Keanu demonstrating how to slow down bullets.

This week I finally decided to listen to the warning bleep at my gym when lifting weights, the one that tells me “Try to Slow Down” (my posting on 8/29/09).

I decreased each weight by a full bar and focused on going slower and more intently.  It turns out all the machine wanted from me in most instances was to slow down from 0.8 seconds to 1.4 or 1.6 (not really even a second!) in both directions.

What’s fascinating though is that this is truly significant.  It’s a much more intense burn, and probably more importantly, I’m working more deeply in the muscle and not just using the joints to move.  But that extra 0.6 to 0.8 seconds in each direction seems to make a massive difference.

I am trying NOT to dwell on the negative in all aspects of my life, but on Monday I had an annoying conversation that was ultimately quite illuminating about the importance of slowing down, even for just a few seconds.

Via the omnipresent power of Facebook, I saw a posting I liked and scheduled a conversation with a “social media consultant” who might have some ideas about me expanding my reach.  In the past, it has happened that more than once––before I became a retired guru––that a few excellent clients found me on the web, bought large packages of private lessons, and even became friends.  Since the beginning of this year, 5 print publications have found me via my website, along with a good doctor who bought a batch of DVDs in bulk for his clients.  I understand that this “interweb” thing is here to stay.

But the “Social Media Consultant” dude, however, was quite a trip.  Basically, for 20 minutes he rattled on about the “power of twitter” (which is rather a hilarious phrase when you think about it, recalling T.S. Eliot’s “this is the way the world ends, not with a bang but a whimper”––would TSE in 2010 have changed the last line to be “not with a bang but a twitter?”)  Anyway, the SMC Dude had not really prepped or put any thought into our scheduled call, even though it was allegedly for me to hire him.

Honestly, I was suspicious from the start in that on his site and in the conversation he has no clients mentioned, much less any success stories.  Then it was clear he hadn’t really read anything on my site, didn’t understand the level of my art career or my past press, didn’t know that I had a publicist already, and even confused Belle my chocolate lab with being a mere human child.  The final nails in the coffin of the possibility of my hiring him, however, were when I asked him a few direct questions about how we might worked together such as how I might increase the readership for this blog, and he had no answers but would “need to get back to me in a few days.”

Fascinatingly––and I think not even related to our conversation––the day afterwards, he posted something telling on his blog about how his generation has a problem listening.  “Why Is Is So Hard to Listen?” was the title of his mini-essay which unfortunately seemed more generational musings than self-analysis.

It really is interesting how significant those few seconds can be in human interactions.  Pausing a moment before responding off-the-cuff.  Letting the other person complete his or her thought.  And it this case, putting in 15 minutes of research before speaking to a potential client rather than just spouting the generic “interweb” pitch.

I am interested to see how adding on a few seconds to each weight machine affects my work out, but I’m more interested in how being more generous with a few seconds in listening and in all my practices.

I’m trying not to “swing into action” before feeling really aligned and connected.  Slowing down with the piano is constant living proof that this works;  difficult passages only unravel themselves when I actually drop the speed from sixty to one and work them out rather than speeding through them.  My own speed for many things is already on warp-drive––which is great for crossing galaxies––but must be slowed to make any powerful internal changes.

All of this has led me to completely reevaluate the phrase “just give me a second”––sometimes that’s all it takes to make a massive difference.

This week I’ve been thinking a bit about the complication of ornamentation in classical music — all those trills, turns, mordents, appoggiatura, acciaccatura and grace notes – most of which can be inverted or doubled or have an accent beat – and on and on.  There are seemingly infinite varieties for ornamentation.

For fun, here’s a table from J.S. Bach’s father of some Baroque possibilities (the ornaments are indicated on top and their actual execution is below):

In my daily sight reading, I often omit the more complicated ornaments, achieving a kind of Cliff Notes experience of the piece.  Last week, however, now that I’m playing the new sonatas I’m learning more fluidly (like K330), I’ve begun to “get down” and tackle the specifics of these flourishes.  I’ve basically been saving them for last, like the proverbial as icing on the cake — which, ironically, is by far my favorite part.

From now on, however, I’m determined to slow down a bit and unravel these musical complexities right from the start.

All of these “extra notes” are really rather glorious.  It’s more than just a shame not to play them.  It’s a real crippling of the “truth” of the piece.

I’ve realize been skipping them in this drive to “get the piece down” faster, to have some comprehensible reproduction of it rendered as quickly as possible.

There is something truly GENEROUS about all these notes that just pour forth in classical music.

Those who know me socially, know I have been obsessed with how our closest local restaurant/tavern is the only place I have ever dined or had drinks in my entire life as a regular that has NEVER compted us anything (except for 1 dessert on my birthday for a part of 8).

