When I get on stage, my first goal is not to show my expertise

In the radiant simplicity of his words, Andrea Bocelli reveals a truth as ancient as music itself: “When I get on stage, my first goal is not to show my expertise, but on the contrary, to give a bit of happiness, of joy, of cheerfulness. I am firmly convinced that in order to sing well, you must love your neighbor and be passionate about life.” In this confession lies not merely the wisdom of an artist, but the wisdom of a soul attuned to the divine harmony of existence. For art—true art—is not born from vanity, but from love; not from pride in one’s gift, but from the desire to uplift the hearts of others.

In the days of old, the poets and singers were not entertainers, but healers of the spirit. Their voices were bridges between earth and heaven. When the bards sang of courage, men remembered their strength; when they sang of sorrow, hearts found release. Bocelli’s words revive that ancient calling: that the purpose of music, and of all human expression, is to give joy, to lighten the burdens of others, to remind them of the beauty that endures despite pain. His stage is not a throne of self-glory, but an altar of generosity.

Consider the story of Orpheus, the legendary musician of Greece. It was said that when he played his lyre, even the stones wept and the trees leaned closer to hear. Yet Orpheus did not play to prove his mastery. His gift was sacred because it moved hearts, it tamed beasts, it brought harmony to chaos. When he descended into the underworld to rescue his beloved, he did not wield weapons or wealth—he carried only his song, and even the gods of death were stirred to pity. So too does Bocelli remind us that the power of art and talent lies not in perfection, but in compassion—in the courage to pour love into the world through one’s voice, hands, or deeds.

Bocelli himself, though deprived of sight, sees more clearly than most. He perceives that to sing well, one must first love life and love others. Without that flame of affection, no technical brilliance can awaken emotion. The most flawless voice, if it lacks soul, is but a hollow instrument. But when one sings—or lives—with passion and kindness, the spirit of the listener stirs as if touched by light. Love, then, is the secret ingredient of all greatness; it transforms skill into art, and art into healing.

There is also humility in Bocelli’s words, a humility rare among the gifted. He speaks not of expertise, but of giving. The ego seeks applause; the heart seeks connection. The performer who loves his neighbor transforms the stage into a sanctuary, where hearts meet in shared wonder. This truth extends far beyond music. The teacher who teaches with love, the craftsman who shapes with joy, the leader who serves with compassion—all embody this same spirit. For to give joy is the highest form of mastery.

Yet this lesson demands courage. To be passionate about life is to open oneself fully—to its joys and sorrows alike. It is to feel deeply, to embrace others’ pain as one’s own, and still to offer light. The cynic protects himself from disappointment, but the artist, the true lover of life, risks his heart every day. Bocelli calls us to that brave openness: to live not as spectators, but as participants in the great symphony of existence, giving our best notes to others without fear or pride.

So let us learn from this modern minstrel of hope. Whatever your stage may be—a classroom, a family, a workshop, or a field—let your purpose not be to impress, but to inspire. Seek not to display your skill, but to awaken smiles, comfort sorrows, and rekindle faith in the goodness of life. Let your work, like a song, carry warmth to those who hear it. When you speak, speak with love; when you act, act with joy. For in loving others and being passionate about life, you will find the truest form of excellence—the art of being fully, radiantly human.

And remember, as the ancients would say: the finest music is not that which pleases the ear, but that which heals the soul. So live your days as Bocelli sings—not to prove, but to give; not to shine alone, but to illuminate others. For in every act of shared joy, the world itself becomes a little more beautiful, and life, once again, becomes song.