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The Freedom of Art in Difficult Times

When art becomes a powerful weapon.

By Agnes LaurensPublished 2 years ago 22 min read
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The Freedom of Art in Difficult Times
Photo by Steve Johnson on Unsplash

My alarm clock goes on, I turn it off, and I turn around in bed one more time. When I decide to get off the bed, I feel lost and desperate. Also, I don't feel relaxed. "Why do I feel this way? Why do I wake up like this?", I ask myself while turning on my nightstand light. Maybe when I sit down behind the laptop to write something, I will feel why I’m feeling lost. Most of the time, my feelings will come while writing. I sit at my bedside, rub my eyes with my hands to make myself awake, put my hands in the air and pick up all the clothes I need to get dressed.

Suddenly, I have to go to the toilet when I wake up. The bathroom door makes a bit of noise, and I have to switch on the light. This light is very flashy, but I can’t see without light; it is the only option I’ve got.

I get dressed; the light-blue wide flair jeans I bought at Zara – they became my favourite jeans, and I wear them almost three times per week, my white shirt, my favourite red hoodie, and some sports socks with coloured stripes – it seems like tennis socks, but are not. “That feels a bit better”, I tell myself. I switch off the nightstand light. I walk around the bed for a little bit to open my bedroom door silently. My family are still asleep, so I have to be very quiet.

After getting dressed, I walk downstairs. Yes, the only one stair is making noise, as usual. It is that peep sound that everyone wakes up. At least, that is what my mind tells me. I don’t see it and I don’t hear it. What your mind let you think! I look around in the dark. I don’t hear anything. It's a new home since 2014, and I started living here in 2016. The stairs must not make any sound, right? Or is it the wood of the stair that is not well?

When I opened the door of the living room. I turned on the light in the living room. I need to close and open my eyes as I have to get used to the flashy light of the living room light. I put my bag onto the wooden – bench in the bay window behind the kitchen table, also from wood. It is a beautiful dark wooden table I got from my mothers' boss ten years ago. I take the laptop. I want to open the laptop as it will identify the Wi-Fi. "Hey, where is the laptop?", I whisper.

When I open the cupboard door and take my favourite mug. I startled blankly. There was a spider on the cupboard door. My eyes grew like weeds, and I kind of jumped backwards. I have to be silent, but how when you see a spider that you're afraid of? I grab a glass and a piece of cardboard to get the spider away. I'm always a little bit afraid of spiders, no matter how small and innocent they are. Is this why I was feeling off this morning?

Okay, I look around, but my favourite mug is in the dishwasher. Well great. I sight deeply. All right, I'll grab another favourite mug. I pour in the water, lift the lid of the coffee maker, throw in the water, close the lid again and I open the coffee filter tray and put in the coffee filter with coffee – always two scoops with a bump on them for a mug coffee. I find it so delicious.

When that coffee boils, I say k myself again: “I want to open the laptop”. Damn, also that kind of thing at five in the morning. First of all, I need to find the laptop first. I walked a bit through the living room, softly at the place where I always sit to write, and where I thought I put the laptop yesterday. I take a look but is not there anymore. I sighed again. My face turns into a goofy disappointing thing. In a flash, I remembered where I put the laptop. I left it on the white table in the middle of the living room. “Yes, I found it”, I said out loud. My face went a bit creepy. I have to be silent because people are still asleep at five in the morning. I was searching for ten minutes before I found the laptop.

Someone put a staple of papers on the laptop. “Yeah, then you can’t find the laptop”, I thought. I take the laptop in my hands, silently – everyone is still asleep, I walked to the wooden kitchen table where we have always dinner and where I always write my stories. I opened the laptop. The Wi-Fi still needs to be identified. That takes one more minted before starting to write my articles. I open the document I worked on the day before.

I search for an art photo online for the article. The article was about art. Mostly I write about music, mainly classical music as it is my passion. There are so many artists I love to listen to that I am inspired a lot to write poems about, mention them in my articles and spread their names. I believe in their art. Searching for the photo took a while before I find the right one. Sometimes, I find the right photo quickly and sometimes, it takes a while before find the right one.

I have been inspired by the artistry of the picture with lots of colours. I want to paint like that too, maybe one day I think I can. “I can do this”, I told myself a hundred times watching the picture for more than ten minutes. Another voice in my mind told me: “No, you have to sit for a while, do it multiple times before you actually can paint like that”. That is also what I need to do when I practice the violin and get to know the piece in its whole. A few years ago, I started to paint as well, but I am not that good enough, still trying to paint a good face that looks like that person. Landscapes are my favourite, but also very difficult. I also still need to find my painting style.

