“Violincello [sīc.]”

A neuroqueer coming-out narrative recital

Verity James Scheel

transfeminine & autistic cellist + logician

she | they | xe, xem, xyrs | he

Performing

works

of

J. S. Bach

with storytelling + intermission

https://youtu.be/RRk5hZBH4kc

4–6pm EST on the 16th of October 2021

https://soundcloud.com/violonscheelist/sets/violincello-complete

https://monoidmusician.github.io/violincello.html

About the performer

Verity James Scheel (née Nick Scheel) is a transfeminine, autistic cellist in her fourth year at Bard College & Conservatory where she is a recipient of the Luis Garcia-Renart scholarship.  Growing up in Minnesota, their growth as a chamber musician was shaped by the Artaria String Quartet through five summers at Stringwood as well as Artaria’s Chamber Music School during the school years.  They’ve also attended International Cello Institute in 2015, Interlochen Summer Camp in 2016, and ENCORE Chamber Music Festival in 2019 and 2021.  Verity was mostly homeschooled but she attended classes at public school and in colleges before graduating high school and coming to Bard.  Xe is currently working on xyr senior project in mathematics, though, as always, you will find xem among xyr true passions, which lie at the intersection of maths with computer science, linguistics, and logic: that is, the principles of programming language design, (higher) category theory, and (homotopy) type theory.  One day she hopes to incorporate computer art into music performance, but has been too busy to attempt serious projects along those lines.  He dabbles in other forms of art+design, like user interface design, photo editing, puns, fonts, constructed languages/scripts, poetry.  Their favorite kind of party is chamber music sight-reading parties: invite them next time you’re planning one!

Why I’m here

As you can probably tell by now, I don’t fit into boxes very well, I don’t do what’s “popular”.  In fact, I drift towards esoteric modes of expressing myself and choose obscure corners of various subjects as my passions.  I don’t get along in society by default, either: I’ve found my friends, to be sure, but always on the fringes of social engagements, because I’ve never felt comfortable in the centers of social circles.  It took me a while to find out that there’s a name for this, though: these are my autistic traits poking through.  Like, I’m either talking on autopilot because I already scripted our conversation in my head, or pausing awkwardly and deflecting because I haven’t.  There’s also an explanation for why I could hardly practice for 20 minutes before spending 2 hours programming: that’s likely ADHD.  These are both crude names for vast spectrums of overlapping neurodivergencies; our neurodivergent brains are literally wired different from the normal, and these differences manifest in so many ways throughout our lives that it is hard to describe and circumscribe these differences: there’s much more to it than any labels could capture.  And yet these labels are how we find community, commonality, understanding, acceptance.  They serve their purpose in providing platforms to talk about these deep aspects of ourselves.

But when I set out on my journey of self-discovery, that is in fact not what I was expecting to find out about myself.  The thing is, I already knew I was trans, I just wasn’t ready to really admit it to others or even myself yet.  At times, my experience of gender dysphoria was pretty intense during that period, which had the silver lining of confirming for me that I was trans.  (Disclaimer: I absolutely do not believe that dysphoria is necessary for being trans. But it is a common part of our experience nonetheless.)  But a lot of that eased when I let myself readjust my relationship to gender – both mine and gender in general.  We’ve formed an understanding with each other. We’re chill. And yet it still is so lonely being closeted to most of my friends, and yes, it hurts sometimes, makes me sad, anxious, quiet.  I can deny it only for so long.  So here I am, coming into a public life that is (hopefully) finally livable and enjoyable for me.  I mean, I’m just starting, so give me some space, but it’s gonna be great.

I chose my name Verity for many reasons: it was such a profound realization that I could take it as my own – as myself – that I ugly cried for days, and it’s really served as the catalyst provoking a more public coming out on my part (along with this recital idea, which came on the heels of my name discovery).  It’s deeply emotional for me, and I really appreciate the people in my life who have been using it for me.  But more seriously (or analytically), it captures my love of languages and logic (it comes from “veritas”, meaning “truth” in Latin), it reads as lightly feminine, lilac, and lavender (at least to me), and (most importantly) it’s a Noun Name (inside joke).

