I love my piano lessons. I always come away bigger, having grown, with greater knowledge and understanding, a fuller picture. It’s as it should be, I know. It’s just worth saying that it is so.
This fortnight’s challenge is to further develop my scales. Practice separate hands, staccato. Build strength and confidence in each finger, in each hand.
And Mozart. Oh, Mozart! How extraordinary a man he was, that over so many centuries – centuries! – he’s so deeply loved by so many millions of people. And not just loved, but with that personal, intimate, direct, possessive adoration. I can say that he’s my favourite. And when I say “my”, I mean it as if he is “mine”. Indeed! And the beautiy of it all is that I can say that, without embarassment. It’s like that, isn’t it? When you truly love, it actually is “your” love. No-one else’s. And there’s a gratitude and profound respect that goes with it, far outside the boundaries of language. Mozart speaks, and each of us hears the message, as if it’s coming directly, almost privately, to us; to me, for only my ears, for only my heart, for my indulgence, for fulfilment directly over here, with me, for the person sitting in my seat, listening keenly to each musical expression.
It never ceases to astound me. It stirs in me the desire to be greater than I am, to be a better musician, the very best I can be. That’s what I said to my teacher, KF, this last Wednesday. “I’m aiming high,” I said. And he said, “Of course. Otherwise, why bother.” And I agreed.
So now, I have to take myself away from this keyboard, and walk my hands to the piano, and practise, practise, practise. Because there’s way more to go before I get to remotely anywhere near “high”.