When I was in my early thirties, I had a love affair with Mozart. (It continues to this day, actually. How could it not?) I was the daughter of a classically trained pianist, had taken twelve years of classical piano lessons myself, and already had a very serious thing for Beethoven rockin’ on. You may wonder where I am going with this, but hang on.
Flash forward to now. I read Austin Kleon’s weekly newsletter, one item on which was “Things I didn’t know about Mozart.” Click.
Huh, I thought. I bet I know every thing on his list—Kleon’s a listmaker—and I did, all of them, friends, because when I was deep in my affair with Wolfy, I read several serious Mozart biographies (and then some).* Crazy, really, but I was younger then and had more time to read than I do now, to follow my interests wherever they led. And then to wallow in them.
I confess I scratched my head, though, about a few of Kleon’s entries, things that made me think, Ummm … really? But he made the remark that he picked up this particular biography because it was short, just 150 pages. And I get that, but when I read a review of the book, I learned …
Even when [the author] advances a compelling argument, however, he never substantiates it by citing specific sources; time and again, we are simply expected to take him at his word. “It seems to me,” “I think,” “I believe,” “I suspect,” “so far as I can judge”—these phrases pepper far too many of his assertions.
I would say to you, then, when you decide to invest your precious time in a biography, choose a trusted, respected author (not, for example, Bill O’Reilly), someone who will lead you to primary sources and make interesting interpretations that fit with known history. It will be worth it, even if the book is a bit long.
That said, I did enjoy briefly reviewing Mozart’s life—and this one gave me an a-ha moment:
Mozart loved billiards and would often compose while playing (“Mozart had bundles of music paper in his pocket when he entered a public billiards room and composed while waiting his turn. He calculated a long break as twenty or thirty bars.”)
Do you see what I see? Mozart was incubating.
I recognized that billiard playing immediately: it’s the incubation period as outlined by Graham Wallas (we’ve talked about this most specifically here, but also here and here). In fact, something I found interesting in my Mozart reading was a description of his process. He generally had three works in progress:
- The piece he’d already mentally worked out and drafted, with which he was finished and satisfied, and was transcribing. He was always behind on transcription.
- The piece he’d been sketching, and was now engaged in actual composition, which occurred in front of a keyboard; it resulted in a draft that he’d probably incubate some more.
- The new piece, the ideas, the creative inspiration that he was thinking about and perhaps sketching out in short notes to himself.
Well. This sounds familiar, doesn’t it? It’s what I suggest to writer friends who are stuck or not feelin’ it—set it aside, think about something else, work on something mindless like transcription. I was just telling an author this morning that the nature of creativity is such that inspiration comes and goes; sometimes we just have to sit with it. Or go play billiards.
There’s more food for thought in Mozart’s story. He was born in a time when composers (even those who were geniuses) made their livings in service to the wealthy and the royal, who maintained orchestras and planned events that required special music. The social order has changed over decades and centuries—musicians and other artists, like writers, are free to self-promote—but even now it helps to have a “patron” if you’re pursuing a career in the arts. A publisher. A spouse.
Next time you’re feeling stagnant, then, consider Wolfgang. Let your family and friends encourage you. Find work that will allow you to practice your craft and will pay the bills until your audience finds you. And get out of the house and play. 🙂
* No, really (partial list):
1791: Mozart’s Last Year (HC Robbins Landon)
Amadeus: A Mozart Mosaic (Herbert Kupferberg)
Mozart (Wolfgang Hildesheimer)
Mozart (Hugh Ottaway)
Mozart: His Character, His Work (Alfred Einstein)
Mozart in Vienna 1781–1791 (Volkmar Braunbehrens)
Tweet: Do you see what I see? Mozart was incubating.
Tweet: Inspiration comes & goes; sometimes we just have to sit with it. Or go play billiards.
Tweet: Next time you’re feeling stagnant, then, consider Wolfgang.
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