"It is cruel, you know, that music should be so beautiful. It has the beauty of loneliness & of pain: of strength & freedom. The beauty of disappointment & never-satisfied love. The cruel beauty of nature, & everlasting beauty of monotony." Benjamin Britten (1913–76), British composer
Lately I've been coming to my piano again and digging out old repertoires I've memorised years ago. I even actually start to learn new pieces. I haven't done this since months; outside piano lessons I just did some sight-reading exercises, played some pop music and accompanied myself while learning new pieces for the vocal classes.
Years ago, when I was still an ardent music student (though I would still love to call myself that nowadays, had I the conscience to do it), music was the main focus of my life and all my endeavors was directed towards the goal of making good-quality performance. But somehow I had forgotten to make music with my heart, and year by year I always felt that something is always lacking. After Germany, for several months I have had lost desire to produce any melodies on my piano, and I was questioning myself whether I was being true to myself. I saw my friends competing to play more and more difficult works without really understanding their contents, resulting in the worst piano-playing I've ever heard. For what? For prestige? For the mere illusion of making a progress while torturing the ear of your audience? The good thing is that I never was, never am, and never will be interested in such contest.
It seems that one positive results I got from my stressful situation is that I finally find the use of music in balancing my psyche and tranquilizing that tumult of agitation and frustation. Music is my refugee. Somehow when I start playing, all those voices in my brain are hushed and everything inside my head is instantly pricking their ears and welcoming this new, noble, graceful sound with curiosity. And for me, this is the greatest joy in music-making that I've ever experienced. My perfectionism could at last rest and says that it's all right to make some slight mistakes, it's fine to stumble once or twice, and it's not a problem if in some places my fingers couldn't do what they should do. The most important thing is now I know that when I play, my heart sings with me. For a while, problems are left behind, there's just me and this ethereal feeling. Nothing else matters.
(Imported old blog, originally written on April 11, 2008)
