The five days I just spent in Lithuania—a country I had never visited before—have been full of fascinating experiences and encounters. As I fly back home, I write down some of the many reflections from these days, trying to bring some order to my own thoughts.

The first one is about the doctoral defense for which I had been invited. A three-day process that reaffirmed, once again, just how incredibly diverse doctoral defenses can be—both in form and substance. Amid the global push for homogenization, this variety is something truly worth preserving. I enjoyed every moment of this defense: from the anticipation surrounding a recital that even surprised those who had closely followed Neringa Valuntonytė’s doctoral journey—the bold protagonist of this research—to an entire day devoted to writing down a detailed report on the concert and its relation to the thesis as a whole. It all culminated in a third day featuring an extensive defense, where each participant in the ritual—including the two thesis supervisors—took the stage to deliver a speech from a lectern. Some of these addresses were especially insightful and moving, particularly those by the two distinguished co-supervisors, Lina Navickaitė and Ewa Kupiec. Then came the final speech by Neringa herself—a superb display of emotional depth, spontaneous delivery, and impeccable timing. I already knew and appreciated Neringa, but her performance during the defense was truly masterful.

That final act crowned a doctoral thesis that is, in itself, a milestone. It ingeniously develops and applies the concept of the ‘musical persona’ popularized by Philip Auslander, proposing a model in which performers shape their identity on stage through multiple possible artistic selves—completely overturning the classical music paradigm, where musicians are expected to adhere to a written score in service of the supposed ‘will of the composer’ (a topic that could easily fill an entire dissertation on its own), while still striving to maintain personal sensitivity and the kind of spontaneity that only true musicality can bring (and anyone who has read Malditas palabras knows exactly where I stand on this). Neringa’s dissertation dismantles this duality from its very foundations, masterfully intertwining theoretical reflection with performative practice. Rarely have I seen a thesis where the written component speaks so directly to what happens on stage, and where every aspect of the performance is inseparable from the research that supports it. And this isn’t just about reading: her work involved hands-on stage training with theater performers, stage directors, and even a business professional specializing in personal branding. The impact of this process is undeniable. It has shaped Neringa into an artist with a bright future ahead—something that becomes immediately evident the moment she steps on stage.

For those curious to explore her research in detail, access is still somewhat limited at this time. There’s virtually nothing online at the moment. A substantial summary of the written component has been published in Catalan, translated by Laia Martín, in Querol magazine (Issue 36, 2024), and hopefully, an English version will be available soon. Even more than that, I hope the full thesis will eventually be accessible—perhaps with some adjustments to reflect the fact that, as was evident during the defense, Neringa has already moved into a new phase of her artistic journey, expanding significantly on the theoretical foundation she laid out. Whether in book form or through further publications, this work deserves to be widely recognized. I certainly leave Lithuania with the firm conviction that what has been achieved here goes far beyond my expectations. And, of course, I look forward to seeing Neringa perform again soon—because we are talking about a truly remarkable artist, whose originality and mastery of both the keyboard and the stage are nothing short of astonishing.

Then there’s the Lithuanian Academy of Music and Theatre’s doctoral program. I must say, they treated me with exceptional generosity—something I appreciate not only on a personal level but also as a reflection of their commitment to fostering meaningful academic exchanges. This is becoming increasingly rare: too many universities have cut back on international invitations for doctoral committees, opting instead for the easy—but deeply impoverishing—solution of online defenses, which inevitably turn the process into a mere formality rather than a genuine intellectual exchange. In this case, the in-person experience made all the difference. It allowed me, for instance, to finally meet Ewa Kupiec in person—after having admired her impressive discography for years—and to discover not only what an extraordinary musician she is but also how much we share in common. I already can’t wait for our paths to cross again somewhere in the world.

But this university went even further. For Neringa’s doctorate, they specifically hired Ewa Kupiec—one of Europe’s most established pianists, whose main academic post is in Hannover—solely to teach her, for four years. That says a lot about how seriously this institution takes its doctoral program. And it aligns perfectly with the fact that every year, they offer fully funded doctoral positions for the full four-year term. Truly commendable. I’m well aware that much of this is due to the vision and perseverance of Lina Navickaitė, a leading researcher in the field, whose efforts have played a crucial role in shaping this international academic environment. Add to this the impeccable administrative work of Božena Čiurlionienė (a huge thank you, Božena!), because let’s be honest—when the administrative side runs smoothly, everything is possible, and when it doesn’t, everything turns into a nightmare. With all of this in place, I have no doubt that Vilnius has everything it takes to become a major hub for artistic research on the global stage.

Five days aren’t enough to truly grasp the complexity of a culture, the essence of a city, or the defining characteristics of a way of life. But I have formed a first impression, and it resonates perfectly with what I’ve observed in academia. Lithuania has its own language, a long history, and, since the fall of the Soviet Union, a solid democracy and hard-won independence that are a source of rightful pride. Just as I felt when I visited neighboring Latvia—equally fascinating, yet so different in many ways—here too, you sense the advantages of being an independent nation, small enough to maintain a distinct identity, but large enough to govern itself, make its own decisions, and engage fully in international institutions, whose significance is deeply felt here. You can perceive the strength of a language and a culture that people actively defend and cultivate, while also experiencing their remarkable ease in switching to fluent English—a linguistic versatility that made me feel welcome at all times. And this isn’t just among the younger generations. I have no idea where some of the elderly women selling flowers on the street or working in small-town cafés learned to speak such excellent English, especially in a country that doesn’t see much tourism. But when you dig into the history of this place, you start to understand.

I’m not just talking about the desire to move beyond Soviet imperialism—now tragically revived in Russia’s military actions—but about a long-standing tradition of empathy toward displaced populations, toward those who arrived here by chance and ultimately stayed. Vilnius: City of Strangers, as Laimonas Briedis aptly titled his book, captures this well. Over centuries, Lithuanians, Poles, Russians, Germans, Ukrainians, and Jewish communities from all backgrounds shaped this city into a cultural crossroads. And that legacy is still visible today. Lithuania’s most famous landmark, Trakai Castle—built when Trakai was the medieval capital—was originally intended as a home for the Karaim people, a Turkic-speaking Jewish community from Crimea. Trakai has been home to Lithuanians, Tatars, Russians, Poles, yet it remains deeply associated with Karaim culture, language, and cuisine.

Seeing how warmly this diversity is embraced here moves me deeply. The openness to others, the empathy for displaced populations, the mutual enrichment that comes from encounters that transform us all. Am I romanticizing this? Undoubtedly. Reality is never as idyllic. But I’d prefer to simplify it this way rather than in that other direction, too common today, where the ‘other’ is cast as a threat, and suspicion of those who come from elsewhere has become the norm. It’s the idea of the other as an enemy, the constant suspicion towards those who ‘come from outside,’ and the fear (always perceived by those who are already in a position of strength) of losing ‘purity’ or ‘identity’—as if human beings were not a single species, inherently mixed and nomadic from the very beginning.

You experience that welcoming Lithuania—with its unique yet blended culture—in the warmth of its people, the constant respect, the closeness in interactions, and the laughter that defies the stereotype of the cold North. Cold was indeed there—temperatures never rose above 0°C. But even with that, I was fortunate, and perhaps this contributed to the deep sense of kindness I brought back home. The Saturday afternoon I spent in Trakai, enjoying a breathtaking sunset, could not have been a better way to close this trip.

And on top of that, I spent the core of the visit listening to the album that I had been most anticipating this year, Alice Sara Ott’s Field Nocturnes, which was released that very day. But that definitely deserves another post. For now, I’ll savor the memory and let these thoughts quietly seep into my daily life from here on out.