Embarking on my journey with the violin was nothing short of a bold leap into the unknown. It’s widely recognized that this instrument can be quite unforgiving, yet I had long held a desire to learn how to play it. This decision was not made lightly; it came after much contemplation.
My violin, a remarkable piece crafted approximately 120 years ago, is a cherished family heirloom. It was brought over from Europe by my great-great-grandfather, a German-Lutheran farmer who cultivated wheat and raised sheep in western Victoria, prior to the outbreak of World War I. Over a century later, the instrument found its way into my mother’s possession, albeit in a somewhat worn state, following the passing of a beloved great-aunt. My mother promised to restore it if any of her children expressed an interest in learning.
At the age of 40, I finally took the plunge last year. I felt it necessary to apologize in advance to my neighbors downstairs, fully aware of the auditory challenges that accompany a beginner violinist. I sought out a teacher, a renowned fiddle expert in Melbourne, and began my first lesson with the restored violin in July.
Let’s face it: when someone picks up the violin for the first time, they rarely sound pleasant. Unlike guitars, which have frets to guide your fingers, violins require you to find the notes purely by ear. I had the advantage of years spent training in piano and choral singing, which provided me with a bit of a head start. However, I had realistic expectations, especially after a professional musician friend candidly shared that it took her a solid year to produce a decent sound. Thus, I adjusted my own expectations accordingly.
In terms of goals, I kept things modest—my aim for the end of three months was simply to play something that resembled music rather than a nursery rhyme and didn’t produce unbearable screeches. Yet, my approach to practice was decidedly audacious. I figured the fastest way to spare my partner, neighbors, and my frightened cat from my poor playing was to bombard them with as much of it as possible right from the start, allowing me to swiftly move past the screechy phase.
So, I committed to practicing daily, dedicating anywhere from 30 minutes to two hours each session. To my surprise, I fell deeply in love with the process. Yes, the sound was akin to nails on a chalkboard at times, but there was an expressive quality to it that resonated with me, reminiscent of the joy of singing.
I soon realized that the violin is not only demanding but also incredibly particular about its environment. It reacts sensitively to the weather; too dry, and it risks cracking, while excessive humidity could cause the instrument to fall apart. Even sunlight can disrupt its tuning.
The most significant challenge, paradoxically, is also what brings the greatest satisfaction: to play well, one must embrace relaxation. Excessive tension results in a shaky bow and scratchy sounds. Achieving a sweet tone necessitates a level of mindfulness and tranquility that is particularly challenging for newcomers, given the initial chaos of the sound produced. However, I discovered that my commitment to daily practice translated into the discipline required during those sessions. Playing the violin became a form of mental escape, demanding my full focus and attention.
To my astonishment, I began to see my efforts bear fruit sooner than I ever anticipated. After just six weeks, I completed the introductory workbook and was ready to tackle "real" songs. Before the three-month mark, my teacher introduced me to grade four repertoire, which was a significant leap forward.
A few months ago, I experienced a milestone moment: I performed for a group of friends for the very first time, playing five complete songs—none of which were nursery rhymes. While they weren’t flawless performances, I felt a deep sense of pride in what I had accomplished. "You’re flying," my teacher remarked, and those words fueled my ambition.
Now, my aspiration is to see just how far I can elevate my skills.
