Piano by anahata.c
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Description
An old graphic from I know-not when. It's a grand piano...This is on my early love-affair with the piano, a big sweeping behemoth of an instrument, which was my first art, and (in a way) my first love; and after hearing about pianos from Teri (GrandmaT---she and her husband used to refurbish pianos some years back!), I wanted to share some memories. I'll try not to make it too long...
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When you've played many years, and then been away from it many years, seeing a grand piano is like a photographer seeing the Grand Canyon. It stops you in your path. I started studying when I was four. I studied classical piano for 15 years (give or take a few, for goofing off). My teachers were all Europeans with a blazing, fierce passion. Many escaped Hitler or Stalin; and many lost families; to them, Beethoven and others were blazing lights in the night: When you're 6 and have a teacher who's seen all that, you feel you're being accepted into a very sacred place. I've written of this before, but it was awe inspiring, terrifying, and so very beautiful.
To a kid who can barely reach the keyboard without a phone book on their bench, those keys are like huge rivers of white-and-black gold. I, of course, banged them, slapped them, pulled on them, and squealed. But my teachers sat down, nudging me out of the way, and played Chopin as if opening the floodgates of heaven, and those suffocating rooms suddenly filled up like cathedrals. I couldn't believe what they did with their fingers: Would I ever play like that?
When I sat, I was a big, dumb elephant: I couldn't do a thing. I made splotches. Blobs. Splats. One of my teachers---a Ukrainian composer who was passionate, wild, and intensely talented---said: "It's not a toy, son: Time to get serious!"
Many years later, I could finally fly across the keyboard too. (I was playing Chopin, Beethoven, Stravinsky, etc.) I wasn't a master, but I learned to make the piano 'sing'. That's what training does. The piano becomes clay, and you're its sculptor.
When I played jazz (in a club or for a party), everyone would leave and I could finally play alone. It was heaven. Four in the morning, and just you and those keys; and I'd play till dawn, when I had to leave. Those were some of my sweetest moments as an artist. You get transfixed the way a religious person gets transfixed with prayer. It's like a religious experience.
Some years back, I walked into a huge auditorium with a massive Steinway Concert D---their beast, their 9-foot long concert grand. My father was with me. No one else was there.
I walked to the piano, looked inside at the glittering brass, and that magnificent sweeping harp---a piano is essentially a harp laid on its side: It was a glittering, magisterial jewel. I sighed. After so many years, I finally felt I was 'back home'.
So I sat at the keys: The back-end of the beast was wayyyyyy down. The hall was empty. If you've ever had the privilege to play in these halls, you know their sound: It's like a vast whispering space. The silence is stunning. You sit there, you bask. Finally, I played. (This took courage: I hadn't played in years.) I raised my hands, and---bang!
It was Beethoven's Opus 111, his final piano sonata, written when he was totally deaf. It thunders. I made so many mistakes, I wanted to scream. But the crashing fury of that 1st movement, the whirlwinds, and then the pained, exquisite resignations, just transported me. I was in awe at how that piano---under my mistake-laden and rusty hands---spoke to the mountains that day. I just wished I'd been better prepared...
The last movement is one of the most transcendent movements in the whole tradition. It's a moving meditation on life and death, written near the end of Beethoven's life. And, when it ends, the world shimmers. Many great pianists can't move when they finish that piece; some can't even bear the applause. When I'd played it years back, nothing in all of music transformed me the way it did. Beethoven called it "semplice e cantabile": "Simply and songfully". That's one of the great understatements in all music...
When I finished, I didn't move. I had tears in my eyes---partly because it'd been years since I'd played, and I mourned at how much I'd given up by leaving the piano for so long. But mostly it was the all-encompassing sound of a great introspective work, being 'voiced' by that big sweeping behemoth of an instrument. My father was in tears, as he hadn't heard me play in ages (he heard my mistakes: he'd studied opera and Hebrew cantorial music years back; but he overlooked all my mistakes). Then a man appeared out of the shadows, and said I had to leave because a talk was scheduled in '2 hours', and they had to prepare...Life intrudes. Heaven suddenly turned into a building on a street, in a big congested town...
As epilogue, I saw Bill Evans---the great jazz pianist---play on a huge Steinway. He played alone, and he made love through that beast; he created prayers to his god, built castles made of heartfulness and light, and took his audience to the highest and lowest regions. He died at 51 after a lifelong struggle with drugs; but his music was shaped out of light and silk, and that huge beast-of-a-piano was what carried it to the heavens...
The piano remains in everything I do; every picture, photograph, cartoon, tale and fantasy. I just wanted to share that. You may not see it in my work, but it's there...Thanks to Teri for the inspiration; and thanks for reading as always. I'll finish up comments soon...
peace and inspiration,
m
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Comments (10)
GrandmaT
Mark, this is beautiful! A very eloquent, heartfelt and very moving piece. Neither Ray nor I play piano, but they always held a special place in our hearts. Every one we worked on, from small spinets to the 9', straight-strung Chickering Grand (1876?), were like children to us. We never made much profit because we put too much time in trying to get them to perfection. Thank you for posting this.
eekdog
Moving words my friend, you always say things so well and detailed. You can feel it and experience it with your discription. Love the manip photo. This might be my last month here for awhile until I get a job. Won't be able to contact anyone at all until then. Take care Mark.
bakapo
through your wonderful words, I felt like I was there. what a magnificent memory you just shared with all of us. thank you, Mark, for sharing so much of your heart and soul. peace and blessings to you, always. I like your bright piano on the dark background; it feels like that memory came alive and into the light, again.
Faemike55
my ears are ringing and my heart is soaring with the notes you described! Thank you
helanker
OH Mark! What a touching story about yourself and the special piano in your heart. I am so happy, you can remember all the wonderful and amazing experiences, you have had in your life and that you even share them with us. Thank you for that and I love your piano image too. Its like a piano of glass. Love it.
Richardphotos
I like pianos and the music from one. now moving the huge pianos is a different situation. some of the clients I had before had huge pianos and they were a bear to move to paint the rooms. I had 5 helpers and the home owner to move one . luckily the casters were able to rotate, because we could not pick it up. just relieved some of the weight to avoid collapsing a caster
LivingPixels
Beautifully worded and most touching Mark lovely art as well excellent piece in every way!!
auntietk
We always had a piano at home, although not a grand, of course. The earliest piano I remember was an old upright with a carved and velveted front, dusty and faded. Somewhere between burgandy and purple, and if you pushed on the velvet you could see the unfaded bits behind the wood carving. It wasn't a great piano, but that's the one on which I banged out John Thompson's "From a WigWam" and other classics. Later, in my teens, we had a nice little low-backed spinet, and I learned to read guitar chords and fake my way through a host of popular music. I always felt like I should be able to sit and just PLAY, like I secretly knew what I was doing. (Does everyone feel that way?) Your beautiful piano brings back memories!
steve2
Beautiful work Mark! Thank you for your comments.
nikolais
Touching and mesmerizing posting, both words and graphics. "A vast whispering space" - I've never heard a better description of space ever, especially of the one where musiŃ is played. I still keep your records and play then from time to time. Your mentioning of Bill Evans was a great surprise to me. I love his records and have a lot of CDs by him. Be well, Mark!