Life, Novels

NATAŠA VELJKOVIĆ, PIANIST, PROFESSOR IN VIENNA, AND HER SERBIA SHE CARRIES WITH HER AROUND THE WORLD
Music Is Born in Silence
Music is a language of feelings and purification, a view into the internal mirror. Unconditional connection with God (like in Bach and Beethoven). Belgrade is, she says, her alter ego, both when it mocks and when it loves her, disapproving and gentle. Serbia is her self, her family and damnation, a country which still has its taste and scent, its folklore and mentality. It is the source and stronghold of our creativity, our ascensions. The more distant from home she is, the stronger her awareness of her roots. Her children, born in Vienna, speak perfect Serbian and write in Cyrillic. Milica and Miloš. And she further unravels the mystery of melancholic major and joyful minor, and paints a yellow house in Vračar, in 7, Podrinska Street

By: Branislav Matić
Photo: Aleksandar Dragutinović

No one pushed her. She has been playing since she was four, performing since seven and realized that music is her path and life at the age of ten. She became student of the University of Music in Vienna at the age of fourteen. She later became professor at the same University and has been there for thirty years now. She further studied at the New York Juilliard School and Conservatory in Geneve. It would take much space to list the awards, names of supreme orchestras and conductors she worked with, international concert stages she performed at, titles of discography releases. She claims that she lives in the present and reaches all distances through it.
Nataša Veljković (Belgrade, 1968) in National Review.

Fingers on the keys. It could be said that I’m a genuine Belgradian. My father Jovan was born in Belgrade, and my mother Mirjana is from Smederevo, but moved to Belgrade, to Crveni Krst, 7, Podrinska Street, present Radivoja Koraća, at the age of two with her parents and sisters. That house, where my grandparents lived, was always full of children and there was a semi-concert ”Ehrbar” piano where I started disturbing the neighborhood with playing music already at the age of three or four. My father grew up in Gospodar-Jovanova street in Dorćol, where I often spent time in my childhood. I loved that place because for me it represented the heart of Belgrade. Still, there was nothing closer than Podrinska 7. Now, I see it as a synonym for everything that no longer exists. An entire childhood was in that magical space. The most important was the garden, full of various domestic animals. Hence my present affection for animals. I spent most part of the day there. In wintertime, I used to warm up my hands on a tin stove and played on the ice-cold yellowish ebony keys of the ”Ehrbar”. Grandma Radmila was the pillar of the big family, where, accidentally, only girls were born. Therefore, our family was a matriarchate.

Belgrade world. My city, my alter ego, my mirror, with all its faces and smiles, when it mocks me and when it loves me. It seems to me that Belgrade sees everything I do, with its disapproving and gentle glance, sometimes dreaming in the fog of winter evaporations, and most often with an open blue sky which doesn’t exist anywhere else. The city with the craziest graffities, most wonderfully scented lilacs and timeless embrace of two powerful rivers. Sometimes, while the city is sleeping, I sit next to the window of the tall building my mother lives in. Only in this city I experience such moments: then I’m silent and listen to what the White City has to tell me in mutual silence. Then I see the bridge, the Avala Tower, plenty of light from all sides, our church. I move to the other side, to the terrace, and see a small part of Kalemegdan. I imagine I can see the Ružica church. Those imaginary places and streets of my city take me back to my beautiful 7, Podrinska Street. Both of my schools in Vračar, elementary and music, are still there. But the house is no longer ours, a famous café is in it now. Instead of our garden, there is concrete and tables for guests.
Otherwise, I don’t often look back and don’t mourn for the past. It was always a kind of kitsch for me. When I sit next to that window, silent, I don’t think about events, I only recognize scents, sounds; images come up before my eyes. I don’t have too many photos from my childhood, my parents didn’t have the habit to take pictures. Perhaps that is why I invite the garden to my memory. My grandmother had many birds and those are my dearest memories: grandma, her birds, cats that came to our yard, our dog Piko… I went to the Kalenić market with my grandma every day, to watch canaries, siskins and parrots sold in small cages. Walks with my father Jovan in Košutnjak, climbing trees, Hajdučka česma (Hajduk Fountain), Topčider… Those are my dear memories.
The ”Kolarac” concert hall in Belgrade is an important place for me.
My first successes, my musical maturing, first recognizing of myself as a musician is related to ”Kolarac”. My dearest teachers were there: professor Lili Petrović and professor Arbo Valdma, who is still my musical father, although he has been living and working in Cologne for many years.
Since I am a persistent participant of the present, my dearest and strongest connections with Belgrade are my mother Mirjana and daughter Milica, as well as my dear friends Sandra and Aca.

