaches one person.

The older I get, the more I realise that this is the true meaning of that elusive "success" is.

One person, touched by something I have communicated through my violin. A connection that remains long after the moment is gone. Even if we never meet again.

For that small pocket of time we were on the same plane, feeling the same emotion.

I used to think about this a lot when I was playing in opera pits many years ago. It is so easy to go into a mode of mindless, perfunctory execution, to spend the performance just going through the motions, not paying attention.

How do we refocus on what is really important?

How do we remind ourselves of the real essence of what we are doing, rather than just focussing on the job in hand of playing the notes correctly?

What if you knew there was someone in the room for whom this performance would be their last experience on earth?

How would this change the way you perform?

Would that make you try to communicate more personally?

This is, of course, much easier if we are playing solo or in a small group. But as part of a larger group we have the power to do this too. Every nuance, every phrase, expressed as a whole together creates a unity of experience for the listener.

When we approach every performance in this way it creates a more meaningful experience for the listener but also for us as performers.

In the same way that an audience subconsciously switches off when a tennis match has all the technique and none of the drama, the audience at a concert or an opera performance can tell when it's just another rendition of the same thing we've been trawling out for years.

If we lose the emotion we are seriously losing any reason for our existence as part of the wider culture of humanity.

In essence, when we approach every performance with as much emotion and intention it creates a more meaningful experience for the listener but also for us as performers. 

I dare you to try it for a month!