Sometimes my students ask me about making harp videos, since I regularly create videos and post them on my YouTube Channel. Actually, they don’t ask. They assume that it’s a magically effortless process for me. “I bet you’ve never been stressed out trying to record an audition, with a noisy dog and a glitchy video,” they tell me. I explain that filming is frequently challenging for everyone, but they remain skeptical. 

Since my straightforward explanations aren’t sufficient, I’ve been wondering: what’s the best way to explain to them, or other people out and about in the world, what filming is actually like? It’s certainly not as simple as pressing record and playing the piece once.

After mulling it over, I’ve realized that when it comes down to it, filming is a lot like building a fort as a kid. You know the kind I mean—elaborate extravaganzas of cushions and blankets, precariously leaning against a couch. If the fort builders sneeze too hard, the entire thing will most likely come crashing down on them, but that’s okay because they’re so excited about building the best fort ever! At least, they are at first, until they discover that one wall is already starting to cave in, and it’s really rather squashed in there. Then they think about cleaning everything up and they wonder why they made it quite so involved. They survey the toppled chairs that they left in their wake and give a groan.

Making a video always starts out so well. On filming day, I am up early and full of energy. I place my harp, mic, lights, and camera. Everything is organized, and I am sure the process will go much more smoothly than the last time. I tune for the third time, feeling serene. Then I eagerly do a test shot.

“Hmm,” I think, “maybe the lights should be a little further back from the harp.” Since I have time and this is going to be my best effort yet, I go ahead and move the lights, which necessitates adding an extra extension cord, and try again. “Perhaps I need a backdrop behind the harp?” And I grab a step stool and a hammer and start trying options. “What are a few nail holes among friends?” I think as I press record. 

Before long, I have finished recording the first section. I set up for a new shot and find that there’s now a glare from the window. I adjust the blinds, but to no avail. I push a chair in front of the window and precariously stack my harp cover and winter coat on top to block the light. This is a bit of effort and things aren’t quite so tidy as they were earlier, but the glare is gone!

There is a mournful beep as my camera battery dies. I can feel my enthusiasm dying too.

I move back to my harp and re-tune the top octave with only a slight sigh. Then, since I turned off the heat to minimize furnace noise, I jog upstairs to find some warm socks for my cold feet. I’m not feeling quite as chipper as I was at the start of the day, but am still determined that this is all well worth it.

When I finish the next section, I walk over to stop the camera, but become tangled in the extension cords snaking across the floor. “Why did I ever decide to film such a long and complicated piece anyway?” I wonder, but resolutely push the thought away. I gingerly edge my way around the forest of lights and tripods and head to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Surely this will revive me! But all it does is burn my tongue. 

I abandon the tea to cool in the kitchen and return to my harp. Halfway through the next take, a strand of hair gets tangled in one of my earrings, and I have to stop to extricate myself. I breathe deeply and focus on the music again. Just when I’m playing really well, a neighbor roars down the street on a motorcycle. I swear once, maybe twice, and stomp (carefully!) back to the kitchen for my tea, which is now chilly. There is a mournful beep as my camera battery dies. I can feel my enthusiasm dying too.

When I finally finish filming a few hours later, I am exhausted. I put on my winter coat for warmth, inhale a cookie, and survey the disaster that surrounds me. The harp still looks lovely, but all else is chaos. Various equipment cases are strewn everywhere. There is a t-shirt taped to the chandelier to diffuse the light and a laundry basket propping up a shaky tripod.

I realize, with a groan, that I will now need to clean up this mess…perhaps after a few more cookies. •