My lives. Vienna is the city of my second life, the one that began when I was fifteen. The city of my becoming independent and the forming of my artistic taste. In various periods of my life, that taste was carved and built its priorities. Now I notice that form, which, as a pulsating skeleton over the great arch of composition, encompasses its beginning and end, is almost more important when interpreting a piece. Earlier, the center of the working process was detail, and the emphasis was on dignity in style. Then came cooperation with Austrian pianist Paul Badura-Skoda, who initiated my affection for Viennese classicism, and completing my studies in his class at the University of Music in Vienna, winning the ”Clara Haskil” competition in Switzerland, further studies at the Conservatory of Geneve with the scholarship of the Swiss government, professional stay at the New York Julliard School, meeting the legendary pianist Nikita Magaloff in Montreux and consultations with him… At the time, I didn’t even anticipate that my musical base and constant residence will be Vienna.

Thirty years later. And so, exactly thirty years ago, I was appointed lecturer at the same university I studied at. I was one of the youngest, half of my students were older than me. I am still working at the University of Music in Vienna, I am associate professor, and working with students is also one of my lives. My family is in Vienna, my children were born in Vienna. Milica’s father Christian Zulus is Austrian. Miloš’s father and my present husband is cello player Tobias Stosiek. German. Vienna is the city I love because it doesn’t burden you with its existence. It is very rare today. Vienna gives me the feeling of security which I have lost in Serbia as time passed.

Turtle’s house. As I said, in Vienna I can do my job properly: play music. I love my students and university of music. And I love the fact that Vienna is not far from Belgrade. In fact, I already transferred my Serbia to my apartment in Vienna – my dog Tramp who I found twelve years ago in Belgrade, my cat Aida, who I brought to Vienna ten years ago from a Serbian village, a number of dear and important books in Serbian, numerous little things from Belgrade.
I believe one always carries their home within, wherever they live. It is my experience of myself: the home you always carry on your back, like a turtle. I know people who are trying to forget their roots, thinking they will thereby integrate more easily in the new environment. Such kind of spiritual self-injury has always been inacceptable to me. In my youth, while living in more distant cities (Geneve, New York), I realized that my automatic reaction was: the further from home, the stronger my awareness of my roots. I continued to write in Cyrillic most often. I taught my children to write in Cyrillic and speak perfect Serbian. My husband learned Serbian. The awareness of my roots gives me wings to ascend to more distant places and feel everywhere at home, because I have a feeling of identity, balance, solid ground beneath my feet.

Places I could live in. Serbia is part of my self, which I believe I preserved well. I am proud of it. Yes. Serbia is the turtle’s house I carry on my back, my family, my damnation. I can’t stay long in it, and I can’t live without it. Perhaps that is why, as I described, I transferred a part of my Serbia to my Viennese apartment. On the other hand, I am easily thrilled with new environments I find myself in. Sometimes I think that I could live in many more places.

From China. I have visited China in April, a country of the most versatile customs and people. I attempt to get to know each country through people, because a country is primarily made of people. Chinese hospitality enchanted me, but most of my impressions were created through music, sharing it with the audience. Through communication with students of music in the multimillion city of Chengdu, I gained new knowledge about their culture and traditional music. And through the boundless variety of food, through their relation towards unity and socializing at almost every meal, I found out a lot about the spirit and culture of that enormous country.

Baggage of inspiration. During the previous days, I was recording my new compact disc in Germany for the CPO (Classic Produktion Osnabrück) record company. I have always been fascinated with their professionalism in the studio, working conditions, collegiality of musicians in Germany, where I have recorded so often. All those impressions and knowledge I carry from places are a new inspiration for me.
And then again four walls, the instrument, and the home I carry on my back. And much silence, because music is born from silence.
And exactly the music makes us better. The book and the painting as well.

