A surge of exhilaration and ecstasy swelled inside my heart as I watched the Miró Quartet perform the last movement of Dvorak’s American String Quartet.

With his eyes closed and a slight frown across his forehead, the first violinist gracefully swayed back and forth to the pulse of the music, keenly vibrating the highest note on his E string.

Sitting further behind the first violinist, the second violinist almost stood up from her chair to play her solo part and twisted her body in all kinds of motions to be heard by the audience. A deep and rich sound exploded from her small frame.

Then the cellist, unable to control his rousing emotions, hugged his instrument and danced with it, moving right to left while stomping his feet on the ground.
And finally the violist, who had been carefully watching all the cues given by the other members of the quartet, suddenly wheeled around his chair and turning directly towards the audience, started to crank out his once-in-a-lifetime solo part with utmost conviction.

Zealously observing every single breath and gesture of the musicians, I sat at the very edge of my seat, stunned by the emotionally overwhelming performance and unbelievably thrilled at the thought of soon entering this new enchanting world of music.

The summer of 2010 marked the beginning of my chamber music journey. For three weeks, I attended a local chamber music festival called Music@Menlo, watching numerous concerts of famous professionals such as the Miró Quartet and the Emerson String Quartet and playing with fellow musicians at the camp.

As a violist myself, I was especially inspired by the splendid performance of professional violists. During my own concerts, I tried emulating not only their rich sound but also their way of communicating with other members of the quartet and using expressive body language to convey musical ideas.

Amidst all the learning and performing, I found myself falling in love with playing chamber music. I liked performing as a chamber group that was small enough so that each member’s part was crucial to the music yet big enough so that there was less pressure weighed on each player. After spending hours in the rehearsal room trying to fix a small section in the piece, it was pure bliss to hear the split-second perfection of four separate voices coming together in complete harmony and matching tone.

Most of all, however, I really began to appreciate chamber music because it taught me more about interpersonal relationships. Chamber music is much more than just a group of people reading a sheet of music at the same tempo and same dynamic; it is an interaction, a conversation, between different characters. Like playing in a sports team, performing chamber music is a collaborative effort. Even if the first violinist is a winner of the most prestigious music competition and plays exceptionally well, the quartet collapses when not all four musicians are playing together. Instead of competing with one another to dominate the stage, we support each other’s sounds with our own, and let certain members of the quartet shine when they have their solo moments. This sense of unity and cooperation that overshadow excessive individualism and egoism is what makes chamber music truly beautiful to me.