On Workshops
How does one progress from individual to collective exercises? Are there differences in the approach? To what extent is a strict methodology necessary? In search of answers to these questions, I reached out to the administration of the Jazz Department at the University of Music and Performing Arts Graz (KUG), offering to conduct a semester of regular free improvisation workshops, an offer they graciously accepted.
As described in the On Practicing section, one approach to understanding the learning process in the context of free improvisation involved a review of existing methods and approaches. The distillation of these ideas led to a fluid state between structure and adaptability, mirroring the practice itself.
The elements that remained consistent across all the workshops I led were an initial process of acclimatization, primarily to the social context, followed by a brief discussion on free improvisation. What often emerged from this discussion was the observation that many students perceived free improvisation from a more genre-oriented perspective: free as an aesthetic category or musical genre, rather than free as a method or approach to creation. In this sense, the dichotomy between genre and method became a useful framing device, an entry point for addressing preconceived notions and for creating an environment in which experimentation could take precedence, with aesthetic judgments set aside for the duration of the workshop.
Another element that was “prepared” was a toolbox of potential exercises I could use to address specific situations. What became clear in my own solo practice is that approaching this type of work always involves a form of reduction or framing—choosing one or a few elements from the multitude present in free improvisation and directing my awareness toward them. Practically, this might mean deciding to focus solely on beginnings or endings, hierarchical considerations (what it means to lead, to follow, etc.), formal elements, or parameters. It could also mean playing within frameworks designed to overload certain parts of my processing abilities, allowing me to explore what I fall back on, how I respond to being overwhelmed, and where my technical limitations lie, not only instrumentally but also perceptually, cognitively, and emotionally.
Following my introduction and a brief discussion, we would proceed to our first playing session, without any attempts to directly influence the proceedings, once again taking George Lewis’s advice to “throw them in the deep end and work with what naturally happens” (quoted in Borgo 2022, p.10). These first attempts were always highly revelatory, revealing how students naturally assumed certain hierarchical roles, how they perceived themselves in relation to others, and how their perceived level of experience—or lack thereof—affected their degree of participation in the session.
After the playing session, we would hold a round of reflection to gauge which elements were perceived by the group members, what was deemed a success or a failure, and how they differentiated between structural and emotional characteristics. These discussions were the most revelatory part of the process, as they allowed me to experience the wealth of perspectives students brought to their reflections. The multiple interpretations of the same event—shaped by the students' diverse backgrounds—highlighted the multiplicity of improvisational practices. Throughout the workshops, it became increasingly clear that the process of reflection-on-action was a crucial element in the working method: reflection as a tool for learning, for thinking forward, backward, and in the now. A tool that could be cultivated, developed, and integrated into the art form itself. From this, a set of new questions arose: How can I engage with the notion of reflection artistically? How can I make it a part of the performance? And what knowledge can be gleaned from this process?