Music

When I need a breath… or I need something to get my adrenaline pumping before class… or I need to redirect my extra heart beats somewhere else, I usually find myself in the Wallach lounge on the piano bench.
It’s a beautiful mini-grand Yamaha.
Black.
Usually covered but not always.
Dusty to the point of personal sadness.
However, the sound is bold and beautiful.
The Lounge is big and the sound dissipates, but the piano is not swallowed by the space.
The acoustics are familiar and pleasant.
Four light toggles.
Empty or not empty.

Not so secretly, one of my favorite things to do is play quietly.
Pieces aren’t meant to be smashed out.
Then again, some would react to my hedonism with disgust.
Free spirited tempo and loose interpretations of dynamics.
A couple of ignored or shrugged off Italian phrases.
Sticky sustain pedal.

And yet, I take just as much pleasure from beating the shit out of that piano.
If I hear a voice I don’t like, I like feeling the power to shut it up with my fingers.
Is the sound dissipating?
Violent and oppressive.
The lounge is mine.
Stay silent.

Perhaps its weird I enjoy performing.
Especially when I consider myself an introvert.
But it makes perfect sense to me.
I embody oppression.

Ears on me.
Eyes on me.
There is nothing deceiving about music.
There is something deceiving about where I am.
Am I in the piece, or am I thinking of something else?
Does it come out in the notes I play?

Make my piano about the performance.
Make my performance about the audience.
Move my audience about the moment.
My favorite moment is the silence.