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08/06/00
Tonight, I listen to the recording of my high school senior piano recital. I gave the recital at the church I grew up attending, in the small chapel (with incredible acoustics). It's a poor recording-- my father made it, with the recorder in the pew with him.
But you definitely get the idea of what I sounded like.
God, I really had talent.
Sometimes that makes me so sad. I had the talent-- I lacked the proper discipline. I just didn't have the right attitude to be able to practice for three to four hours every day.
I actually had dreams of becoming the next Van Cliburn or Horowitz.
Chopin's music moves me (still) more than any other Classical composer. Something inside of me understands his music... understands his passion. Something inside of me interpreted his black notes arranged on the page into something beautiful and alive.
Deep inside I will always be a musician. I am still an artist-- a writer, a poet, a lover of music... I sing (mostly to myself, sometimes to others). Once I get my hands on another Steinway & Sons... I will be a pianist again.
It's difficult to listen to this recording-- to know what I used to be able to do... to know what command I had with those 88 keys... to know that I could make the notes on a page of music get up and dance, sing, working together to make something so beautiful.
I will do it again someday.
The difference will be this-- it will be on my own terms. It won't be on my piano teacher's terms (what a wonderful woman she was and is, putting up with me and my procrastination and stubbornness from 3rd grade until I graduated from high school)... it won't be on my parents' terms ("Get in there and practice that piano now!")... it won't be on the Blair Music School's terms ("We expect you to practice 3-4 hours a day to be prepared for end of semester jury.")... I will be the force behind my will to practice, and my love of performing will likely be what keeps me going.
It's been almost two years since I touched piano keys.
That's just too long...