I am not discouraging myself from the negative thoughts that drop into my brain. Most of the time, I can be discouraged by negative thoughts, but I also need to write. One by one I shut them out of my mind and I try to focus. Just focus. Just focus on what I have to do; writing that damn article. Unfortunately, I am distracted too much. Again. As always.

After a while, at 7 am, my children woke up and they came downstairs. I make their bread, drinks and snacks for school. My children have to hurry because up as they woke up a little bit too late. So, their breakfast goes into their mouth fast, they drank their fresh made orange juice fast and they brushed their teeth fast. After half an hour, they went to school by themselves. They are at an age they can go to school themselves. Since the start of this school year, they were obligated to go by themselves as a rule of school to not spread Covid. My youngest two daughters are almost thirteen- and nine-year-old girls. “Goodbye girls, have fun at school and enjoy it”, I said to them when they went onto their bikes. Shoof. They were gone to school as soon as they had their breakfast. At least, that is how I feel it! A bit of tear as well each morning when they go by themselves. Letting go bit by bit.

When I saw my girls leaving, I waved and I went inside again. The table was still full of the breakfast items. As soon as possible as I could I cleaned the table. I put the laptop back on the wooden kitchen table, I sat down on the wooden bench in the bay window - I always put a soft cushion on it to not get a wooden butt - and I wrap my fleece plaid around me to not get cold - and I open the laptop again and I continue with my articles. ‘Where was I?’, I whisper to myself.

Suddenly, I had no concentration anymore to write. I don’t know why. Maybe because this morning was a bit in a rush? Maybe I felt something is going to happen? I don’t feel well when I woke up. Why? My body shakes and I wrap my fleece blacked tight around me. I take a sip from my coffee, still warm, but not too hot anymore. The coffee is one hour old.

Also, on that morning I learned that the Russian invasion of Ukraine has started. Tears scrolled over my cheeks. I wipe them away, but they keep coming. I feel so sad, my heart sank to the ground. Like it split into two pieces. Why would anyone want to hurt innocent people? What is the matter with him? This is the reason why I felt terrible this morning and that I had a pre-feeling about something going to happen? Often, I get these kinds of feelings. It always feels weird, though.

Instead of writing my article that already had a deadline a week earlier, I opened the Dutch national news app NOS and I read all the possible news available about the invasion, the situation in Ukraine and mainly about the artist in Ukraine. That caught my eye. first. I didn't read anything about the Ukrainian artists. That is very sad. I know this is a news app. Maybe famous artists are getting caught by the news? My first instinct is to read about Ukrainian artists. On social media, I started following Ukrainian artists. Nothing was available (yet) about them.

I started reading social media channels from Ukrainian artists, I started following artists I never heard about, and I read information about them too. – Living artists post stories on their social channels from their friends still in Ukraine. Some artists are still silent online. There are artists (and other Ukrainians) living abroad. Some of them posted stories from their beloved ones from home living abroad with stories (and truth) from their family (still) in Ukraine. I read stories from artists from all times.

This social media thing gets me very insane. Reading more of those stories makes me feel afraid, a bit nauseous, helpless. I want to help. How can I help? I don’t know. Tears fill my eyes again, some cramps come up in my stomach, I thought I'd had too many mugs of coffee this morning, but I know it's the news that got me insane. I stand up from the wooden bench, I close the laptop, I cut my nails, and I unpack my violin.

Feeling my violin makes me insane too. I feel some kind of spirit that I need to rediscover in myself. What is that spirit?m I don’t know yet. I will as soon as I play the violin again, practice for a few hours, and make the music I love to make.

After tuning my violin – the strings e, a, d and g, I play on these open strings just to loosen the strings, my arms and my hands - and with no left fingers. I want to see how good I feel making music that day. When I start playing, having my violin under my chin, touching the strings, I thought so; "This isn't going to be it, I'm ironing way too frantically", I whisper to myself after feeling too stiff in my hands and arms.

I am going to sit for a while. I have not my day. I want everything so badly done in a good way and I always want the music to be right the first time I play the piece. I know that is not possible. That is why I have to practice. Somehow, I get these thoughts into my mind. I always have to sit down for a bit, let sink in everything on my mind, and then try playing again. I sip my tea again.

I'll try again in a minute, because yes, I have to practice with two concerts in May coming up. I play the Second Piano Concerto by Sergei Rachmaninov and the Third Symphony by Robert Schumann with my orchestra. Two quite difficult and spicy pieces to play, especially if you play the first violin. You always have to practice, but with a difficult program like this, you have to put a bit more effort into practising the music. Something happens when practising; I am not yet concentrated. I sit again. Practising is a must for being a better musician on every level of musicianship.

