Minneapolis composer and Bush Artist Fellow Edie Hill has been working in schools for more than eight years. Over that time, she has worked with students from the preschool level through high school. Though much of her classroom work is done on a volunteer basis, she's found it to be an essential part of being a composer. A member of the Forum's Education Committee, Hill recently took time out from her busy schedule to chat with Sounding Board about the time she spends in classes and the tricks of the trade she's picked up.

What attracts you and inspires you to work with children?

The reason I do what I do is very simple. I talk about what I know and what I feel passionate about. I like to talk about "painting pictures" and "telling stories" with sound and music. It is part of my job as a composer to be vocal about what I do. In "Thoughts on the Gifts of Art," the late poet Jane Kenyon wrote, "The media ... bring[s] us news of the outer life. … What's the government up to … where will the next mall spring up. … Artists report on the inner life, and the inner life distinguishes us from centipedes. … The love of the absolute beauty of art, the longing for the well-being of the planet and all its creatures, the awe we feel in the face of life and death, the delights of the inward eye and inward ear, the understanding and nurture of the soul - these are the gifts of art. In a way, every piece of art, every performance, is a state-of-the-soul address." In a world where we are so bombarded by the "outer life," it is important, as much as possible, to bring things to children that are from the "inner life." I also really enjoy it. Every experience is different. I like that challenge. Children's ears and imaginations are very open to new sounds, and it's always rewarding to see the enthusiasm, curiosity and excitement. I come home feeling inspired and exhilarated and exhausted!

I hope they feel like they have been on a fun ride - kind of a journey though sound and how it can be organized. I hope they come away excited about music and that our session will have sparked something that will inspire them to live more creatively and more fully.

Before I say anything about composing, I greet students and ask them some questions about what they do. I try to set up a dialogue within the room, so children know this will not be a lecture. Then I'll explain that composers like myself "paint with sound" or "tell stories with music." I often use Alan Hovhaness' Mt. St. Helens Symphony to illustrate how music can tell a story. This is an idea I got from composer-educator Chris Granias. When the volcano erupts, everyone jumps. It's an immediate attention-getter and has never failed to pique children's interest. After they've had a chance to warm up a bit, I'll play a few minutes of my Invocation for solo flute and small orchestra. I always give the children a job while they listen. This section, in very literal terms, is about being underwater and swimming towards the surface. In the music, high, luminous percussion represents light. Before playing the example, I ask the children to imagine that they are deep under the ocean. Then I ask them what they would see if they began to swim to the surface. They answer "light," and I'll ask them to listen very carefully and to raise their hands when they "hear" light. I've often been surprised by how well children have responded to this piece. It's driven mainly by gesture, and there are many dissonant tonalities in this particular section. They're not turned off by the dissonance, as adults often are. They're really fascinated by the concept of instrumental color. For example, they love hearing a flute making a sound that they would not normally associate with a flute, for example.

Once a child asked me, "A long time from now, when you are famous, what will your name be?" She thought my name would be something like "Ludwig Van Beethoven" or "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart." When I told her that it would still be "Edie Hill," she smiled. She found it very interesting. When many of the children think of composers, they think of Beethoven and Mozart. Their image of a composer is not a woman in her late-thirties who will sit on the floor with them in a semicircle and talk about using sound to paint pictures. It's important for them to understand that composers are ordinary, living people who are accessible to them. That's especially important if any of them are going to be the composers of tomorrow.

Yes. Anytime I speak about my work, I understand it better. It helps me in the composing process by forcing me to "back up" my creative decisions. If I can't explain why a certain passage is there, or why I used certain instrumentation, or where a piece comes from, then something isn't right.

I was fortunate; my first classroom experience was a collaborative one. I worked with Chris Granias, who had already done extensive work with children. That experience taught me a lot and essentially saved me from having to "reinvent the wheel." I'd love to see that type of mentorship available to all composers wishing to work with children - some kind of program where interested composers could apprentice with a "master teacher." Not only do I still use many of the things I picked up from Chris, but they became the foundation for the teaching methods I developed myself.

Sure. I have learned some things the hard way. Here's a few things I try to keep in mind: Keep things moving and always give the children a job to do. If things stagnate, be prepared to move to something else or cut something short. When you prepare, work with what excites you and what you're comfortable with. Each composer has different ideas they can bring to a classroom. And, to the greatest extent possible, let it be the children's session. Design it so that there's time for them to express themselves. It's always best to guide students, and allow them to discover things through the activities.