I chose a life in music because I love people—and because I believe in music's power to cross boundaries of language, background, age, and experience.
When I first arrived in the United States, before I could express myself fluently in English, music gave others a way to know me. In time, it also became one of the deepest ways I learned to know other people. My path in music began in community—in the trust of rehearsal, the generosity of listening, and the act of creating something no one could make alone. However far this path takes me, I never want to forget where it began.
Community & Education
That commitment has shaped my work in very different musical communities. One of my earliest professional experiences was an internship with the Chattanooga Boys Choir. After graduating from Amherst, I spent a year teaching in the college's Music Department and worked especially closely with first-year students. Several of the students I guided at the beginning of college later chose to major in music. To me, this is what teaching can do at its best: not simply pass on knowledge, but help someone recognize a path as their own.
As assistant conductor of Voices Valiant, a community choir for older adults, I came to understand a musical community shaped by long lives—and by the realities of aging, illness, loss, and change. Those realities were part of the community, but so were extraordinary commitment, generosity, and joy. At one concert, I joined the accompanying ensemble as a violist, playing for the same singers I had helped lead. From inside the ensemble, the usual distinctions—conductor and singer, professional and amateur, teacher and student—fell away. I remember thinking, simply: we are the same. We were all offering what we could, listening to one another, and making something together. These singers give so much—to the music, to one another, and to everyone who hears them. I carry that example with me.
Charlotte & Friends
I also love making chamber music with people at every level—from professional musicians to those who make music purely for joy. In Ann Arbor, I have played string quartets with friends whose careers lie outside music. Around four music stands, titles and résumés matter less than listening: breathing together, adjusting to one another, taking turns leading, and making room for every voice.
For me, making music together creates a bond that nothing else can replace. It is not music as display, but music as friendship—made with others, and belonging to everyone in the room.