How to Study Stopped Strings on the Qin.

Every engagement with the strings involves two initial parameters:

1. he hovering of the palm over the strings;

   
   

2. The landing onto them, until reaching the point of contact where the string is pressed against the soundboard, simultaneous with the plucking of the right hand.

At the moment when the thumb, for instance, presses the string against the soundboard, three additional parameters of the gesture become perceptible: weight, pressure, and displacement (or sliding, in classical musical terminology, glissando).

From the very beginning, if guided by a good teacher, it is essential to understand that pressure and weight are not the same. Pressure refers to how the thumb presses the string against the soundboard, whereas weight pertains to the force applied by the palm, which bears down upon the thumb.

Initially, the thumb’s grip on the string involves only the subtle mechanics of the thumb itself and its joints. Once the thumb makes contact with the string, the palm follows, adding weight. The correct movement occurs when, after the thumb has grasped the string, the hovering palm gradually lands onto the soundboard, progressively reducing the weight on the thumb. This means that the maximum weight of the palm upon the thumb is applied only in the initial phase of the sliding motion—that is, in the brief moment when the thumb hooks the string. This phase is exceptionally short in both duration and spatial extent on the string, during which the hovering palm progressively relieves the weight, balancing the gesture and allowing the glissando to extend toward the intended position. It is at this point of relative rest that new movements may emerge.

This is the correct technique—the most efficient, light, solid, and robust way to engage the strings with the left hand. Nevertheless, it is not uncommon to observe videos of performers, both beginners and even renowned musicians, applying excessive weight to the hand, resulting in visible muscular tension in the arms, shoulders, and neck.

In summary, pressing the string against the soundboard is not a matter of brute force, like an arm-wrestling match or a forceful wrist movement, but rather a controlled and gentle landing on the soundboard. The hand does not simply fall onto the instrument; it hovers above the strings, descending gradually until reaching the entry point that will determine the right hand’s plucking motion.

For this reason, it is impossible to pinpoint with absolute precision where exactly the glissando begins, as its location varies depending on the performer’s energy and bodily awareness. I believe the same applies to a commercial airline pilot: it is not possible to determine the exact point at which the wheels touch the runway as a fixed goal that the pilot must replicate identically each time.

Although this explanation is detailed, it stems from the inherent limitations of language in capturing the full essence of gestural dynamics, which exist both beyond and beneath linguistic expression. It is impossible to describe bodily actions with the precision we might desire. We can only offer a vague and approximate image of how the body—and specifically the hands—interact with the instrument.

Among the many metaphors that Chinese culture has developed to describe the instrumentalist’s hand gestures, I personally favor the imagery of the right hand assuming a mountainous form—though light and dynamic—while the left hand embodies clouds and mist.

The right hand (mountainous), resting upon the strings, channels the earth’s (elemental) energy, necessary to give life to the left hand. The left hand, in turn, belongs to the celestial realm and its manifestations—light, sunlight, raindrops and dew, shadows, clouds, mist, wind, and water—expressing the sinuous fluidity of liquid and vaporous flows, from which also arise the images of streams, brooks, and rivers. In this way, both hands represent mountain and water, interconnected through intricate variations. Although these qualities can sometimes be exchanged—where the right hand expresses fluidity and the left stillness and solidity—these fundamental images are predominantly associated with their respective hands: mountainous qualities in the right hand, sinuous qualities in the left.

The stability of the mountainous right hand should inversely reflect the controlled mobility of the left hand. One influences the other. Right and left hands function as counterparts in establishing the foundation of musical gesture.

This is why it can be said that musical gesture—this harmonic relationship between both hands—is, in essence, image and sound.

The origin of sound lies in the combined gesture of the hands, even before the sound itself is produced. An experienced musician knows precisely what the resulting sound will be, simply by sensing their hand milliseconds before it reaches the string.

This occurs because the sound already exists in the musician’s memory and inner hearing. Thus, once the hands are raised and prepared, they express what has long been internalized.

However, this does not mean that we always play in the same way or achieve identical sonic results. One must also consider the emotional instabilities that shape our being and continuously influence our moment of playing the qin.

A calm mind is far more likely to produce a serene and balanced sonic aura than a mind overwhelmed by thoughts, anxieties, and expectations. Managing performance anxiety in qin playing is, in itself, a considerable challenge. However, it is not the greatest obstacle in practice.

I believe the most significant hindrance lies in expectations of outcome. This is because the relentless pursuit of an "ideal" sound distorts the practice, preventing the musician from truly perceiving, contemplating, and immersing themselves in the sounds of the qin, even when the sonic production does not align with their envisioned ideal.

True practice is defined by the relinquishment of expectations and the detachment from the desire to be a "good" musician. Paradoxically, we must not be consumed either by anxiety or by an excessive yearning to achieve perfect harmony on the instrument. True practice reflects a state of naturalness and surrender to what presents itself as possible in each moment.

And it is precisely through this initial contemplation—where we are limited to coexisting with the practice according to our minimal potential—that we gradually come to understand the instrument, its images, and its poetics. As we internalize its culture, one day we will be able to express ourselves in a manner that is both authentic and as harmonious as possible.

March 21, 2025