This is an essay I might use for Columbia and Common App, the prompt for Columbia is: 'write an essay which conveys to the reader a sense of who you are.' For Common App, it's 'choose a topic of your choice.' (500 word limit) History is my intended major.
The majority of life is lived in the moments, those small things, barely noticeable, which hold the greatest meaning. The sharp definition of the cloud formations off Lake Erie, or the soft words of thanks from a homeless man at the soup kitchen will stop me in my tracks. I have made it my aim to look for these, whether they be in persons, places, or things.
Whenever the chance arises, I sit down and play the piano. Whether playing Bach or Bartok, there is a connection I feel to the music, to the composer who put his or her life into the work. It is visceral, consuming my attention as I look to understand the development, the sweet dissonances and resolutions. The ability to play an instrument, for me, is perhaps the most freeing of any ability. I love the chance every Friday to drive out to Victoria's house, where I have my piano lessons. She is one of the kindest people I know. One day out of the blue, she gave me a book on classical composers, wrapped in sheet music with a handwritten letter noting my progress on top. When I talk with her about the range of music and its history, its eras and composers, there is always more to learn. We talk about composers' societies, their struggles and the sweeping force of history acting upon them.
Before music theory starts each day, I have the chance to play on the piano in the middle of the choir room, where I find solace before delving in to four part voice writing and harmonic dictations. The other day, I was malcontent that Mr. Nogowski's lecture on European History had come to an end, but playing brought everything back together for me. These two loves of mine, music and history, always transition into each other seamlessly. I feel the same connection to historical figures as I do to composers, as though I can imagine myself there.
When I learned about King Gustav Adolf's fateful cavalry charge into gunsmoke and fog on November 16, 1632, I was intrigued. He was the fulcrum on which rested the outcome of the Thirty Years' War, and with it the fate of Sweden and Central Europe. To think that this King of Sweden could have changed the entire course of history, but yet he was found dead with his body stripped just hours after the charge, seemed absurd. That such potential should be snuffed out so abruptly made me want to know more about his story and that of the Swedish empire; to study the multitude of small, local narratives, such as those of the soldiers and people of Germany and Sweden, alongside the grand narrative of the King himself. This is what history and music inevitably become for me: the little stories, with all of their inherent details. Each piece more that I know changes me and the way that I perceive all of world history, and I cherish it.
The majority of life is lived in the moments, those small things, barely noticeable, which hold the greatest meaning. The sharp definition of the cloud formations off Lake Erie, or the soft words of thanks from a homeless man at the soup kitchen will stop me in my tracks. I have made it my aim to look for these, whether they be in persons, places, or things.
Whenever the chance arises, I sit down and play the piano. Whether playing Bach or Bartok, there is a connection I feel to the music, to the composer who put his or her life into the work. It is visceral, consuming my attention as I look to understand the development, the sweet dissonances and resolutions. The ability to play an instrument, for me, is perhaps the most freeing of any ability. I love the chance every Friday to drive out to Victoria's house, where I have my piano lessons. She is one of the kindest people I know. One day out of the blue, she gave me a book on classical composers, wrapped in sheet music with a handwritten letter noting my progress on top. When I talk with her about the range of music and its history, its eras and composers, there is always more to learn. We talk about composers' societies, their struggles and the sweeping force of history acting upon them.
Before music theory starts each day, I have the chance to play on the piano in the middle of the choir room, where I find solace before delving in to four part voice writing and harmonic dictations. The other day, I was malcontent that Mr. Nogowski's lecture on European History had come to an end, but playing brought everything back together for me. These two loves of mine, music and history, always transition into each other seamlessly. I feel the same connection to historical figures as I do to composers, as though I can imagine myself there.
When I learned about King Gustav Adolf's fateful cavalry charge into gunsmoke and fog on November 16, 1632, I was intrigued. He was the fulcrum on which rested the outcome of the Thirty Years' War, and with it the fate of Sweden and Central Europe. To think that this King of Sweden could have changed the entire course of history, but yet he was found dead with his body stripped just hours after the charge, seemed absurd. That such potential should be snuffed out so abruptly made me want to know more about his story and that of the Swedish empire; to study the multitude of small, local narratives, such as those of the soldiers and people of Germany and Sweden, alongside the grand narrative of the King himself. This is what history and music inevitably become for me: the little stories, with all of their inherent details. Each piece more that I know changes me and the way that I perceive all of world history, and I cherish it.
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