Expectations
By: Fran Wilson
Tags: Motherhood, Piano, Female Pianists, Mothers, Pianists

Thoughts on motherhood and music

Twitter is wonderful in its ability to throw up connections between apparently unrelated subjects. In the space of a few minutes, I read two articles, one on motherhood and autism by Katherine May and one on the pianist Yuja Wang by fellow pianist and blogger Sharon Su.

Both articles touched on the expectations which are placed on us by others. Many of these expectations also seem specific to women, leading me to conclude that we are, as women, “damned if we do and damned if we don’t”.

Although my son is nearly 22, I can still recall, often with an uncomfortable rush of memory, the weight of expectation, the judgement and the criticisms which were levelled at me as a new mother. In fact, it began before my son was born, when my pregnant tummy became obvious to others, and suddenly, without asking, you are public property. I know that people like to celebrate motherhood, they coo and simper and ask you when the baby is due. There are others who want to touch your bump, as if by doing so they feel connected to some special, secret force. The advice, often well-meaning, often useless, begins at this time. What you must and must not do. Must/must not eat, drink, think…. These feelings are often reinforced in the pre-natal groups which many women attend to “prepare” for childbirth, and while such groups are meant to be supportive to mothers-to-be, they can often provoke feelings of inadequacy and guilt.

These feelings surfaced again, and more potently, when I was in hospital to give birth to my son. Hours after he was born, he wouldn’t “latch on” to feed. Being able to feed your baby from the breast milk which you make yourself is one of the “musts” of motherhood (and as women we are, sadly, incredibly susceptible to “musterbation”) and an inability to breastfeed is often regarded as a “failure”. A brisk, brusque midwife grabbed one of my breasts, a day after delivery now heavy, swollen and as hard as a melon — and very, very painful — and yanked the distended nipple towards my baby son’s hungry, pink mouth. She tutted loudly at my ineptitude and I wanted to yell at her that the NCT breastfeeding class, which had involved shoving a hot water bottle in an animal-shaped pyjama case under my boob, was hardly useful training for the real-life activity of breast-feeding. Instead, I meekly submitted to her invasive prodding and tutting, because I thought I should….

So began years of being told how to do it, how I should do it, what I must do or think in order to bring my son up properly. With a small baby, it’s all so new, so unknown (no ante-natal class teaches you what it is like to get home from hospital and to be totally overwhelmed by the responsibility of keeping this tiny human being alive), and as a new mother you’re anxious, lacking in confidence, finding your way with no handbook of how to do it….and unbelievably sore and tired. No sooner have you come out of hospital than you’re being urged to “get your figure back”, while also being told to abstain from sex with your partner. And all around you there are Other People saying do this, don’t do that. Like a performer on stage, every time you leave the house with your baby, you’re on display and open to scrutiny.

So you sign up for baby swimming classes at the local pool (excruciatingly awful, freezing cold and a total waste of time) or baby music classes where within a few minutes of pointless cacophony I wanted to run screaming from the room (I didn’t return for the second class) because you think you “should”, and because not joining in with these activities was regarded as neglectful (of my son) and selfish (on my part). I bore the judgemental glances, the whispering behind the hands of other mothers while feeling astonished that women were not more supportive of one another.

Like Katherine, I disliked the obligatory socialising with other parents, at playdates and birthday parties (at those dreadful, raucous indoor play centres), and later at the school gate. I wasn’t interested in the “mummy boasting” and bragging rights of the other mums as their offspring reached significant developmental “milestones” — talking, walking, toilet training, riding a bike, reading and writing. (For a sharply-observed and entertainingt take on all of this, check out the BBC comedy series Motherland.)

My husband told me to ignore the other mums, to stop comparing myself to them and to concentrate on bringing up our son. But he wasn’t at the school gate every day, the place where the competitiveness, the judging, the raised eyebrows (particularly at my son’s inability to read because of his dyslexia) were all too apparent — and hurtful.

It got better when my son went to secondary school and I was no longer required to run the gamut of the school “drop off” and “pick up”. And despite, or perhaps because of his dyslexia, my son carved his own path, eschewing 6th form, A-levels and university (which in the affluent leafy suburbs once again incurred a few raised eyebrows!), instead training to become a professional chef.

***

When I started writing my blog The Cross-Eyed Pianist and began interviewing and interacting with musicians regularly, it quickly became apparent to me that similar pressures and expectations are placed on musicians. We’re taught from a young age that there is a “right way” to play repertoire and exercises such as scales and arpeggios. A huge amount of didacticism, much of it pompous, unhelpful and frankly pointless, exists in the teaching of music from the very earliest childhood lessons. Notions of the right way are further reinforced in the formal training of professional musicians, and by agents, promoters, critics, even one’s peers. Divergence from the right way is heavily frowned upon, yet musicians are also encouraged to seek uniqueness and a personal artistic identity in what they do. In performance, musicians are expected to adhere to a set of unwritten “rules”, ranging from the physical presentation of the music to what the performer wears (especially with regard to female performers) and how they comport themselves on stage.

This last aspect was acutely highlighted recently when the superstar Chinese pianist Yuja Wang gave a concert in Canada in sunglasses. In doing so, she incurred the wrath of certain commentators, who accused her of not caring about her audience, of shutting them out, and “withholding the permission to share in the feeling, transcendence and the shared emotion of the beauty, joy, and humanity of music” (conductor Tania Miller who attended the concert). Her behaviour was also described as “attention-seeking” — paradoxical since a performance is by its very nature an attention-seeking activity, in the best possible way, and besides, much of the artistic world is predicated on attention, from musicians trying to flog tickets to their concerts to art exhibitions and stage plays.

Yet in the curious, anachronistic and judgemental world of classical music, the gatekeepers demand that performers are invisible so as to “let the music speak”….. It is indeed a funny old world.

Yuja Wang has received a good deal of this kind of mean-spirited criticism, much of it from mostly male critics and commentators and much of it unnecessary and, frankly, misogynistic. Her skirts are too short, her heels too high. Her attire is an affront to the music, it does not show due “respect” — this last point being particularly important in a world where composer and repertoire worship is prevalent.

Personally, I don’t care what Yuja Wang wears when she performs — and I can only marvel at her ability to pedal in those vertiginous stilettos! She’s a young woman who loves fashion. She’s also a pianistic powerhouse, and it would be better to focus on that rather than tearing her apart for donning sunglasses (to hide eyes red from crying, as it turned out) or her choice of concert gown.

The sad thing is that just as my pregnancy bump made me, and other pregnant women, public property, so too is the performer, and especially the female performer, and as such becomes an object of scrutiny and criticism, judgement and the weight of expectation. Luckily for Yuja Wang, her extraordinary musical talent is her greatest asset and she seems well-equipped, for the most part, to counter her detractors.

As for mothers, as I said to a friend who is expecting twins, “don’t listen to anyone else’s advice and just do what feels right to you”. I just wish I had felt confident enough when I was an expectant and new mother to do the same….

Nolite te Bastardes Carborundorum