(no subject)
I have just returned from Goodspeed.
Going there feels like the greatest thing I have ever done. I spent nearly all day yesterday doing reading for class, taking quiet pleasure in the fact that I felt no need to interact with anyone. It was a nice feeling and one I get every so often -- a sudden certainty that, in fact, I do not need to care about what anyone else thinks.
Had I practiced the piano in the Green Room, I would no doubt have zipped through lazy, slipshod versions of my long-since-abridged repertoire. These are songs that sound kinda okay if you don't know anything about music, but to any kind of a trained ear it is painfully obvious that my technique is not up to the songs that I wish I could play.
I took a book of music with me to Goodspeed, but I did not open it. Instead, I played scales. For an hour, I worked my way through twelve major and twelve minor scales at varying tempos and rhythms. I can still recall the way my old Korean piano teacher used to admonish me about the proper motion and suppleness in wrists versus strength in fingers. Now, years later, I feel patient enough to actually listen to her.
Now my back hurts, and my right wrist hurts. My back hurts because I have terrible posture when playing the piano. My wrist hurts because it is extremely weak -- always has been -- and I have consistently pushed it much harder in the last hour than I have in recent memory. (At least I remembered that if something starts hurting, you're supposed to stop playing.)
We'll see how long this feeling lasts, but I hope it stays.
Going there feels like the greatest thing I have ever done. I spent nearly all day yesterday doing reading for class, taking quiet pleasure in the fact that I felt no need to interact with anyone. It was a nice feeling and one I get every so often -- a sudden certainty that, in fact, I do not need to care about what anyone else thinks.
Had I practiced the piano in the Green Room, I would no doubt have zipped through lazy, slipshod versions of my long-since-abridged repertoire. These are songs that sound kinda okay if you don't know anything about music, but to any kind of a trained ear it is painfully obvious that my technique is not up to the songs that I wish I could play.
I took a book of music with me to Goodspeed, but I did not open it. Instead, I played scales. For an hour, I worked my way through twelve major and twelve minor scales at varying tempos and rhythms. I can still recall the way my old Korean piano teacher used to admonish me about the proper motion and suppleness in wrists versus strength in fingers. Now, years later, I feel patient enough to actually listen to her.
Now my back hurts, and my right wrist hurts. My back hurts because I have terrible posture when playing the piano. My wrist hurts because it is extremely weak -- always has been -- and I have consistently pushed it much harder in the last hour than I have in recent memory. (At least I remembered that if something starts hurting, you're supposed to stop playing.)
We'll see how long this feeling lasts, but I hope it stays.