ANECDOTES , STORIES
I was 21 years old...
...when I first set foot in Paris, coming from Lyon, my native province. To take lessons with Madame Ancelin. As soon as I entered the hall of the Conservatory, I heard marvelous sounds. So marvelous that I wondered what instrument it could be. Not the flute! Impossible! Too beautiful! I was captivated and, above all, impressed. But deep down, I knew it was indeed the sound of the flute… I sat down on a bench, and it took me a good two minutes to convince myself that it was indeed the sound of a flute. That it was coming from the room on the left where I was supposed to go and introduce myself. I was frightened. I wanted to go back to Lyon immediately. Afraid of looking ridiculous. Afraid of this new world. It took me another 15 minutes to force myself into the room, after I'd overcome my fears: the price of the TGV ticket and the money involved represented a significant expense for my mother. I simply couldn't back out. I went to the door, knocked, and went in. And what I heard live changed my life…
After brief, customary introductions...
...I sat down and listened to the various students. My level was clearly far below what I was hearing… An hour later, my turn came. It was quite brief. In barely two minutes, Ms. Ancelin, a radiant woman with great vitality, made it clear to me that I couldn't be accepted into the Conservatory. That I simply wasn't good enough. I won't go into the details, but I practically begged her, saying emphatically, "Trust me, Madam! Please, trust me! You won't regret it!" She agreed. And scheduled a new probationary appointment for me a month later.
I worked...
...with relentless effort. Scales, arpeggios, fingerings, mechanics exercises, posture, tone, studies, breath control… My only guide was the invaluable advice of Sophie Dufeutrelle, my teacher in Lyon, and of course, what I had heard at the Conservatory in Paris. I rejoiced at my progress. I wept at my defeats. I was driven by a phenomenal force. A month later, I appeared again before the woman I already admired, having heard her play only once. I played the pieces she had given me to study. She bustled about, smiled, raised her arms to the sky. She asked me to stop and put down my flute. She hugged me tightly, stamping her feet, laughing. She said, "You, at least, keep your word." She added something like, "What you just did is prodigious." Once the session was over, I went outside. I sat down in a park. And I broke down. I cried a lot. Me, the kid from the projects, I was finally getting into the Conservatory! In Paris!
Never give up.
Persevere.
I was 17...
... when I entered the National School of Music and Dance in Villeurbanne (Lyon).
I was lucky enough to benefit from the teaching of two flute masters.
My «real» first courses were given by Serge SAITTA. An authentic artist passionate about Baroque Music, he has obviously given me a very strong passion for this music that I still mostly practice today, thanks to his deep knowledge of «the art of playing the flute». He was indeed one of the pioneers of the re-discovery of this repertoire alongside Barthold KUIJKEN or William CHRISTIE, to name but a few.
But the technique of the modern flute, especially that of the 19th and 20th centuries, was taught to me by Sophie DUFEUTRELLE. By her passion, her rigour and her curiosity, not to mention her contagious good humor, she set me on the path of demanding and open to new music, was my patient advisor for several years, to whom I know I owe a great deal today, and allowed me to follow the Masterclass of Pierre-Yves ARTAUD, specialist of the contemporary flute and a new approach to the repertoire.
The ENMD of Villeurbanne was also for me the time of my first «contract» thanks to Antoine DUHAMEL, then Director of our school, with whom I also took courses of harmony and composition.
The city...
...in which I grew up was, to say the least, disreputable. Even the police only entered in cases of absolute necessity...
Walking home in the evening was always tricky, even dangerous. Especially with my flute or cello. From the bus stop to my housing project, I had to take a dark road. Then I walked alongside a housing estate even rougher than mine. Strategy was key: crossing to the opposite sidewalk showed fear. That way, you were guaranteed to be accosted by a gang. Walking along the sidewalk of this troubled estate with your eyes down was a bad idea: again, it was taken for fear and too often ended in trouble. So you had to walk right past these gangs with your head held high. Answer them as briefly as possible, without reacting to their verbal attacks. And look them straight in the eye for a split second. Absolutely no longer. Because a poorly chosen word or a lingering stare was taken as a provocation, and it ended badly. Once past the "danger" zone, a simple rule had to be followed: don't look back... Except in exceptional circumstances, but that was a matter of intuition. In short, it required a great deal of tact and diplomacy.
Once I arrived in my neighborhood, all that remained was to hope that another gang wasn't sitting right in front of the entrance to my stairwell...
