"I don't hate work, composing is not work for me, it's my pleasure; it's my life. So why should I stop? If something is pleasurable and exciting and rewarding, why should one stop?"
About this Quote
There is something quietly insurgent in Schuller refusing the most American of moral categories: work. By insisting that composing is "not work", he’s not bragging about an easy life so much as rejecting the cultural script that treats labor as virtue only when it hurts. The line draws a bright boundary between obligation and vocation, and then dares the listener to argue with it.
The repetition of "why should I stop?" does real rhetorical work. It’s not a request for permission; it’s a gentle indictment of the assumption that aging artists should step aside, retire, become tasteful monuments to their own earlier output. Schuller frames persistence as the default condition of a life animated by curiosity. Stopping would require justification; continuing doesn’t.
The subtext also reads like an argument against the bureaucratization of creativity. In the 20th century, composers increasingly had to become grant-writers, professors, administrators, brand managers of their own seriousness. Schuller - who lived inside institutions (as a conductor, educator, champion of "Third Stream") - still carves out a private sanctuary where the core act remains pleasure. He’s reminding us that art isn’t validated by exhaustion, and that joy can be disciplined without becoming dutiful.
Context matters: a composer who bridged jazz and classical worlds, who fought genre gatekeeping, talks like someone who spent decades being told what counted as legitimate. His answer is disarmingly simple: the reward is the reason, and the reason is ongoing.
The repetition of "why should I stop?" does real rhetorical work. It’s not a request for permission; it’s a gentle indictment of the assumption that aging artists should step aside, retire, become tasteful monuments to their own earlier output. Schuller frames persistence as the default condition of a life animated by curiosity. Stopping would require justification; continuing doesn’t.
The subtext also reads like an argument against the bureaucratization of creativity. In the 20th century, composers increasingly had to become grant-writers, professors, administrators, brand managers of their own seriousness. Schuller - who lived inside institutions (as a conductor, educator, champion of "Third Stream") - still carves out a private sanctuary where the core act remains pleasure. He’s reminding us that art isn’t validated by exhaustion, and that joy can be disciplined without becoming dutiful.
Context matters: a composer who bridged jazz and classical worlds, who fought genre gatekeeping, talks like someone who spent decades being told what counted as legitimate. His answer is disarmingly simple: the reward is the reason, and the reason is ongoing.
Quote Details
| Topic | Work |
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