When practising the violin for my orchestra repertoire, I had no concentration either, again. I closed my eyes, turned my head back and I sighed deeply in and out. I frustrated myself completely as nothing worked out properly as I had in mind. I get angry with myself over and over for at least ten minutes, I guess. I was frustrated that I was frustrated too. Do I have control over it? I could have when I put my mind elsewhere than the war going on. Or should I breathe first, then inhale deeply and try again? Something boiled in my system that makes me angry that much. What is it?

Still, my mind is elsewhere when I try to play the violin again. Now I am playing a scale in G. I close my eyes when I play that scale, trying to feel my fingers moving through the fingerboard. Somehow, I managed to feel more relaxed. I get flashbacks to my youth as a little girl, playing the violin; I am on stage, in a dark dress my grandmother made especially for that day (yes, she was there too), my first student concert with my teacher with the whole local music school. I was seven years old when I started to play the violin. I could play a bit the violin in the beginning (I played the cello when I was five years old until I was seven years old), and I heard my sister practising all the time. These are fond memories of mine.

As I get that flashback, I felt at ease, I felt the little child in me again. I realized to be a beginner violinist being frustrated too when things did not work out for me. Now, thinking about it again, I didn't mind being frustrated again. ‘It always will be fine’, I thought when opening my eyes again. Still in the position, I ended before.

Tears flew on my cheeks. Almost on my violin. I wiped them off my cheeks on time – it is not good for moisture to get on string instruments. Then the wood can rot, or the wood becomes too soft, causing the sound of the instrument to deteriorate, and in the worst case the string instrument to break. You have to avoid that.

I heard my sister playing the violin as a little kid, but I already played the cello (my parents made me as we have already a pianist, flautist, violinist, guitarist, recorder player – so, I had to complete the ‘orchestra’). As hearing my sister practising the violin, I desperately wanted to play the violin as well, just like her. I heard her practising every day. I want that too. All the difficult passages she practised. “I want to do what she does”, I thought. I loved hearing her practising. The way she makes music intrigued me a lot as well as how she managed to work out the difficult passages.

With these thoughts and memories, I try to play again. I feel more at ease with myself. I put my violin under my chin, I hold the bow properly and I did lose the strings, arms and fingers. It is a miracle! It works out much better now. These fond memories make me smile again. Every memory gives me another great memory of my youth.

After an hour, I take a break. During that hour, I practised a few pieces to try and add them to my repertoire. I am done yet and I didn’t decide which pieces I would love to work on as the violin repertoire is huge. I give myself two- or three weeks to figure this out.

As I sip my tea in another break, I remember the moment when I danced in my dance group, on a big stage – as that seems a huge stage for a ten-year-old little girl, the Four Seasons by Vivaldi, with all the groups in different ages of the dance studio. We rehearsed on Fridays and sometimes all the groups rehearsed together for this special show. I loved those shows that were held once in two years.

This Friday hour was about learning the technique and thus we started with that. I hate that, I just want to move, dance and be free like a bird. I know, you have to warm up the muscles to dance the moves properly. I always was stiff, I had not that flexible body I wish I have. Anyway, I felt free every time I danced and every time, I came into the dance studio. It was one of those days I always was looking forward to, together with my music days, even with all the frustration to get this art the forms I have in mind.

Once – when we danced on the Four Seasons by Vivaldi – my dance teacher was ill. There was a teacher to step in for her, but she had no recordings of the Vivaldi. I lived a minute from the dance studio it was a gymnastic hall, and so, I ran home to get some recordings of this beautiful piece. We had so many records of it at home.

“It is a blessing you live here close by”, the teacher told me. It feels amazing to help in this way.

When I danced on that piece, I pictured myself being the soloist on stage (isn’t that what every musician does listening to recordings?), from that moment, I know I want to be a violinist and musician in all matters. I love it so much. These little things inspired me to practice even more than I already did. Every time picking up the violin, I feel the same freedom when dancing. Even when the music is not my own. I can give all my emotions through the music I play. The music has a certain kind of cadence that I feel in my whole body; I want to participate with my whole body when playing the violin.

As I drink my cup of tea, and it was empty after sitting for a while, I feel a little bit inspired again. Inspired to continue practising the violin, making the music I love and feel the freedom. The freedom to fly through my life, through the things that matters the most to me, wherever I need to go.

Feeling free means being in peace with yourself, the human being you are and the things you love to do. Making music relieves me from the pain I experienced throughout my life.

Playing the notes again, the open strings, feel better this time. I feel I was more at ease. Still, I do not know why I was that much out of ease. Yet, I feel that music makes me a better person, being more connected to the world and myself as a human being, to other people who matter the most to me and being happy in my life. Even when I only play the open strings to feel the connection with my violin, and only before practising my music already. That is a very important moment before practising the music. After two hours, I am done practising the violin and I take a break. I scroll through my Instagram feed.

