On a recent evening, within a bustling illustrator’s studio in Brooklyn, violinist Jennifer Koh commenced the profound opening chords of Bach’s Chaconne. Yet, my usual critical ears were strangely disengaged.
My focus was entirely consumed by the visual task at hand: meticulously translating the subtle tilt of her distinctively pink-coiffed head, resting against the chin rest, and the graceful arch of her shoulder, which fluidly flexed and dipped with every sweep of her bow. Peeking at the assured strokes on other artists’ canvases, I wrestled with my own hesitant lines. This constant shift of my gaze between the living subject and my evolving sketch brought a stark realization of my attention’s boundaries.
A short video captures a dynamic performance by Jennifer Koh, showcasing her incredible skill and expressive movements as she plays the violin.
This unique event was part of ‘Seen Here,’ a monthly series co-founded by illustrator Julia Rothman and journalist Joshua David Stein. It brings together diverse performers—from flamenco dancers to a balloon sculptor, and on this occasion, a violinist—to showcase their craft while a room full of artists, both seasoned and novice, attempt to capture them in their chosen medium. While it functions as a dynamic figure drawing session for many, for me, it offered a rare opportunity to bypass my usual critic’s instruments—my ears, vocabulary, and critical assessment—and instead engage with a performance purely through visual perception.
Image: A striking collaged drawing of Jennifer Koh, highlighting her vibrant pink hair and signature combat boots.
Image: A black and white sketch depicts the violinist with multiple superimposed arms, emphasizing the fluidity of her bow movements, with accents of pink in her hair.
Image: A watercolor drawing, set against a warm yellow background, shows Jennifer Koh from behind, along with glimpses of other artists intently sketching her.
Image: A sketch on graph paper, rendered in black and white, featuring pink accents and surrounding text, captures the violinist’s form.
To truly observe Koh’s physical presence, I had to fix my gaze upon her. Yet, to document it, my eyes had to drop to my page. The instant my sight left her, the strokes I made were shaped as much by my memory and imagination as by the live scene. This dynamic mirrored my own process as a critic, capturing fleeting observations during a musical performance.
A composer once chided me, claiming that critics who scribble aren’t truly listening. His words resonated, as it’s true that the performance unfolds while I race to capture its nuances on paper. This act of writing undeniably pulls my attention away. Moreover, if the mere act of forming words in my mind stimulates the auditory cortex, as research suggests, then wouldn’t my internal narrative clash with the live music? Yet, it’s precisely these momentary breaks from pure auditory immersion that, paradoxically, sharpen my focus.
Observing the other visual artists, I noticed a similar dance between perception and creation. One artist meticulously completed a watercolor of Koh’s violin. Even though parts of the instrument were constantly hidden by Koh’s movements, the painting depicted it with a radiant, unbroken completeness.
Image: Jamie Williams’s drawing vividly portrays the violinist in motion, featuring her pink hair and a dress adorned with musical notes from Bach’s Concerto No. 1 in A Minor for Violin. Her distinctive combat boots are prominently highlighted.
Image: A stylized, linear black and white drawing captures Jennifer Koh’s intense concentration as she plays, focusing on her dedicated expression.
Image: A dual-pose drawing of the violinist is accompanied by cursive text, with a separate sketch of the violin positioned at the bottom of the page.
Image: This sketch features the violinist with her pink hair highlighted, complemented by two cutouts of her violin and one emphasizing her combat boots.
Beside me, another artist diligently shaded a pencil sketch of Koh in conversation, her violin upright on her lap – a pose already outdated as Koh had since tucked the instrument under her arm. Elsewhere, an artist chose rapid, superimposed strokes, abstractly depicting Koh’s moving bow arm, reminiscent of a multi-limbed deity.
During a pause in the performance, Joshua David Stein facilitated a conversation with Koh. She shared insights into her early teachers, her beloved instrument, and her profound, lifelong engagement with Bach’s compositions. She movingly revealed how her interpretation of his music was now deeply imbued with the memories of playing it for her father during his battle with cancer.
Image: A predominantly black sketch of the violinist, accented with pink highlights on her arms, violin, and hair.
Image: A minimalist sketch of the violinist’s face, rendered on pink paper.
Image: A composite sketch of the violinist, featuring orange hair, surrounded by individual studies of her torso with the violin, the instrument itself, her bow-holding hand, and her shoe.
Image: This sheet displays several watercolor sketches: the violinist’s head, her hand with the bow and the back of her instrument, and at the bottom, two dynamic, faceless views of her in performance.
Throughout, artists remained engrossed, their hands moving tirelessly across their desks. My neighbor, pausing from his sketchbook, remarked on how he had colored Koh’s violin the same vibrant pink as her hair, seeing it as an organic extension of her being. ‘Just as the instrument embodies a certain structure,’ he mused, ‘what we witness in your playing is the culmination of years of dedicated practice, infused with pure soul in the moment of performance.’
I then posed a question to the room: How do visual artists approach capturing such a dynamic, moving subject? ‘You capture the spirit,’ one artist explained. ‘It’s not about an exact snapshot, but rather observing and then applying our understanding in a truly generative way.’
Following the session, Koh moved among the artists, examining the diverse results: pencil and watercolor sketches, intricate paper collages, and digital cartoons. She commented that photographs rarely captured her essence, but seeing this collection of unique styles and perspectives, she felt that ‘as a group, they seem to collectively capture something true.’
Image: The author’s own sketch, a black and white rendition of the violinist, surrounded by musical notes and personal observations.
I left the studio both inspired and oddly affirmed in the value of my own profession. I realized that writing about music is a creative act of attention, much like sketching from life. The integration of language, personal experience, and critical judgment doesn’t diminish ‘pure’ listening—if such a thing truly exists. Instead, it’s an active endeavor to mold a transient, immersive experience into a tangible form. As a fellow artist wisely put it: Criticism, in its truest sense, is generative listening.