In internal mirrors. Music has always been inside humans. We don’t think about breathing, we simply do it. For me, music is the language of feelings. Starting from entertainment and fun, when its easy and joyful, it can be superficial retirement from reality, which we also occasionally need. Self-delusion in a way.
Genuine music for me is the one that reaches the very core of emotion, even for the price of being a feeling of loss, pain, anger, loneliness, and some hidden, anxious part of the soul. I experience it as purification of the soul, even as form of psychotherapy, a glance into the inner mirror, which is an internal inspiration for me and eternal source of fear from myself. Always those mirrors, broken, pasted again, versatile. Music, in these times of wars and artificial intelligence, transfers the message of unity. Mystery and endlessness hide behind each note of a Beethoven’s symphony. For Bach and Beethoven, it was an unconditional connection with God.

In new microcosms. Music must recite poetry, tell a story, play a drama. Music paints landscapes, portraits, biblical parabolas, compositions of colors. If one opens their senses to accept and recognize those colors, contents, sounds, they enter an entirely new microcosm. That world returns us forgotten values, establishes their order.
The job of a music interpreter is made of several segments. One is an attempt to turn our being into sound, make the instrument merely an extension of our fingers. The other is skill, good craft, which enables us to realize our interpretative idea as we wish. Finally, there is the wish to share time, caught into the form of a musical piece, with others; there is the meaning of everything.

Reconciliation with their time. The epoch of masses and quantity, lack of taste and sensitivity... I accept the present times as they are, with all their apocalyptic tendencies. I try not to be a sworn enemy of today’s rush for ”better and stronger”. I approach it as the nervousness I feel when entering the stage. I accept stage fright as a good associate and so, hand in hand, we enter the stage together. At that moment, nervousness turns into creativity.
It is wondrous how different we people are. I’m contented and happy with the so-called artistic music, but someone will consider such music as the greatest source of boredom. Perhaps we shouldn’t confront the elite minority, where ”real art” belongs, and the other part we might call pulp so severely and separate them into opposing groups. For me, real art is the one that initiates thinking and spirituality, and wakes up the sleepy, desensitized senses of present man.
When I compare Serbia with some other countries, my heart is filled with the warm feeling that this country still has its taste and scent, its folklore, mentality. That unrest and turmoil, turbulent history and courage, conflicts and contradictions in the Serbian nation have always been a fertile and inspirative ground for the birth of art. There, in that unforgettability of us as we are, in preserving that pre- with all its imperfections, there is the source and stronghold of creativity. That is where contrast appears, pain, that is where Venus is born from the sea foam.

Applauses and humbleness. Oh, perfection! It pulls us into some unknown spaces, we pass through Hades, we continue further, it is important not to turn back, because if we turn back once, we are lost forever. That is how Orpheus lost Euridice for the second time, such is the case with persistence. There is no looking back when I search for form, for a certain sound, character of a piece of music. Mastery in our profession is strongly connected with patience and working habits. Preserving humbleness after great applauses is a skill. Constantly being a student, being curious and modest. When you start imagining that you are a star, art stagnates, it lacks fresh air. I admit it happened to me when I was young: catching myself in conceit. Already during my following performance, it punished me with the feeling of betraying myself, as if I were telling untruths to the audience.

In the moment of creation. In the first phase of working, interpretative artists are faithful servants of composers. The second phase connects us to the universe, with collective consciousness, with endlessness. Players on the strings of Orpheus’ lyre, echoes of Gelsomina’s trumpet from La Strada in counterpoint with trumpets of Chat Baker on the captivating stages of Guča, polyphonists of Bach and Mokranjac in the Amazonian forests, the encounter of all of them in that one moment of creation. That phase of work is my timid attempt to touch some distant worlds. The very thought that I am sometimes getting closer to those valuable universes of old and new music makes me never doubt the meaning of art and what I do. Playing each time as if it were the first or last is mastery for me. Having the freshness, impatience and curiosity as if it were the first performance. The merge of sorrow and expressiveness, something felt at each departure. Giving a part of yourself to the partiture, as if I were departing it forever.