I’m not too particular about pronouns, feel free to mix it up, but I listed them in rough order of my preference so please keep that in mind when referring to me.  I prefer identity-first language (“I am autistic”/“autistic cellist” instead of “I have autism”/“cellist with autism”), like most autistic people, but you shouldn’t feel the need to jump through linguistic hoops to make it work.  Keep in mind that all of this language is problematic and describes shifting, fuzzy categories within current social conceptions at best.  At worst, language is pathologizing, a tool of (intersectional) oppression, and a distraction from what really matters: people, as complex and complicated as we are.  Respect is so much more than choosing the right words, but you know, you should try.

Still, I think it is important to talk about queerness and neurodivergence using the language we have. They’re essential parts of understanding my life: at least within our current social frameworks, they are the best I have at describing myself.  I am transfeminine, nonbinary, genderqueer.  I am quoiromantic, graysexual, aspec.  I am autistic with ADHD, happily neurodivergent.  Proudly neuroqueer.  Happy to respectfully converse beyond the labels!

About my music

To answer your burning question: I’m not reading any “cello transcription” of the Sonatas and Partitas.  I am simply reading off of the violin urtext and transperforming it, if you will.  Of course I’ve had to make many cellistic & artistic decisions to render it playable. But it is! I have poked around at the other sonatas and partitas and learned selected movements, but once I realized the Chaconne was within reach, I focused almost exclusively on this partita to polish it for this recital. Let me tell you how it all began …

In my first semester at Bard, I played the Schumann Piano Quartet, whose third movement requires tuning the C string down to a B-flat.  And then I think over the winter break I decided to start learning the Fifth Suite, which requires C–G–d–g tuning, so I had to spend time just getting used to the scordatura with the lowered top string, but it was fun.  I had always been fascinated with the fugue section found in the prelude, I was excited to finally learn it, so I did.

Near the end of the following summer, I decided that maybe – just maybe – I was finally ready to tackle the Sixth Suite.  This suite was written for an instrument with five strings: an extra E string.  It is thus super demanding on performers, but it sits right at the frustrating edge of what’s possible: almost as if Bach himself knew it could be played on a four-stringed cello, just barely.  Together with my teacher, Peter Wiley, we sought novel fingerings to play all the notes in all the chords.  (Except for one stubborn note which just isn’t worth it.)  Mr. Wiley made it his mission to promote and “sell” one particular fingering of mine: combining open G with the G harmonic on the C string, it was possible to play certain four note chords on all four strings, instead of only using three and using left-hand fingering to break the chord.

And that’s just where the story starts.  During the spring break of the pandemic, when many students like myself returned home, I found myself listless in my cello practice.  I couldn’t bring myself to work on what was expected of me.  So I found myself playing familiar things that brought me comfort – the handful of Piatti études I knew, songs from Solos for Young Cellists, songs I composed ...... and eventually I decided to just try the Bach Sonatas and Partitas, which I had heard my brother practice for years.  I dabbled in a couple of them for a semester, learning the lay of the land and seeking out more tricks.  Finally, over the winter break, I challenged myself to read through the notoriously difficult Chaconne.  It sounded awful, but I couldn’t stop myself.  I looked at it more and more, and it got better – I realized it was actually possible.  In addition to what I had learned, I developed even more tricks to pull it off.  From there, my mission to learn the D Minor Partita developed into this recital.

For me, it is incredibly satisfying to be able to play this partita.  I’ve always been jealous of these works for violin: their catchy dance-like qualities, the seeming ease and variety with which they adapt to the bow, and in particular the inventive fugues.  As I mentioned to Luis Garcia-Renart in the hallway one time, I was jealous that the violins got so many fugues, and I wanted to play them on my cello.  He didn’t necessarily think it was a good idea, and that’s okay … but of course he brought up how they could be played on guitar.  Ironically, I still have barely touched these fugues, but I think they are in reach, with all the technique, tricks, and tension-free style I’ve put my heart and soul into learning.