baby-6_bwSeveral of my students and colleagues have recently purchased new pianos. It has been fun to rediscover the honeymoon phase of choosing and then learning to partner with a new instrument. For me, the following describes perfectly the relationship between an artist and their other half.

“You don’t choose your instrument, “ she said, “Your instrument chooses you…” The piano chose me. It’s been a long and fruitful relationship, a relationship of major significance and intimate proportions. 

Sure, I had flirtations, liaisons, affairs with other instruments… But the piano. The piano! She has remained steadfast and true through all of this upheaval. She insists also that my dalliances have brought new excitement to our relationship. I would have to agree.

 Like a lot of couples, we tend to finish each others sentences. We read the musical scores together and know where to give it a little space or a little urgency, where to make it boldly technicolour or delicately translucent. “Chiaroscuro”, she whispers, “Light and shade.” We shape the music together into what we like to think is an higher truth, an abstract one for which words of description are inadequate.” (Sally Whitwell, Tetris Rain: Pianists Are Not Boring)

Of course, we never really know what goes on in any relationship. I named my piano She (who must be obeyed), after Rumpole’s wife. We have fought, made up, not spoken, been best friends, yelled at each other, slammed doors and lids, laughed and cried. We have each taken our turn dominating and submitting.

She is solace and frustration all rolled into one. She can be 600+ pounds of stubborn, mostly immovable object. She can be kind, forgiving, and meltingly beautiful. She is at once inspiring and obstructive. She is also stuck with me and better make the best of it. We lost our innocence together She and I.

She is the standard by which I judge all others. When I go out and play or teach on other instruments (some wonderful and others not so much), I have a short time to get to know each one and then work with it. Sometimes it is a battle from start to finish. Sometimes I just have to submit and stay within the instrument’s capabilities. Sometimes our collaboration is glorious.

Are these the equivalent of one night stands? Maybe… Is She jealous?  She once snapped a low D string at the end of the sixth Davidsbundler and tried to kill me. But then, maybe She was just tired of the repetitions and feeling cranky.

Parts of this post were originally published in September 2012

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