Octave Etudes
I played the piano today for about the fourth time in an entire year. My Baby Grand sat virtually untouched all of last summer and Christmas break, when I played it maybe once. I have a Grand in my house as school too (horribly out of tune) that I've played MAYBE three times.
These facts absolutely boggle my mind when I think about the fact that I played classical piano for 12 years. My parents bought me my Baby Grand in 6th grade, with the agreement that I would continue playing until I graduated from high school. I kept that promise and finished my piano career with a 45-minute Senior Recital for all my adoring fans (aka friends and family). The summer after that I played in my aunt's wedding, but that's the last time I performed for anyone.
I played with the same teacher for 11 of those 12 years, after my mom realized I was advancing too quickly for the grade school program. My studio (pretentiously called Crocus Hill Studios after a ritzy neighborhood in St. Paul that my teacher didn't really actually live in) was pretty serious. We had "Performance Classes" every month, where we played the pieces we were working on. They had to be memorized, but they could be under-tempo and incomplete. We also had three recitals a year, where we played only finished, fully-polished pieces. They were held at various college auditoriums in the area. Man did I get good at counting the tiles on the ceilings of those places during all the hours I spent there.....
I did a few competitions and even started taking two lessons a week until I realized I did not want piano to consume my life. I wanted it to be a part of my life, not my entire life. Because of this I always felt like my teacher was disappointed in me, since I had chosen not to pursue the aggressive career I perhaps could have had. I always felt a little shunned, since I had made it clear I was NOT willing to put in the time to be a Piano Superstar. I sometimes wonder how things would have turned out if I hadn't made that decision.
Playing again today made me think of all this......and how I touched a piano nearly every day for 12 years, sometimes for hours at a time. My parents too can tell things have changed; at Christmas my Dad told me they were thinking about selling my piano. I immediately rejected the idea, saying "no no no no no no" possibly 20 times in a row. And then proceeded to start crying (I was 19, it's fine...) and refuse to listen to his arguments about how they could really use $10,000. Ever since they bought the piano, my Mom has talked about how I will someday take it to my house with me. This is the idea I've grown up with, and a suggestion to the contrary was deeply jarring for me. Yes, maybe I no longer live here, and yes, maybe I barely play when I'm home, and yes, maybe I never bought it in the first place. But I still can't seem to shake the attachment I have to it. I don't want it in someone else's house. All I can think is, "That's mine."
I forgot, though, how enjoyable it can be to watch your fingers flying across the keys, remembering notes they haven't touched in two years, the melody playing in your head before the notes actually sound. And realizing, oh yeah, those are my fingers. I'm making that sound. And realizing it makes me happy.
These facts absolutely boggle my mind when I think about the fact that I played classical piano for 12 years. My parents bought me my Baby Grand in 6th grade, with the agreement that I would continue playing until I graduated from high school. I kept that promise and finished my piano career with a 45-minute Senior Recital for all my adoring fans (aka friends and family). The summer after that I played in my aunt's wedding, but that's the last time I performed for anyone.
I played with the same teacher for 11 of those 12 years, after my mom realized I was advancing too quickly for the grade school program. My studio (pretentiously called Crocus Hill Studios after a ritzy neighborhood in St. Paul that my teacher didn't really actually live in) was pretty serious. We had "Performance Classes" every month, where we played the pieces we were working on. They had to be memorized, but they could be under-tempo and incomplete. We also had three recitals a year, where we played only finished, fully-polished pieces. They were held at various college auditoriums in the area. Man did I get good at counting the tiles on the ceilings of those places during all the hours I spent there.....
I did a few competitions and even started taking two lessons a week until I realized I did not want piano to consume my life. I wanted it to be a part of my life, not my entire life. Because of this I always felt like my teacher was disappointed in me, since I had chosen not to pursue the aggressive career I perhaps could have had. I always felt a little shunned, since I had made it clear I was NOT willing to put in the time to be a Piano Superstar. I sometimes wonder how things would have turned out if I hadn't made that decision.
Playing again today made me think of all this......and how I touched a piano nearly every day for 12 years, sometimes for hours at a time. My parents too can tell things have changed; at Christmas my Dad told me they were thinking about selling my piano. I immediately rejected the idea, saying "no no no no no no" possibly 20 times in a row. And then proceeded to start crying (I was 19, it's fine...) and refuse to listen to his arguments about how they could really use $10,000. Ever since they bought the piano, my Mom has talked about how I will someday take it to my house with me. This is the idea I've grown up with, and a suggestion to the contrary was deeply jarring for me. Yes, maybe I no longer live here, and yes, maybe I barely play when I'm home, and yes, maybe I never bought it in the first place. But I still can't seem to shake the attachment I have to it. I don't want it in someone else's house. All I can think is, "That's mine."
I forgot, though, how enjoyable it can be to watch your fingers flying across the keys, remembering notes they haven't touched in two years, the melody playing in your head before the notes actually sound. And realizing, oh yeah, those are my fingers. I'm making that sound. And realizing it makes me happy.
posted by Teresa @ 11:47 PM
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