Standing perfectly still in Masquerade has become one of my favorite moments to perform—a strange exercise in stillness, perception, and the feeling of slowly leaving the body behind.

Working as a Masquerade violinist is a high-octane job. It requires physical stamina and relentless focus. After all, at any given moment, there is only one violinist for all six pulses. But we also need the tools. Few people know that behind a door, next to the first performance area, there is a violin cabinet. On the right is my own violin, the one I play at the beginning of the show. It’s an anonymous French violin from the mid-20th century that I’ve been playing for the p

It’s July 2, 2026. As a Masquerade violinist, I have now performed 200 shows. With six pulses (groups of sixty audience members) at each show, six preludes each show, that’s 1200 performances of the exact same Prelude, 1200 bows, 1200 cadenzas. Five E strings broken mid-performance. Tens of horse hairs ripped. Someone asked me once: "Do you get sick of it, playing the same thing over and over again?" I don’t. I truly don’t. If anything, I enjoy it more and more. And being par

Un, deux, trois, quatre, un, deux, trois, quatre. The eight clicks before I begin to play I count in French, the language I grew up speaking. Soon the room will fill. The first guests are directed to within a few feet of me. I don't look up. The click track is already there in my right ear. I listen past it. The first measures are for the violin as much as for the audience. Wood, string, horsehair. The sound is still finding its shape. For a moment it feels unfamiliar, then s