for string players and anyone ready to journey into practice

Music lives in the space
between the notes.

Whether you've spent years mastering technique or you're just beginning — there's a way of playing that almost nobody teaches. Present. Undefended. Fully listening.

This is where that starts.

Begin here  → Free guide  ·  No sequences  ·  Occasional writing about music as practice.

You know exactly
what this feeling is.

Someone asks you to "just play something." Maybe it's at a session, or a yoga class, or alone in a room where no one's watching. And instead of playing — you wait. You calculate. You hesitate.

It's a particular kind of dread. And it doesn't matter how much training you have.

For classically trained players, it's notation-dependency: years of learning to execute someone else's instructions with precision, and almost no time spent learning to trust what arises without a score. The gap between technical mastery and creative freedom can feel enormous — and entirely uncrossable.

For percussionists, it's different but adjacent: the rhythm is there, the physical relationship with the instrument is there, but the bridge between pulse and presence — between keeping time and being in time — nobody ever built that for you.

For beginners, it's something else again: the fear that you need more technique before you're allowed to really play. That there's a threshold you haven't crossed yet. That the music is somewhere ahead of where you are.

There is only the sound that's happening NOW, and the extent to which you're there, NOW, to accompany that sound with your fullest presence.

How many times can you recall a teacher telling you, "focus!" or "pay attention!" ? I heard it a lot. Somehow I didn't ever hear ANY instruction around how to systematically do that. This remains a great mystery... until now.


"The subject of the painting is not beauty itself — but the happiness that beauty can produce."
Agnes Martin  ·  painter, 1912–2004

Improvisation 28 (second version) by Wassily Kandinsky, 1912. Abstract expressionist oil painting in deep blues, blacks, and warm yellows.
Improvisation 28 (second version) Wassily Kandinsky  ·  1912  ·  Oil on canvas  ·  Public domain
The Dove, No. 1 by Hilma af Klint, 1915. Abstract painting with a pink heart and spiral helix bisecting a circle, rainbow spectrum below.
The Dove, No. 1 Hilma af Klint  ·  1915  ·  Oil on canvas  ·  Public domain

Kandinsky believed color was a keyboard and the artist the hand that played it. Af Klint painted from interior listening, in silence, years before either of them had a name for what they were doing. Both understood that attention is the medium.


The Free Guide

The Unlearning Guide:
5 Shifts Toward
Playing Freely

For string players, percussionists, and beginners. No theory prerequisites. No assumed background.

What it will do is name what's actually in the way — and offer a path through it.

  1. The Control Habit

    Whether it's notation-dependency, needing to know what comes next, or waiting until you're "good enough" — this is the shape of what's in the way. It looks different for everyone. It works the same.

  2. Fear Is Information

    What your body is actually telling you when you freeze. (It's not what you think.)

  3. The Myth of the Natural Improviser

    Nobody was born playing freely. What looks like natural facility is something specific, learnable, and available to you at whatever level you're starting from.

  4. Your First Drone Exercise

    One practice you can do tonight. Works for strings, frame drum, voice, or any sustained sound. No chord charts. No theory prerequisites. Ten minutes.

  5. What to Do With Wrong Notes

    The reframe that changes everything.

Includes one embedded audio example.


I've made
this exact crossing.

I trained classically. Then spent years at Berklee studying jazz violin — which meant spending years confronting exactly what's described in this guide. Then I built an ambient and healing music practice that required leaving the score behind entirely.

What made the crossing possible wasn't another technique. It was a contemplative practice — specifically, IMS-lineage vipassana — that taught me how to attend to the present moment without flinching from what arose. It turned out that the fear of the wrong note and the fear of impermanence were the same fear. And that both yielded to the same practice.

I work in strings and percussion. The two instruments together map onto the two modes of attention that serious practice develops: sustained tone for concentration, rhythm and pulse for the body's immediate, physical relationship with sound.

B.A. in English Literature, summa cum laude  ·  Dartmouth College
Graduate study in jazz violin  ·  Berklee College of Music
IMS-lineage vipassana practitioner
Performer across jazz, folk, ambient, and healing music genres

The courses exist because, after enough years, the musical path and the contemplative path turned out to be one path. You can enter that path wherever you are.


What we're building toward

Three crossings.
One practice.

Course I

Instrument as Contemplative Practice

For string players and percussionists — from beginners to the formally trained. Drone, rhythm, sustained tone, and silence as vehicles for attention practice. Where IMS-lineage vipassana and serious musicianship meet. No prior meditation experience required.

Join the waitlist  →
Course II

Improvisation for Classical Musicians

Not a theory course. A course about why you're afraid to improvise, what that fear is made of, and what changes when you play without the score. The fear of the wrong note is the entry point, not the obstacle.

Join the waitlist  →
Course III

Folk & Fiddle Styles

The living tradition beneath the written one. Nordic fiddle, Celtic session, old-time, and the ear training no conservatory offers. For the classical player who hears a fiddle tune and feels something loosen.

Join the waitlist  →

This work sits in conversation with Pauline Oliveros's Deep Listening practice, the IMS vipassana tradition, and the painters — Hilma af Klint, Agnes Martin, Mark Rothko — who understood that sustained attention is itself the art.


Begin here.

Enter your email and I'll send the guide directly to you.

No sequences  ·  No daily emails  ·  Occasional writing about music as practice.

It's on its way. Check your inbox — and your spam folder if you don't see it within a few minutes.

Or — if you'd rather start with a practice than a guide

A 20-Minute Practice: Drone, Rhythm, and the Attentive Body — a free audio practice with a one-page guide. Works for strings, frame drum, or any instrument. Beginners welcome. No prior contemplative experience required.

Start with the practice  →