Every Practice is Performative

The great violin pedagogue Ivan Galamian has taught some of the world's most renowned violinists. In Principles of Violin Playing & Teaching, he defines technique with stunning clarity: "Technique is the ability to direct mentally and to execute physically all of the necessary playing movements." For years, I, like many students, focused almost exclusively on the second half of that equation—the physical execution. We spend countless hours building calluses and muscle memory, believing that tireless repetition will eventually yield mastery. But Galamian's wisdom places another, more crucial, element first: the ability to direct mentally.

This mental direction is the cognitive, internal work that precedes every sound we make. It's the invisible architecture that supports our physical craft. In last week's post, we explored the "as-if" space—that imaginative realm where we rehearse a future, more capable version of ourselves. Today, we go deeper, understanding how to harness that space to cultivate the mental state that lays the foundation of technique. The thesis is simple but profound: if Galamian is right, then our awareness of why and how to direct our bodies is not just as important as our physical ability—it is the prior and more essential act.

The First Act: Begin with the End in Mind

Our work in the practice room always begins with the end goal in mind, engaging our analytical and creative faculties. What sound and what shape do we want a musical passage to be? What kind of bow strokes, attack, and bow distribution should I use to achieve that? How will my bow arm look and feel? When playing The Swan, do I envision the bird's effortless, gentle glide through the water with no wakes, or do I want to reveal the subtle forward pulsing created by its subaquatic paddling? How sharp do I like the second note (F-sharp) to be in relation to the G?

Reading the score is thus not a passive exercise but the first and most vital act of mental direction. When we study a score, we are not just reading notes; we are developing a sonic and emotional blueprint. Thus, choosing fingerings and bowing is not primarily a practical exercise to determine what works best physically, but how those choices best support the musical blueprint.

The Practice Room as Theatre: Reading Your Body's Performance

Sociologist Erving Goffman described our social lives as a form of theatre, where we constantly manage the impressions we make. He argued that "what starts out as a mask may become your face." This concept is powerfully resonant in the practice room, even though we often practice in isolation. When equipped with a mirror or a phone camera, our practice is transformed into a "natural theatre." The mirror or camera is not a passive observer; it creates an audience (you) and a stage upon which your physical movements are enacted and, crucially, read.

This active reading of our body is the essence of mental direction. When practicing long, slow bows on an open string, we are not just exercising our bow arm. We are developing an awareness of the relationship between audible sounds and physical sensations. Does the bow's travel path bring about even, core sound? How high or low should the right arm be? What sound will I hear if I change the bow speed and arm weight? Should my wrist be flexible or firm? We are consciously fashioning a "mask"—the idealized image of a particular bow stroke and a corresponding sound. Through deliberate, repeated performance, this consciously constructed mask gradually becomes your ingrained, unconscious physical reality. It becomes your face.

Technique as Enactment: Embodying a "Corporeal Style"

This brings us to a crucial distinction. We are not simply aiming to "perform" in practice as if it were a state of completion or perfection. Instead, we are engaging in what philosopher Judith Butler calls "performative" practice. It is a creative, ritualized process of becoming. For Butler, identity is not something we have, but something we do through repeated, stylized acts. She calls this a "corporeal style."

A fluid, efficient bow arm is not an innate quality one possesses; it is a corporeal style one enacts. The same is true for a clean, seamless shift. The uncultivated shift might be a hesitant, jerky motion. The new style is a fluid, confident movement led by the arm. By visualizing and then physically performing this new movement repeatedly and intentionally, we are performatively constituting a new physical identity—one in which effortless shifts are "what your body does." In that sense, our practice is performative.

Each time we physically enact a new mental image, we are building a new corporeal style. A well-developed repertoire of these "masks" or corporeal styles enables us to play music in an ever-expanding variety and imagination.

Technique is the learned art of cello playing, and it is accessible to all. It is not about being born with the "right" hands or a "natural" talent; it is about the disciplined, creative process of embodiment. True mastery begins in the mind, with the creation of a clear and vivid blueprint. It is realized in the body through the intended, repeated, and performative act of becoming the musician you envision yourself to be.

Next week, we will explore how to break down these ambitious goals, turning our mental blueprints into real-world progress by overcoming the physical obstacles that stand in our way, one small step at a time.