I occasionally play works by contemporary composers and for two reasons. First to discourage the composer from writing any more and secondly to remind myself how much I appreciate Beethoven.
Jascha HeifetzRead
Criticism does not disturb me, for I am my own severest critic. Always in my playing I strive to surpass myself, and it is this constant struggle that makes music fascinating to me.
Interpretation
The quote emphasizes self-criticism as a driving force for personal improvement in music.
Jascha Heifetz's quote reflects the idea that true mastery and passion in art come from within. Rather than being discouraged by external criticism, Heifetz finds motivation in his own pursuit of excellence, striving to transcend his past performances. This internal drive not only enhances his skills but also enriches his musical experience, making the act of creation inherently captivating.
In practice
In a motivational speech about artistic pursuits, this quote can inspire musicians to focus on self-improvement.
I occasionally play works by contemporary composers and for two reasons. First to discourage the composer from writing any more and secondly to remind myself how much I appreciate Beethoven.
If I don't practice one day, I know it; two days, the critics know it; three days, the public knows it.
No matter what side of the argument you are on, you always find people on your side that you wish were on the other.
Can you appreciate music without playing it? Yes, you can. You can appreciate baseball without playing it. Many people attend a football game merely for the crowd, the excitement, the color.
I don't have a clear biography of my own that I could recount in an interesting way. I'm made up of the characters that I pulled out of my head, that I invented.
Only through art can we emerge from ourselves and know what another person sees.
Give me a museum and I'll fill it.
We need to take music out of the ivory tower - both for musicians and for the public. Otherwise, classical music will not survive the 21st century.
You cut up a thing that's alive and beautiful to find out how it's alive and why it's beautiful, and before you know it, it's neither of those things, and you're standing there with blood on your face and tears in your sight and only the terrible ache of guilt to show for it.
I wish I could write. I get these ideas but I never seem to be able to put them in words.
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