Playing piano is the result of some long tough years of practice. It was my mother’s idea supported by my father. I hated it as a child. The sound I was making made me shudder. It was loud and dissonant, as my fingers stumbled over the keys, refusing to do what my brain wanted them to do. I complained that the notes looked like black bean sprouts. Tired of my complaints, my mother let me quit.
Years passed. I found myself curious to try it again. My older sister started out the same time I did, and had been practicing and improving by leaps and bounds, now playing some more advance pieces that made me wishful. Not sure if I was serious about it, my mother began teaching me herself instead of sending me to expensive lessons, and lo and behold! I began improving at age 12.
The keys on that same Yamaha piano seemed less heavy and clunky, and my fingers felt more fluid and interactively connected to my brain. The music I was making started sounding decent to my ears. It was Beethoven’s Pathétique that was the turning point. It gave me hope I had the ability to play something exciting to listen to. Pleasure for the first time!
Now I play for seniors and Sunday services, keeping my fingers nimble.
“Piano”, 5″ x 7″ Watercolor, 2012, by Frances Ku.