2023: An (Honest) Review
It’s 8pm on an obnoxiously hot December day. The dimming sky is laced with gold, and, in these last moments of light, the air feels balmy and perfect. You could almost forget the heat of the day. As the end of the year approaches, I’m unwinding, and, in moments, can forget the intensity of 2023. But just as the hot pavers outside are a reminder of the day just gone, the purple tinge below my eyes is a reminder of a year that took a lot out of me.
Since 2020, I’ve written a year-end blog. In the proud tradition of creatives everywhere, I’ve used this to cast my activities in the best, most impressive light possible. We all do this. We all want to be seen as busy, successful, and going places. But being “thrilled to announce” and “over the moon to reveal” all the time is tiring (and absorbing a constant barrage of other people’s over-the-moonitude is tiring too). So, in this year’s blog, I want to give a more honest review of my year.
There were many wonderful highlights to be grateful for. I composed a Trombone Concerto for the TSO as part of the Australian Composers School. I concluded my time as the Layton Emerging Composer Fellow, workshopping History with the Australia Ensemble. The Hobart Chamber Orchestra premiered Mountain, a 15-minute work for string orchestra and synthesiser, to a warm hometown audience. And Nigel was performed by the Juventas Ensemble in the USA before representing Australia at the ISCM World New Music Days Festival in South Africa.
However, to focus only on the highs is to give an unrealistic account of the year. Any creative worth their pepper works hard. A serious artistic practice takes dedication and sacrifice, and creatives should be tired sometimes. But we all have limits. I don’t know if I worked harder than usual in 2023, or if a few big years just caught up with me. But I worked myself to a state of mental and physical exhaustion that has taken several months to lighten.
It’s common for creatives to end up in situations like this. Composer opportunities are limited and often competitive, so every piece or performance feels high stakes, and that pushes many creatives to work themselves to ill health. Once, with a group of five other composers, the conversation turned to how two of them had composed with such zest for death that they got shingles.
We tend to brush off our heavy (often self-imposed) workloads, or even flaunt them as badges of pride. But we shouldn’t. It’s not healthy. And a career isn’t built on fits of intense work followed by periods of recovery; it’s built on consistent, sustained work over a long period. Plus, there are no music prizes for best shingles. (Or are there? Brb, checking composersite.com.)
The chance to devote so much of my time to making art is a privilege. I view working hard as a way of honouring that opportunity, and I respect other artists who demonstrate a strong work ethic. But knowing when to stop is a way of honouring and respecting yourself. It’s also an important skill which we should congratulate ourselves and others for practicing.
In 2024, I’m fortunate to have several commissions lined up for fine ensembles. It’s a privileged position to be in, and I look forward to paying back the faith of those ensembles with the best work I can produce. But I’m going to try to look after myself a little bit better too. To be a composer writing on commission for professional ensembles is a dream come true…and I want it to last.
Wishing everyone a happy, healthy 2024. And I hope you can carve out some time off to refresh. P.S. I’m thrilled to announce that my piece has been shortlisted in the Bugalugs Ensemble prize for best shingles!! Merry Christmas.
Angus
