Playing

Our accompanist was away today, and I found myself at the keyboard, something I have not done in awhile. It felt good to be part of the service in a different way, and especially I was happy to have a reason to make myself practice! How fast the days fly by and before you realize it, you haven't touched a keyboard in weeks. Then when you need to play, your fingers just don't remember how to move.

I was afraid I would stumble around, be nervous, muff things up. But I was pleasantly surprised to find that my hands still recalled chord patterns, that in fact, some preludes I have struggled to play in the past actually flowed better than I have been able to play them before. Its as if aging improved my familiarity even though I have not looked at the music in some time.

One aspect that has straightened out considerably is my ability to portray the emotive meaning of the music. In the past, especially when I was younger, I thought passion was communicated by pounding louder, by playing faster or slower. I played as if my heart were bleeding all over everywhere - wild and uncontrolled and unmeditatively unpredictable. I poured my own angst out through huge gestures and dramatics.

I find now that one can communicate the passion better in smaller, more well thought out, more controlled phrasing. I do not bleed profusely and messily through the proliferation of notes. Rather, the notes reach into the hearts of the listeners and they bleed. Just enough to be touched. Just enough to say it quietly but with significance. The pain of a pinprick leaves a much more pleasant memory than that of a dagger.

I guess its like learning to talk without yelling all the time, yet without speaking in a monotone. It takes years of practice to read aloud in public in ways that are effective. Maybe, just maybe, I am beginning to learn how to play in public effectively.