The advice I am giving always to all my students is above all to

Hear the voice of Andrés Segovia, master of the guitar and prophet of sound, who said to his disciples: “The advice I am giving always to all my students is above all to study the music profoundly... music is like the ocean, and the instruments are little or bigger islands, very beautiful for the flowers and trees.” In these words, the maestro reveals a truth that transcends technique, a truth that unveils music not as a mere craft of strings and fingers, but as a boundless sea of spirit and imagination. His teaching resounds like an ancient oracle, calling us to look beyond the instrument, beyond the surface, into the infinite depth of art itself.

The first wisdom lies in his command to “study the music profoundly.” Segovia warns us that the musician who studies only the instrument but not the music is like a sailor who learns to row but never learns the stars. Technique without depth is emptiness; sound without meaning is noise. The true musician must dive into the ocean of music—into harmony, into history, into emotion, into silence itself—if he wishes to give life to the notes. For it is not the fingers that create greatness, but the heart and mind joined in profound understanding.

Then he gives us the image of the ocean. Music itself is the vast sea, endless and mysterious, ever-changing with tempests and calms, with horizons that vanish into eternity. One may spend a lifetime upon its waters and still not reach the farthest shore. It humbles us, reminding us that no single musician, no single age, can exhaust its depths. To study music profoundly is to set sail upon this ocean, knowing that the journey has no end, only greater discovery.

And what of the instruments? They are the islands, little or great, where flowers bloom and trees rise. The violin, the piano, the guitar—each has its beauty, its fragrance, its unique gifts. Segovia, though the champion of the guitar, never exalted the island above the sea. He taught that the instrument is but a vessel, a garden upon the waters. To confuse the island for the ocean is folly. The wise musician honors the instrument’s beauty, but never forgets that its power comes only from the ocean that surrounds it.

History itself confirms this vision. Segovia, who raised the guitar from tavern to concert hall, never saw it as a mere curiosity, but as a gateway into the sea of music. He drew from Bach, from Sor, from Tárrega, showing the world that the guitar could channel the greatness of the ocean as profoundly as the piano or violin. He became the gardener of his island, yes, but he also reminded his students that beyond the island lies the boundless waters where all music dwells.

The lesson is clear: do not worship only the instrument; worship the music. Study deeply, not only the mechanics of playing, but the language, the soul, the ocean from which all sound emerges. For those who cling only to the island will see only flowers and trees; but those who sail the sea will know storms and sunsets, vast horizons, and the eternal depths of beauty.

Practical wisdom follows: if you are a musician, do not stop at scales and exercises. Study harmony, history, poetry, and silence. Listen to other instruments, to the voices of other lands, to the ocean itself. If you are not a musician, apply the same to your craft: look beyond the tools of your trade and see the deeper truths, the greater ocean that sustains them. Do not be an islander only—be a voyager.

Thus remember always the words of Andrés Segovia: “Music is like the ocean, and the instruments are little or bigger islands.” Let them guide you to humility, to depth, and to vision. Tend the flowers of your island, yes, but do not fear to set sail upon the sea, for it is in that voyage that the soul discovers the true greatness of art and of life itself.