The more days pass by, the more of those artists on social media I follow, and other artists from countries around Ukraine, all telling their (personal) stories about when their country was under fire a few years ago. I read stories from their friends in Ukraine; how they’re doing and how they are coping with this war. Some are refugees now and some are in bunkers, playing music, making art and fighting to stay alive. Some are not musicians anymore; some are having guns in their hands. This makes me feel sad since the war started.

It is impossible to follow everyone, but other artists will be tagged too by their friends, I see their account names and then I will follow them too.

On the other hand, I want to get as much information as possible to inform and educate myself about the situation in Ukraine. About how Russian people stand in this war. I realize I am not that informed. Mostly, as it is with a lot of topics, I will inform myself when the topic arises - not before that. Is that stupid? Do I have to inform and educate myself before it is too late? I feel empty reading all the news. It consumes a lot of energy! The negative energy I don’t want to get.

I obligated myself to read the full story of both countries. In the days coming ahead, I know that there are innocent people in Russia who don’t want war, and have social media, but also people watching the state news. Young people know better, wanting to tell their families who only watch the state news. Even, people in Russia protested against the war. That is something! Right?

There are so many personal stories from Ukrainian citizens who are in the middle of the war, people going somewhere else – to a safer place, staying to fight and people from abroad trying to help where they can. The stories I read were so sad. I still feel sad. Even I don’t know these people. The fact they’re in this situation, fighting for their country, fighting for their existence and their worth as human beings - makes me feel sad, it feels like I am with them but here in The Netherlands. A few more days pass by. The more I read, the clearer it all gets to me and the more stories follow from people still in bunkers, and as refugees. It all hits me like a bomb. So sudden. It touches me a lot. I am always reacting with emotions, like this time; crying while reading stories.

One of these stories that touched me deeply was told by violinist Kerenza Peacock. She follows Illia Bondarenko from Ukraine. He is in a bunker, with his violin, hiding from the bombs. Even musicians – who love being on stage – need to hide. On social media, Kerenza Peacock started to follow a lot of violinists from around the world. She asked them to participate in a special arranged – by Illia Bondarenko – Ukrainian folk song Verbovaya Doschechka. In the end, 94 violinists, from 29 countries, including Bondarenko himself played this beautiful song together in a video. This video has gone viral on social media and worldwide media gave this video huge attention.

Music is always an inspiration for connection, no matter what happens in the world, with every challenge that you face. I am inspired by the courage of these people. I ask myself who I am. I am thinking about myself as a human being and what my worth in this (cruel) world is. What I can do to be a better human being? One thing is for sure: music makes me happy; it feels me connected with the world, other human beings, and even to things in nature.

I realized that I feel free because of the music I make. Together and alone. I also realized, especially in these times, that I feel alone when I am with the music. How can we share the spirit of music in these difficult times? The spirit of something good, and something that makes us happy? Something that I think of a lot since the invasion even more.

I think about a story from another violinist, Vera Lytochenko from Kharkiv, living there in a bunker now. She made a stage in the bunker and she gives a concert on her violin for her bunker friends. This is special and her music makes her fellow companions a bit special in these difficult times. This is her connection to the world, her power and her weapon for more peace.

This war made me realize how lucky I am I play the violin; I make music for being a better human being. This music heals me whenever I need to heal from whatever that might be. I feel that people from this war can heal too with music.

Two hours later, I am done practising the violin, I have done much more than I expected. I feel that I flew over my strings with my bow. After packing in my violin in its case, I turned on a random CD. I just picked up one from the CD library.

I close my eyes again, to feel the rhythm of the music in my body. Every beat I hear thrills through my body system. I shake a little bit and one arm got up as well as the other arm. Tears came over my cheeks, I bow my head, still with my arm in the air. I move my foot, and the other one. Still, I can dance, a bit stiff, but moving my arms and feet is amazing to feel free.

Dancing is still another way to feel free and to move freely. Dancing through the living room makes me happy too. Shaking up my body and being free from all the difficult issues I have to think about, and what I have to undergo.

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About the writer

Agnes Laurens is a writer. She writes for the local newspaper. Agnes lives in The Netherlands, with her husband and three daughters. You can find her on Vocal, Medium, Elephant Journal, HubPages, Music List. Writing is — aside from playing the violin — one of her passions since childhood. She is on Twitter and Instagram. You can subscribe to my mailing list, and you can subscribe to my Thoughts. Check out her books. She has an online web store, and she has a merchandise store. If you want to be informed about my online store and my merch, please follow this link.

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About the Creator

Agnes Laurens

Agnes Laurens is a writer. She writes for the local newspaper. Agnes lives with her daughters. Writing is, like playing the violin, her passion. She writes about anything that crosses her mind. Follow her on Medium.

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