My favourite cello teachers
When I first started learning to play the cello at age seven, I had the best teacher ever. That was back in the 80s, when my birth country Bulgaria, was still Communist, so I addressed him as Comrade Stoyanov. He lived with his wife in a small one-bedroom apartment on the third floor of an ordinary apartment building. I remember climbing the stairs excitedly because I loved our lessons, and because his wife would always give me sweet pastries during our mid-lesson break.
As soon as I entered their apartment, my teacher would take the cello from me so I could take off my shoes and jacket — if I had one — and put on slippers. We would then go into the living room, which was also used as a bedroom. It was modestly but tastefully furnished: two corner beds forming an L shape, a small table, a small wardrobe, and a TV. The room was full of light. The best feature was a huge armchair, upholstered in plush and carved from wood by my teacher. It looked like a throne. I always sat on it whenever he took the cello from me to show me a passage. He was the first cellist I had ever truly heard play, and whenever he played a new piece he thought I could start learning, I was spellbound.
For most of the lesson, he would stand. The expression on his face before I would start playing is something I will never forget — full of warmth and giddy anticipation. That warm anticipation and joy of teaching — is something I kept searching for years later. And I found it again unexpectedly at a cello festival in Manchester.
I was in my final year, finishing my master’s at the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama. The festival was as expected: master classes in which cello teachers listened to students to find faults and problems. Their solutions were often presented as the only correct ones.
Then Tsuyoshi Tsutsumi’s master class started. The student played. When he finished, Tsutsumi’s expression was warm and his words kind. He asked the student to play a couple of phrases again, saying he wanted to learn the student’s way of playing them. That was unheard of—a teacher admitting he was learning from a student? A fun collaboration between the student and Tsutsumi ensued. The audience was no longer stiff or serious. Everyone was chatting with one another, nodding in agreement, taking notes, smiling, shifting in their chairs. Then, simply, Tsutsumi asked, ‘How can I be of help?’
I was smitten with Tsutsumi. That is why I started learning music in the first place. Because engaging with music can be such a wonderful, beautiful experience. I spoke with Tsutsumi after the masterclass and asked if I could study with him — and to my delight, I was awarded a scholarship to do exactly that at Indiana University in Bloomington. I will always cherish our conversations about teaching and cello-learning. It was Tsutsumi who gave me the idea to study Psychology. So after a year at IU, I went to Hope College in Michigan, where I earned a degree in Psychology.
Similarly to my favourite teachers, I rejoice with anyone who makes and learns music. Facilitating a fulfilling learning experience for you would be my pleasure and privilege.