One day my mother took my sister and I to a concert at the New York Philharmonic. We must have been three and four years old at the time. I pointed to the violin section and said, 'mommy, I wanna play that.' Little did I know the implications of that wish... Throughout my life as a musician, I've played thousands of concerts on stages all over the globe and in that time I've had a handful of memorable moments that have shaped me both as a human being and as a musician. I often play the Arpeggione sonata by Franz Schubert and every time I play those first four distinct notes (A, B, C, A / La, Si, Do, La), I think back to a lesson I had in Italy with the British violist Roger Chase, who told me 'play these first four notes as if they were the last four notes anyone would ever hear you play before you died.' Heavy...I know. Bear in mind I was only 14 years of age at the time yet I understood the gravity of such imagery and the impact it would have on the way I approached music for the rest of my life. This simple yet profound phrase could be interpreted in a myriad of ways. Till this day, every time I play the Arpeggione Sonata, I approach those mystical first four notes as if they were the last four notes anyone on this earth would hear me play before I die (so make 'em count). It was 2004 and I was in the capital city of Ukraine, Kyiv, attending a summer music festival and playing a concerto with the Ukrainian State Orchestra in an outdoor amphitheater style concert setting. The weather was beautiful, the concert space was located in a park, not far from a soccer (football) stadium. That day, a soccer match was taking place but it must have been a terribly boring game because we heard nothing from the stadium. Relieved that it wouldn't disturb the concert, attended by the local people of Kyiv, the afternoon progressed without interruption. The finale of the Hoffmeister Viola Concerto is a lively Rondo form and the orchestra and myself as the soloist finished the piece in an upbeat D Major ending. At the moment we played our final note, the home team in the adjacent stadium scored a goal. The park, fans, spectators and concertgoers erupted simultaneously and the roar was shocking. We were laughing and smiling, musicians and public alike, joined in a moment of joyous happenstance. In Slavic culture, people from the audience come to the stage after a performance and present the artists with flowers, reaching up to the stage to steal a kiss or hug from the soloist. They bring home-made goodies, jams, fruits and berries picked from their own gardens. The most modest of gifts with the purist of intentions made them the most heartwarming emblems of appreciation. Throughout my travels and experiences, I've discovered that creating a dialogue with your listeners through music is more important than simply playing at them. Feeling their energy, silences, unease, excitement, and curiosity makes for more of a live interactive experience than a concert. Finding the courage and conviction to be unique, is in my opinion the greatest challenge to any performing artist. Then having the confidence to act on those convictions is the liberating moment I crave the most. The great Dutch baroque cellist Anner Bijlsma once told me 'Don't take music too seriously, it's just meant for pleasure.' My interpretation of this deceptively modest phrase is such that one can approach the study and pursuit of music in a serious manner without taking oneself too seriously.