Sad major and joyful minor. The music of W. A. Mozart has a special place in my life. His piano concerts are real symphonies for me, with the piano as the solo instrument. His operas are the essence of everything he had ever written. In order to understand piano music, I listen to parts of Don Giovani, All Women Do It, The Abduction from the Seraglio… His piano quartets are my eternal inspiration, in his sonatas I try to reach the tone and expressiveness of his orchestral and chamber compositions. Mozart and Shubert, those two great men who know how to cry and laugh in their subtle music, left this world in their thirties and left us the gentle and unfathomable music of sad major and joyful minor.
In order to return to the music of Shubert and Mozart, I have to sail different waters, into contemporary music. And to, which I particularly like, start a search for undiscovered composers from the times of classicism, romanticism and expressionism. During the past ten years, I have intensively been recording for the German publisher CPO, which deals with exactly the same thing: representing less known music. A great number of women composers, who were unjustly deprived a normal creative path, were discovered in the musical world lately.

Unusual mom. My children are musicians. It was probably me who infected them with the intoxication with music, I don’t know. Perhaps it was my selfish wish to bring our worlds closer, my subconscious fear of separation. However, the moment always comes when they are no longer children and slowly start taking over the baton. That is when the role of the parent changes. It takes a strong internal feeling to give children the choice of choosing priorities and their life path, if it can be chosen at all. Perhaps I am not a typical example of a good parent, but it was always important for me to bring up my children with a free spirit. We, former pioneers from Tito’s era, we, children born in the famous year of 1968, we who learned different history in elementary school and at our university studies, we whose children were learning a third history, we are used to being a bit confused with time, as well as adjusting to it. Present children are not that adjustable, they need encouragement, help to find their way in such a seducing offer of spiritual impoverishment. Negating everything which is the mirror of present times is also meaningless, because it gives children a feeling of having no way out. For me, the lighthouse in bringing up children is awakening the mind and spirit through art…
Milica and Miloš are my greatest treasure, and they are already grown up. Milica has moved to Belgrade recently. Although born in Vienna, after her master studies in Berlin, she decided to come to Belgrade. I hope that more young and talented people will make such decisions, to return to Serbia or stay in it. My son Miloš is a successful cello player, still studying at the academy in Vienna. They sometimes jokingly say that I’m a bit unusual mom.

And I… I will still remain the one with the home on my back, I will write myself letters in Cyrillic, I will be called Ashatan, and I will not, I will not be pathetic. I will play Moonlight Sonata, I will play the ballet suite, I will sing barcaroles, I will ride in a gondola and paint. I will paint the yellow house in Vračar, in 7, Podrinska Street.

***

Elements from the Biography
Nataša Veljković (Belgrade, 1968), pianist and professor. She studied in Belgrade, with professors Miroslava Petrović and Arba Valdma. At the age of fourteen, she was accepted at the University of Music and Stage Art in Vienna and graduated in 1987, in the class of professor Paul Badura-Skoda. She further studied at the New York Julliard School (1988–1989) and Conservatory in Geneve (1990–1992). Among numerous international awards, she likes to mention ”Clara Haskil” (Vevey, Switzerland, 1985), ”Orlanda” (Dubrovnik, 1986), World Music Masters (Paris, 1990), Annual Award of the Association of Musical Artists of Serbia (Belgrade, 1991)... She performed around the world, with supreme orchestras and conductors. She recorded for PGP RTS, Austrian ”Zulus Records” and ”Gramole”, German CPO () record companies... Professor at the University of Music in Vienna and guest professor at several world universities. More information at: www.veljkovic.net.

***

In Suvobor
In the real world, my oasis and point of retreat is our house in Šumadija, on Suvobor mountain. That is where I stay in the summers, to study new concert programs. Of course, my piano and numerous old books wait for me there.

***

Home
Home is the place where I’m allowed to have my music sheets scattered on the floor, without anyone complaining about it. A place where I can play music without disturbance. Home is the place where our dog and cat live. Where doors are painted by the hands of children. Where there are many fans on the walls. Where there are numerous useless things from various parts of the world. Where we were closed during the pandemic. Where we can all play music and work during the nights. That is home.

***

Verse and Fan
I often write ”letters to myself”, most often on scattered pieces of paper. However, there are some noted texts, something between verses and fighting against them.
I am angry with verses because I consider them an armor. Still, they surprise me, sometimes break the silence. I sometimes show them to close people, however it doesn’t have any constant value, it’s not for the public. I sometimes paint big fans, and sometimes a lost semi-verse comes up there.