Common App Essay ADMTTED to Stanford Sarah ONeill Supreme Editing Coatesville

 Sarah ONeill Supreme Editing Coatesville

As I struck the first few chords of Bach’s Sonata in G Minor, Fuga, my bow glistened under the warm lights. It was demanding intonation and purity, but I retaliated, sculpting the passages like clay, contrasting the dynamics of the ascending and descending arpeggios. Unlike Vivaldi and Haydn, Bach was focused on the intellectual pursuit of his music rather than what was pleasing to the ear. Composing melodic lines according to the rules of counterpoint, he wrote complex sonatas with a brilliant, polyphonic texture. Even so...I resisted. 

Unlike the pedantic familiarity that my fingers had to endure, my right hand floated and bounced, using the bow of my violin as a vessel of the true expression of myself. I closed my eyes, imagining I was forging through a vast forest of chords and double stops - where the perfect contrapuntal melodic lines were waiting to be discovered and dissected. My eyes widened as I switched my index finger from light to heavy pressure. My fingers began to dance freely across the fretless ebony map, my arms working in unison, caressing every sub-melody. This partita was my canvas, and I was its sole painter. Upon reaching the last note, I held it out, relishing in the grand, vibrating tone that filled the room. Catching my breath, I turned to my violin teacher, Mr. Law, with a smile.

He did not return the sentiment.

Mr. Law told me that if I was going to perform this sonata at Carnegie Hall that I must follow Baroque Historic Performance style, a strict style that involves limited vibrato, smoothness, and light bow strokes. I was told to alter every note according to convention. And that’s when it happened...my animated strokes became gentle pulls...a tear-jerking melody, filled with contrasting dynamics, was calmed to a pedantic canon. 

A single note, embellished with oscillating vibrato, flattened to a no-frills robotic pitch. My body that once swayed with the music sat still as I realized something: I was merely to be a vessel that communicates a composer’s brilliance without interference. For the first time, music felt limiting. 

After our lesson, I studied the list of Baroque guidelines meticulously, practicing until it sounded identical to every other recording. But, each time, I couldn’t help but add my own style. Met with options for every measure, would I choose vibrato or no vibrato? More or less pressure? In other words - do I want this measure emphasized or more delicate? Shift on the same string to keep the tone, or tilt my bow to the next for resonance? As I marked chords and dissected lines, my eyes widened. I really tried to remain faithful to Baroque guidelines, but my inner nature refused to be oppressed, and I knew I would stray again. I would add emotionalism from the Romantic period to counter the detached, spiritual canon. Some might call my interpretation abominable to the period, others say it is an acquired modern taste. Either way, my goal was to have my audience at Carnegie Hall feel Bach with an energetic sentimentalism.

My fight for individuality does not only apply to violin - I express myself in all I do whether it is finding my own ways to debug an impossible error or practicing my own style of jump floats for volleyball, or going against the traditional Chinese girl style with my javelin throwing arms, I let my drive for the violin also be my motivations outside of music that I never thought I could achieve. Just like in violin, with each contrapuntal melodic line, a thread of my individuality becomes louder, and all of my passions converge to compose the sonata of my (sometimes) uncomfortable, yet unapologetic style.

In that Hall, I lowered my bow. The audience was quiet, processing. I waited. Then they leapt to their feet.

Sarah ONeill Supreme Editing Coatesville