To Drive the Cold Winter Away: true confessions

So much of my artistic work is solitary. Writing and arranging and rehearsing takes place alone, in the living room, with only some patient cats for audience and company.

Harry, he loves harp music.

But rehearsals with my band make all that solitary work worthwhile. Notes scribbled on staff paper become rich layers of music – music that sounds even better than it does in my head. The set list comes alive with rhythm and movement. The concept of "concert" becomes "experience" and warmth.

And joy. Lots of joy.
We had a wonderful rehearsal tonight.

I do have another confession, though: I didn't officially decide to go ahead with this year's To Drive the Cold Winter Away concert until November 1st. That meant I had 27 days (and counting, quickly) to get a concert together. Set list, arrange the music for the band, set up rehearsals, rehearse, promote, perform.

Why the wishy-washiness? I didn't know if I'd be able to funnel the artistic fire that's been burning since coming home from Paris into a single, coherent event. I felt all over the place with all that creativity and it was blowing my circuitry:
I'm going to write a book!
I'm going to make a recording of original music!
I'm going to move to Paris and play my harp in the metro for Euros!
I'm going to get a dog!

Blaaah! See? All over the place.

Plus, I just didn't know if I would have the energy after all that...expansion...I'd experienced. Soul searching and creative output and art overload mixed with a totally new environment and a foreign language was both exhilarating and exhausting.

I changed my mind a million times that first week I was home. There was a lot going for having a concert: tradition, audience expectations, responsibility to share my music. But there was a lot going for not having a concert, too: namely, preservation of my sanity.

During a break in the action at the Women & Spirituality Conference over Halloween weekend, I was playing everything and nothing in particular on my harp and got inspired...French carols, French carols, French carols. Made some frantic notes. Realized I knew quite a few French carols, both familiar and lesser known. And something began to take shape. OK, so now there was a set list, but would I be able to pull everything off with less than a month to go? Would I be able to see it? Feel it? Make it happen?

That entire weekend while I presented and played, the germ of the concert stayed with me. While I shopped booths of crystals and rocks and art and jewelry and books and fabulous clothes, it was still there. And when I put on a green taffeta jacket, it hit me:

I wanted to give this concert. I wanted to create and deliver the experience for people, and for myself.

I simply wanted to.

Tradition, expectations and responsibility suddenly seemed ridiculous reasons to go forward with any artistic endeavor. And worries about my sanity ceased. I stood there in that beautiful, shimmering green jacket and released years of "have-tos" and "shoulds" and "you-always" and "what-ifs." My attitude about performing did a 180 in that moment. Whether it was the power of great fashion or the buzz from all those crystals and rocks surrounding me all weekend that tipped my mind in the right direction, I don't know. But I'm never one to waste a revelation.

It's now 17 days and counting. The set list and arrangements are done. Rehearsals are underway. The Amy Kortuem Promotion Machine (me) is in high gear. Music is flowing steadily from the harp corner of the living room.

I can't wait to share it all with you. While wearing green taffeta and a brand new attitude...