Notes on a Collaboration

by Andrew Burashko.

When I first met Peggy in January of 1991, I was at the threshold of a career as a concert pianist - a career I only ever imagined as a soloist, sometimes sharing the stage with other musicians - a solitary pursuit with not much room for anything else. I knew nothing of modern dance or any other kind of dance for that matter; and I only knew of Peggy Baker as the ex-wife of the composer Michael J. Baker with whom I had worked.

Peggy had just returned to Canada after a decade in New York and was looking for a pianist to perform a work that Mark Morris had given her as a gift when she left White Oak Dance Project. It was a work titled Ten Suggestions which was choreographed for solo dancer to Ten Bagatelles for solo piano by Alexander Tcherpnin. When Peggy first reached out to me, I saw it as a gig that would earn me some sustenance between ‘real’ engagements - solo recitals and concerto appearances. It seemed like a compromise - a job for a pianist incapable of commanding the stage on their own. This was my fragile, young ego talking, of course.

I remember showing up at the first rehearsal with a metronome to capture the exact tempi Peggy wanted, imagining that I would need to follow her. It was a relief to learn that she wanted me to play the music as I felt it. That was the beginning. For the next twenty years of our collaboration she encouraged me to choose the music – pieces I yearned to play – and allowed for my interpretations to inform her choreography. It was a revelation to see the music I was playing manifested in her movement. Not only in terms of her expression but also as a counterpoint. When making music with other musicians, everyone must be on the same page emotionally and intellectually. It’s not possible for one musician to be still or serene while a musical storm is raging around them. It was a shock to see her choreography seemingly contradict instead of mirror my idea of what the music was saying. It brought another level of nuance to my understanding of music.

Peggy also revealed an entirely new world to me by exposing me to the remarkable discipline and beauty of dance; and by helping me discover a new paradigm for myself as a classical musician. She brought me out of the spartan environment of the concert hall and into the magical and mysterious world of the theatre – lighting, staging, the possibilities of creating another world for the music – things I had never considered before and that I embraced and incorporated into Art of Time concerts.

The lessons were plenty and the growth profound. In short, I wouldn’t have found the path I am on today without having met Peggy.

Thank you dear friend.

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Encoded Revision (1997)

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Why the Brook Wept (1996)