F holes & Femmes

I almost never use generative AI, but I needed some help with workshopping a name for this letter. I got some hilarious options like F holes & Femmes, Cadence & Quilt, Viola Underground, and when I asked it to include my name, Strings attached (to Mari), Mari in London, in Tune, and The well-tuned Mari. Obviously, I couldn’t take any of these seriously, but it got me thinking about how I summarised my topics for ChatGPT, and more broadly, how I introduce myself and talk about my life and work.

In the past years, I have had trouble introducing myself and the work I do briefly. That’s because I do so many things, but also because I always start to think whether the person asking will understand the things correctly, if they find them confusing, and if they wonder why, and because once I open my mouth about the things close to my heart, I start doubting myself. Am I good enough to do them, is it wrong to be interested in things on such a broad scale, should I not pick a lane and stay on it?

This letter is an attempt to write myself visible. If I consistently call myself a writer, a feminist, an artistic director, a researcher, a walker, a coach, maybe I’ll start to believe that I am those things (although I never doubt whether I’m a feminist or not). There is something very personal and scary about sharing your deep interests and chosen path with someone, so I decided to share it with all of you. It must get easier with time.

I asked ChatGPT to come up with blog names that included ‘viola,’ ‘feminism,’ ‘literature,’ ‘well-being,’ and ‘London.’ It’s funny seeing your life distilled into a few words. But those are the core things I identify with and that interest me. Although I realised later that nature, walking, and the sea were definitely missing. In the end, I discarded every suggestion AI gave me, after all, it still doesn’t have the human wit and warmth to workshop them further. I remembered an old title that was supposed to become my Instagram handle but never did, and I still felt that it fit. Professionally I am first and foremost a violist, but this letter is about all the things beyond that. Of course, it will be about my life as a violist as well, as very few things, if any, in my life have no connection to the viola.

But this letter is for all of us doing multiple things, it’s a reminder and invitation to follow your own path. Start walking and the path will appear. Maybe after I have walked here, it will be easier for the person coming after me.

Whenever I’m in doubt about all this, I turn to Imogen Holst (1907-1984). Yes, I have a habit of turning to historical figures when in doubt. She was many things professionally during her lifetime, and she seemed to easily move on from things when they no longer suited her. She “settled down” well in her later forties, she was innovative and scrappy when finding employment.

When she couldn’t support herself only as a composer, she took a music teaching job. When she no longer wanted to do that, she joined an Art Council scheme to bring music and art to small villages during the war, conducting village choirs and bands. When she was exhausted by that, she was invited to start a music department at a college. When she felt that didn’t give her anything anymore, she took a job as Benjamin Britten’s musical amanuensis, and after that, she ran the Aldeburgh festival for decades. And through all that, she danced, accompanied dancers, travelled all around the world, started choirs, conducted, composed, arranged music, wrote books and articles, and gave talks.

Her life shows me that a “portfolio career” is not a new thing at all. Also, I don’t look at her life and think, wow, did she do all kinds of things that have nothing to do with each other. I think, wow, she really followed her heart and built this beautiful life. Because all those things have one thing in common - her.

That’s what I try to tell myself too, all the things I do are not random things, they are my things.

Sometimes it really pays off to look at someone who did a version of what you’re doing or want to do, 50 or 100 years ago. It puts everything into perspective. It really was normal for musicians to do multiple things before, composers almost always had other jobs, and a lot of musicians were writers in some way, too. There is no need to limit yourself.

Two months ago, I walked through the doors of the college for the first time, the doors she must have walked through countless times. Because she, too, was a student at the Royal College of Music. Sometimes, when I’m in the building, in the old corridors or the atmospheric library, I like to stop and think that I might be standing in a very spot she stood before me. And last year, I got to visit the home she had decades later in Aldeburgh. I could still feel her energetic yet content presence in the house. From a busy life could come something so calm. A small space to call her own, close to the sea, friends, and music and alone time, all there to choose from.

In all its messiness, her life looked like a life I’d want to live, too. So I continue doing my things, doubting my things, and still continuing to do them. Not to live her life, but to live mine.