A Cultural Shift in Pursuit of Artistic Fulfillment

Throughout my life, my school years were mostly dedicated to violin. When I decided to be a professional violinist (i.e., practicing, taking lessons, and participating in competitions), it became my focus and was where I invested most of my time and energy. Thankfully, my effort (also including my parents’ efforts) seemed to start paying off as I improved my skills in playing the violin over the years. Moreover, it seemed as though I was on the right track, and I continued to engage myself in pursuit of my musical journey as it appeared to be the path I must follow to become an artist. However, after coming all the way to Juilliard, I had a moment of realization that I was merely a thoroughly trained violin player, not an artist.

There was a specific moment when I realized this. It was at the beginning of my first semester at Juilliard when I was still getting to know my colleagues’ names, majors and where they came from. I was having lunch with first year students Jiayun and Chris. They were talking about a piece from our freshman orchestra cycle that hadn’t started yet. Having excitement and concern at the same time, Chris said that he had so many sixteenth notes in his part (i.e., he was worried that he would not be able to catch up to the tempo). Jiayun seemed to relate to his words and started to explain how difficult her part was. Listening to Jiayun, I was surprised because I had no idea that she was part of our orchestra cycle. I knew that Chris was a clarinetist, but I didn’t know that Jiayun was an oboist. In fact, I never really asked Jiayun about her major when school started, and I assumed that she was a piano major. The reason behind my assumption was this. A few days before the conversation, Jiayun had shared an experience in class about her mother forcing her to practice, and it ended up making her dislike playing the piano. Based on her remarks, I automatically assumed her major as piano because in the society/culture where I grew up (i.e., Korean classical music education), many individuals don’t really like their major/instrument. Now, going back to our conversation, I immediately apologized and explained why I ended up thinking this way, and then I asked Jiayun her major. Chris had found this whole conversation very interesting and he later made a remark that really resonated with me: “Why would she choose Juilliard if she hated her major? If that’s true, it’s so sad.”

This phrase may seem relatable to many individuals, however, it was a cultural shock to me. As a Korean who hadn’t been living in the United States for long, it was an experience that made me realize the distinct difference in the way Americans and Koreans think when pursuing their career paths. In Korea, students majoring in arts have a huge tendency to gradually dislike their major as they pursue their chosen career path. There were some cases in which I firmly realized this. When I was in high school, I asked my friends who were in the same performing arts high school as me, “Do you still like to play your instrument/dance/paint?” Every person I asked responded “Of course not. How could that be possible?” while looking back at me as if I was asking them a random question. A few years later, I asked the same question to the students I taught when I was in Korea, and their answers were similar in nature: “I am not sure.”

Ironically, most of the students in Korea who choose to become artists begin their artistic journey having a fondness and love towards their art. However, their passion does not usually last long because of the competitiveness in the art industry. In every performing arts high school in Korea, students’ performing skills are ranked based on the score they receive in their juries. This system forms a competitive atmosphere among colleagues as it makes students compare themselves with each other. For this reason, many students regard their career path as a measurement to assess their colleagues’ values (i.e., judge them as an individual), and not as a tool to express themselves through music. Also, there is a tendency in the overall music industry to prioritize technical skill over musical expression, which pressures students to play perfectly (i.e., not mistakes when performing). For example, when a domestic competition is held, the winner is always the one who performs with a clean and organized sound showing a high level of technique. Hence, music instructors or professors give students lessons that are mostly focused on technical aspects, which influences students to overlook the value of musicality and artistry.

With all of this in regard, Chris’ words had an indirect message that affirmed to me that most of the students who come to study at Juilliard have love and passion for music as they go deeper into their musical studies / path. If I must confess, even though I came to Juilliard to pursue music, it was clear to my mind that I was heading down the line of not loving music due to all the musical educational / cultural differences I experienced in Korea. I feel like it has been so long (i.e., in other words forgotten) since I felt the joy and love for music. Until now, my current state of mind has come to a place of pursuing music just to make ends meet throughout my life as I considered music only for working matter (i.e., just playing perfectly and accurately will do). Now in retrospect, the experiences I’ve had at Juilliard have ultimately led me to a profound appreciation of my deep love for music and made me realize how important it is just to not be a good technical violinist, but a truly inspiring musical artist that can really make a difference in the world.