Jennifer Carroll is a 21 year old actor and writer. She first began writing for the Uxbridge Cosmos in 2007 when she had the opportunity to share her experiences as a Canadian ambassador for an international conference for women in Dubai. At the beginning of 2008, she moved to Ireland to pursue a career in theatre and film. Far From Home is her monthly account on living and working in Dublin.
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Here's to a great woman
My dear piano teacher Susan Hall retired yesterday with a gathering of all her former students and their families on Sunday. I studied with Susan for over eleven years, and she taught me to love both music and life.
From the very beginning, I was entranced by the room in which I learned. From the moment you stepped into the waiting area you could feel the tranquility that saturated the books and art around you. That calm never failed to quiet my rushed and hectic mind as it swept over me. And each day as I sat down to the glossy and responsive grand piano, the sun would glint over the keys and the garden outside would catch my eye, wild yet manicured. I spent hundreds of hours each year sitting at that piano, delicately mastering works of art I could before only imagine comprehending.
Mozart was always my favourite. He so meticulously placed everything on the page, there was purpose for every note he composed. But Susan was never satisfied with correct or adequate playing. It was always about so much more than the notes in front of you on the page; it was about the story they evoked in you. And so Mozart so delicately came alive with meticulously placed notes, ensconced in imaginative and elaborate story lines involving love, sorrow, joy, depression, agony and ecstasy.
And so Mozart, Chopin, Bach, Haydn, they all came alive with my own personal narration. Susan taught me to weave my own voice through century-old compositions, and when I did my fingers would tingle with the connection I felt. I learned very early that the story was the thing that would enrapture people.
I think I carried that with me. As I grew into myself in theatre school, the storytelling always came naturally. The core of what theatre is, the thing that brings an audience to their feet, laughter in their voice or tears uncontrollably pressing on their eyelids is what drew me to theatre lights. After I graduated, I found myself compelled completely by each story I read, by those untold and characters newborn. About finding my own voice in a pioneering role, or finding it in a script well worn and often attempted.
And when I find myself excited over a story or character, I know it comes back to the countless afternoons spent in front of that beautiful piano, exploring the plotlines of Chopin's Nocturne no. 72 or Mozart's Fantasia in D minor. They were the first stories I learned to tell. And the lessons I learned about standards, about passion and patience, they were the most valuable gems I cling to from my childhood. The deepness of my artistic voice comes from those lessons, from Susan.
After months of theatrical fist-fighting this winter, I felt exhausted and beat. Susan taught me to always listen to my authentic voice. And my authentic voice has guided me back overseas. I am only a few weeks away from returning to Ireland, with my mind sharpened and voice strengthened.
I would just like to say thank you to my wonderful teacher Susan, a woman who has filled my life with joy, thoughtfulness and music. She taught me to love stories, and has taught me how to tell them, and for that, thank you does not seem enough, for she has inspired my life's work. You'll have to excuse me if it sounds overly dramatic; it's unfortunately a bit of a job hazard.
