Music has always played a big role in my family; my father is a musician. I listened to a lot of classical music, sang in a choir, took ballet lessons—I found it all very fascinating. At first, I took piano lessons. The teacher's room was completely white—the cabinets, the grand piano, the carpet, everything. As a child, I found that kind of scary. So I said I wasn't going back. A friend of my family gave violin lessons, so I tried that. It wasn't easy at first, but I stuck with it.

The nice thing is that although we often spend decades together in the orchestra, new colleagues are always joining, so there are several generations at the same time. At some point, you become one of those who have already experienced certain things differently. And even if you've been there for a very long time, there are always works you haven't played yet. And if you've played them often, there's sometimes that one conductor or soloist who makes it completely different – as if you'd never heard or experienced the piece before. Tours also bring variety to everyday life in the orchestra: you get to know new cities and concert halls and then share many more experiences with colleagues than you would in Berlin.

Music is full of great beginnings! Schubert's “Death and the Maiden,” for example, has an incredible beginning that always gives me goosebumps. Really. For me, the whole piece is simply perfect; you are captivated and spellbound from the very beginning. I think it has one of the greatest beginnings in music.

Procrastinating practicing (laughs)? I'm pretty good at that. Of course, having a goal helps. When I have a deadline that I simply have to meet, I start much faster and it's much easier. That's the case with chamber music, for example. You play your part alone, you can hear yourself much better, and most of the time you agree to such a project out of great interest and passion. In addition, there may also be the fact that you really want to play a certain piece.

I am a rather patient person who can endure chaotic phases—to a certain extent. Just because something doesn't work right away, or perhaps doesn't get off to a good start, doesn't mean that the end result won't be good. Often, the journey is the destination. That's what my violin teacher always said to motivate us to remain open-minded. That phrase of hers definitely stuck with me. In the process, you learn a lot of new things, sometimes you can even change direction, or you realize: “Maybe it won't turn out the way we imagined, but something else will emerge that is just as great.”

I've started many books and not finished reading them. I've also started practicing some pieces that I never finished practicing to the point where I could have played them on stage. There are perhaps many little things, but I don't necessarily regret them!

That depends. In a sense, you are a performer. Some conductors give a lot of direction, and then it's up to you to decide how far you want to follow or can follow. Others allow a lot of freedom, encouraging you to put a lot of your own feeling and interpretation into it. Of course, we are still dependent on our colleagues in the group and on the whole orchestra. It's a very complex interplay, because everyone feels something different when they hear and play the music. That's what's so incredibly fascinating about this profession, that everyone conveys the music with their own feelings and thoughts.

That depends entirely on your own standards and how perfectionist you are, doesn't it? What do you expect of yourself or of others? I think that the moment we play something in concert, it is in a sense complete. The audience has heard it, and even if it wasn't perfect, it can still have been wonderful. Much more important than perfection is that it triggers something in us, that we are moved or inspired to think or dream. And I believe that things can sometimes be perfect even if they remain unfinished—like Schubert's “Unfinished Symphony.”