Editorial

In our artistic processes there is a complex phenomenon which links us fundamentally with hope, the hope of being able to improve or master our power of expression. With a combination of faith and doubt in our own capabilities we all work our way up, fast or slow, well or badly, towards that mountain peak¹ which — fortunately — always remains hidden.

Sometimes we are discouraged and come to a halt, bewildered, as if stranded on a platform, unable to find the means of climbing further. At other times, filled with euphoria, we scale the most difficult sections quickly and easily without looking back.

Often it is difficult to mould the character we would like to be (often it is the character we already are, finally revealing itself!). Think of the “internal dialogue” we so often have while practising. We step outside of ourselves to give ourselves orders or encourage or insult ourselves. Sometimes we use the first person (“I”), sometimes the second (“you”). In this way we forge the essential tool of awareness. The franker this dialogue is (not always easy!), the deeper that awareness becomes and the more this truth will favour the realisation of our ambitions.

What does all this have to do with brass? Behind every mouthpiece is a man or woman struggling, through his or her breath, with his or her identity, sensitivity, faith and hopes in an environment which is seldom ideal. Our instruments, which are capable of such power, should not delude us about our own fragility. At every moment they oblige us to offer and to accept the extraordinary challenge of our existence.