By: Veronica Kogan

Some students have a background, identity, interest, or talent that is so meaningful they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story.

Music has been a part of my life since I started walking. As a true Russian, I began dancing ballet at three years old–along with character, jazz, modern–all the way through middle school. My early years in ballet taught me to deal with anxiety and failures on stage. We received a drill before every performance, when the teacher played “Smile, girls”  to boost morale: 

                 What you must keep in mind as the act curtains part

                 is the primary law of theatrical art. 

                 Get style girls and the customers will stay…

                 Smile girls

                 and when the act begins to sag drag out the flag

                 and smile!

I’ve been on stage as a dancer, a pianist, and a singer. And this song still goes through my head before every performance. 

I consider myself lucky because I get to express and process music through many channels– physical, vocal, and tactile. Russian music is known and loved for its expression of the human experience, and I strongly connect to it thanks to my training as a dancer. 

But the powers-that-be politely guided me away from ballet by giving me a sprained ankle, broken toe, and twisted tailbone (I had to sit in a special chair to keep practicing piano). From now on, I’d experience speed and emotion through my fingers, not my feet. 

Besides the dance injuries, getting a concussion when I was in fourth grade was the best thing that happened for my music career. As if the powers-that-be literally hit me on the head again–what are you doing? Get a new teacher! My piano teacher then was a dry, old-school Russian lady who recommended that my parents put me in the garage and let me in the house only if I practiced. Two months after my injury she yelled, “Get out of my studio, you lazy bum! All your boo-hooing about your concussion is pretend so that you don’t have to practice! Your sister is the only one who works hard and doesn’t sound like a stray cat in Russia.” And so she threw me out.

I should send her flowers because otherwise I would’ve never saved my technique and fallen in love with music. 

My new teacher was a fiery Polish pianist who introduced me to the world of Chopin. I love his music for its delicate intricacy and quiet power. As a dancer, I can appreciate the footwork in Chopin’s mazurkas. As a pianist, I dream of the day when I can play them with the lightness and sensitivity that wouldn’t make Chopin turn in his grave. Like Russian music, his pieces are full of joy, tinged with sadness from long histories of wars and oppression–he reminds me to maintain my spirit through music.

Just this past summer, I played his “Black Key Etude” in a masterclass for an expert Chopin pianist. He told me I’d turned Chopin’s masterpiece into a technical drill. I felt like falling through the floor, but I had to drag out my battered flag and smile in the face of crushing critique. Equally important to strong technique, he said, is the talent of listening–but to be good at listening, I’d have to know what I’m listening to. For the next few weeks I poured myself into analyzing the nuances of the etude. I soon found that I’d been deceived by the flashiness of the right-hand melody, ignoring the sweeping dynamics that turned the technical workout into a work of art. The piece that had caused three breakdowns was now whisking me away into a fantastical land of fairies and kings, stripping away the stress of high-school life. Like my teacher says, “This is what it’s all about–turning pain into beauty.”

Music has been a part of my life since I started walking, and now my favorite place in the world is next to my piano–playing, reflecting, and listening to music.