From prodigy to master

Some even suggested that pursuing so many outside interests meant she didn't respect her gifts. "But I needed to," she says, "for myself."

What has emerged is a serious, committed artist, says Minnesota Orchestra concertmaster Jorja Fleezanis, not a self-absorbed diva. "She's incredibly demanding of herself," she says, adding, "there's no attitude being flung around with anybody else, including the conductor."

"I've been dealing with artists for 30 years," says Kathryn King, who handles publicity for Midori in North America. "She's the most un-Divalike person I've met."

However, this search for her own sense of self has produced the occasional misstep. A review of her recent performance in Minnesota noted the boldness of approach to a Sibelius concerto work, but said that "it didn't work."

But for Midori, it's the process that counts. Midori says she even has questioned her own place in the classical music world. "Music had been given to me by default," she says. "It was not something I had chosen, it was simply given to me."

The struggle peaked during her last year of college, three years ago. She had the option of entering a highly competitive graduate program in clinical psychology and she had to clarify her priorities. "If I had gotten in, it would only be fair to have plans to go into the profession," she says. "I couldn't do that."

Now, she says she views music as a privilege that she is finally willing to embrace as a choice.

Midori is still pursuing a master's degree and works on her thesis between concerts, recitals, master classes, rehearsals, speaking engagements, and working with the three students she teaches in New York. That's on top of several hours of daily practice to prepare new repertoire for coming engagements.

One might easily ask, what is left to practice for a musician who mastered much of the basic violin repertoire while still in sleeper pajamas? "Listening," says Midori.

Far from becoming complacent with familiar repertoire, Midori says she only goes deeper. "Music seems very vivid to me these days," she says.

Midori's quest for wholeness has a way of inspiring the musical and nonmusical community alike. During the Los Angeles residency, she performed with members of the American Youth Symphony.

"I want to be just like her," says Sharon Park, a 16-year-old violinist who performed a difficult Dvorak piece with Midori. "With all the things she does, I don't know how she has time for herself, but I want to work with young musicians just like she does."

Speaking to a group of Los Angeles educators, Midori was passionate about the power of music to give children self-confidence. She surprised everyone when she added, "I needed that self-esteem, too."

"If someone of that stature can talk about the need for wholeness, that helps us all," says Adinah Solomon, a deputy from a Los Angeles city councilman's office. Indeed, Midori's gift is not just about being onstage, says Llewellyn Crain, director of educational initiatives at the Los Angeles Philharmonic. "It's about her wholeness as a human being," she says. "Her total involvement in that pursuit contributes to her artistry."

History may tell Midori's story differently from that of many other performers of her abilities, suggests critic and author Michael Steinberg. "There is a purity there that is very admirable and lovable," he says. "I sometimes find her more fascinating as a total human being than as a violinist or even interpreter of great literature."

When it comes time to assess her impact, these factors may play a bigger role than her musicianship alone, he adds. Which, no doubt, is the way Midori would like it.

In the end, she says, music is not about learning to be a professional performer. "It's about learning to have a human life," she says.

"It is a privilege, but on the other hand, it's something we should all be able to take for granted."

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