My violin teacher once asked me, after I had just finished a run-through of my Mozart concerto, "do you know how bombs were dropped in World War II?" "Um, yeah," I replied apprehensively, quite puzzled as to what World War II bombs had anything to do with Mozart. "In World War II, bombers dropped many bombs--we call them dumb bombs--hoping that one would hit its target," Dr. Yim continued before taking a strategic pause, thoughtfully plucking the strings on his violin. I cringed. The way he emphasized dumb gave me the feeling that a connection between dumb and Ian was to come next. "Ian," he said finally, "right now your fingers are like dumb bombs--theyre randomly dropping in trying to hit the correct pitch."

My twelve years of music have been filled with difficult lessons, countless hours of practicing and rehearsals, and plenty of frustration. Indeed there have been times when I felt the urge to put my violin out of its misery or bang the piano with my head. I have also spent many hours desperately trying to implement the latest laser-guided missile technology into my dumb fingers. And though I am constantly making improvements with regards to precision and intonation, there are those times when my fingers are still hopelessly lost in locating their targets on the fingerboard.

But far overshadowing my musical disappointments are the many wonderful experiences that music has brought into my life. Music has taken me to music camps, concert tours, and even mission trips. It has exposed me to new ideas and new friendships. I love being immersed in the sounds, the intellect, the sincerity, and the passion that music brings all at once; to be swept away by soaring, thrilling passages and be held captive by the deepest, most heartfelt note; to be so lost in the entire experience of music that in losing my own thoughts, I find the innermost part of the soul. In playing, performing, or even listening to music, I find that music is so inextricably intertwined with the deepest part of my being that I could never deny its importance in my life. And though there have been frustrations, my years of knowing and understanding music have been, on the whole, one truly satisfying experience.

Aspen in midsummer is a beautiful place. A quaint town located in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, Aspen is a perfect blend of civilization and wilderness where nature thrives and humans attempt to take in the wonders of their surroundings. During the summer months, the thin Colorado air is filled with soaring birds and melodies alike as hundreds of music students, teachers, world-renown performers, and music lovers escape the city and seek the mountains for what is known as the Aspen Music Festival. Throughout the summer, the mountain-thin air of Aspen is made thick with the sounds of students practicing and performers performing. Numerous concerts morning, afternoon, and evening are delights for anyone with an appreciation for music. In Aspen, people--and music--are truly alive.

I came to Aspen in the summer of 1999, planning on spending 5 weeks attempting, most likely in vain, to improve my violin playing techniques and skills. From the beginning at age 5, violin was a chore, something I didn't want to do but forced myself to out of discipline. Many times I disliked it. Most of the time I hated it. And the music. Music was fine to listen to, but dealing with the notes on the page--trying to figure them out, play them in tune, elicit a nice sound from my hollow wood box by moving a stick with horse hair--required too much of everything from me.

(At right: Annie and me with world renown violinist Joshua Bell...I think she's a little excited =)

My first week at Aspen was like being thrown into a place that was deceptively attractive. Aspen was wonderful scenery with not much to do besides lock yourself up in your room and practice. Worst of all, I seemed to be surrounded by people who were obsessed with music, loved music, couldn't stop thinking, talking, playing music. My roommates spent the first few nights up late listening to concertos on CD and staring at piano music, analyzing the chords and discussing why that particular composer chose that particular chord at that particular point in that particular piece. I chose to go to sleep early.

Perhaps my spirit just gave in, and I allowed myself to be influenced by my roommates and the friends I made there. Perhaps the air was so thin that not enough oxygen reached my brain so I couldn't think clearly and forgot how to hate my violin. Or perhaps I was just so in awe of the beauty of nature that I forgot how to despise the music I was trying to play. Whatever it was, something about Aspen reached inside and gradually changed me. By the end of my 5 weeks, I was so willing to play violin, so eager to feel the joy of practicing, so ready to continue attending the concerts and listening to great melodies, and so unwilling to go back to Cincinnati. I had gained new friendships, new and exciting experiences, and for the first time, an appreciation for the music I both played and listened to. And I didn't want to lose any of them.

For me, Aspen was not only musical or beautiful--it was magical. My experience there completely altered my perspective on music. It opened my eyes to enjoy God's creations and opened my ears to love the music of man.

www.aspenmusicfestival.com

On the edge atop Aspen mountain overlooking the west-side of Aspen. I'm literally on the edge...a few more feet left and I'd be just like Wiley Coyote

Megumi, Greg, Adam, and Annie--four of my closest Aspen friends--amongst the Aspen trees just after sunset. Greg and Adam (my roommates) and Annie are currently at Juilliard while Megumi is at the San Francisco Music Conservatory.

Most of our Aspen gang...(clockwise from top left) Eui, Annie, Nina, Ali, Greg, Vasilius, Josh, Me, Adam, Johann, Megumi