I’ve noticed that I have a similar pattern both in learning new music by another composer and in creating new music myself.
First there is the “I have a dream” stage: maybe I’ve heard and loved this Beethoven sonata, or maybe I have caught a sound of a new piece in my imagination. I know I want to learn/create the new music. I am full of anticipation!
I start to work on the new repertory or the new composition. Sometimes that can be rather frustrating because what I hear in my imagination (whether it is repertory or new work) is somewhat out of reach. But I know it’s there. At this stage my memory of the dream keeps me in the game.
(I believe that I ought to be able to skip this first stage & get right to the next stage, but for some reason I usually do this first. I think the truly great practicers know how to minimize this stage — advanced practicing: how to make one’s work play. And of course, there are the compositions that come to me essentially fully formed. A Handfull of Quietness was one of those; so was The Never-Ending Starlit Road. It is a thrilling experience to sit and cognize new music and know as I play it that it is just perfect.)
Then there is the “try everything” stage. If it’s repertory, I become my own teacher and start creating practice assignments for myself, all with the idea of getting over the frustration. I think what I would tell my student who was having these challenges. It still feels like work, but it is work with a purpose. Momentum is picking up a bit.
In the “try everything” stage of composing, I just generate ideas. I want to discover any musical idea at all that might go with my new piece. Usually in this phase, if I play through the new piece it sounds like a true mess. There’s no other word for it.
At a certain point, though, all of a sudden I am past some barrier. In repertory, most of the technical issues are worked out, or if not mastered yet, I am at least experiencing regular improvement from the assignments I created for myself. In composing, I am finally starting to hear in the music what I could hear in my imagination. What really belongs in the piece becomes clearer each time I play it.
Now I’m stalking the wild piano piece. This is the truly fun part, almost more fun that performing the music once I have it learned or composed. In learning repertory, this is the phase where I finally love to repeat sections, use the metronome, do my technique work. I can hear the music refining itself each time I play the new piece; I can feel the confidence in my hands. It’s almost intoxicating.
In composing, this is when I am usually simplifying and throwing notes away (so to speak). Because I can hear my imagined music in my real music, the idea of the piece becomes stronger each time through. What two days ago was a mess is suddenly coherent and focused. Also, usually it is easier to play music that makes sense than music that is all a jumble. Much easier!
This is where I am with The Donkey Drag (aka Mr Darcy’s Lament). Really it is a pretty silly piece; how could it not be? I’m writing a piano piece about my donkey, a creature with smarts, a strong will, and a goofy personality. He’ll do anything I ask, as long as it is his idea.
So I’m composing music with a plot. He brays, we walk, he notices the rope & kicks, he digs in his heels. The braying music has always been pretty clear in my mind, but it wasn’t until I created the kicking music that the piece began to emerge from my muddled imagination. Now when I play it, it’s fun, it’s energetic, and most of all it is clear.
The only downside: if I work on this music in the evening, sleeping is hard to come by. I won’t ever play it last on a concert; that would just be unfair to the audience!