When we moved into the cottage, without a working kitchen, Jude and Adrian and I (and even Belle, in fact) ate 2 meals a day there for 10 days.  I shudder to calculate how much we’ve spent there over the last nine months but between Jude and myself, it is in the many thousands of dollars.  Beyond this, the bartender — someone I cast in a short film — even unsolicitedly refilled out glasses recently but actually charged us for the second drink we technically never ordered!

This year, my Xmas miracle was running into my old friend Montgomery on Christmas Eve day while sitting outside Swingers with Belle and Adrian.  I’d cast him in a bunch of readings and in a play we did in Edinburgh.  I haven’t seen Montgomery for about two years since he moved to LA, however, so it was delightful to reconnect.  What’s really amazing, however, is that four hours later we ran into each other AGAIN at the video store where Montgomery was returning the DVD I wanted to rent:  IT’S A WONDERFUL LIFE.  (That really says it all!)

Montgomery has been tending bar at Mozza, one of Mario Batali’s restaurants and of course, since 12/24 I’ve now become a very well-treated regular.

The entire staff is fantastic — from the host and hostess to the servers — and I am, in fact, now working on an art installation with Matt who is a superb custom carpenter.

For Jude’s birthday on Friday, Mozza was, of course, our choice.  I knew the staff would be great, but the level of generosity was off the charts.  Starting with a round of drinks from Owen the  maitre d’ (who turned out to share Jude’s birthday), and several appetizers and sides, and dessert wines appeared courtesy of our friends.  It was a supremely wonderful night in every way.

Jude Making Her Birthday Wish

Pre-Mozza, whenever I would complain about how no matter how much we spent at the other restaurant we could never get a single glass of wine topped off, I realized that my complaint was essentially “I am only getting exactly what I am paying for” — something that sounds lame when phrased that way.  But something really was missing from that dining and drinking experience that was increasingly infuriating.  In a word, like a sonata without any ornamentation, there was a total lack of GENEROSITY.

With music and food and drink, we need that generosity or the experience is more or less like taking a vitamin pill or skipping the opera and reading the Wikipedia article instead.

I looked up generosity on my online dictionary and this was definition #2:

the generosity of the food portions: abundance, plentifulness, copiousness, lavishness, liberality, largeness.

I realize I was playing these pieces in the style of restaurant one — grace note omitted, just giving exactly the bare minimum that would appear on the bill.

I’ve noticed that Mozza seems to always offer an amuse-bouche to all its diners, which of course translates to “mouth pleaser.”  Well, I now think all these classical and baroque ornaments as “ear pleasers” — free-spirited, plentiful, and mostly importantly, because they are off the menu and one is never charged, truly generous.

Echoing the proverbial business-speak of  ”giving 110% percent,” that’s the philosophy I want to inspire my practicing, and quite frankly, everything else in my life as well.

I spent a lot of time this week searching for a scribbling in the margins of old music book.  My first truly good piano teacher, Mary Blish, wrote not only lots of helpful fingering but also tons of musical suggestions.   For example:

What I love about this is not so much the reminder of the D and F sharps or the “slower” but that Mrs. Blish has actually drawn a pair of glasses at the top right.  This was, I learned, a reminder for me to “look more carefully.”

I spent an hour going through old scores of every piece I remember playing with her, which was actually rather delightful and completely took me back to my entire high school repertoire.   For the first time in many years, I played through the Gershwin preludes and Reverie and countless other warhorses of my recitals.

I failed to find the drawing I wanted — as did my mother who looked through a few pieces I thought might be lingering still in the piano bench in Connecticut — so I’ve had to reproduce it from memory.  Once my piano teacher scribbled this in the margins:

When I asked her what this was and/or meant, she replied, “It means when you play, try to listen with MY ears, since yours aren’t any good.”

Harshly quirky as this was, she was probably right.  My ears then had little powers of discernment.  My knowledge of the repertoire was limited.  I hadn’t yet worn out records of master pianists playing the pieces I was learning.  I was a messy but enthusiastic high school player, drunk of big chords and dramatic passages without the humbling refinement that my later teachers would instill.

Getting back to the present, this week I’ve been playing through a lot of sonatas that are new to me, taking particular pleasure in K457 and K311.  They both feel quite responsive to my future playing, accessible and willing.  We “get” each other.

There’s something so soothing about my ritual now of playing every afternoon when Jude hits the gym.  I pour myself a glass of sherry or port — my New Year’s resolution — and play through at least a few movements.  There’s such comfort in the simplicity, stability, and repetition.

My “to do” list, however, has grown to astronomical proportions.  In fact, I spent most of today just trying to organize my week, weeding down activities and prioritizing.  Right now, there are literally 1 dozen writing projects going, 4 art series, and the vast, nebulous licensing and teaching activities I feel I should always be pursuing.  Beyond this, there are my amusements — the Winston farewell dinner, chief among them — that occupy way too much of my time.

I don’t really know how this wealth of 2010 New Year’s creative outburst relates to “better ears” except for the fact that I really am expanding my knowledge and experience with these sonatas.  It’s hard to define, but beyond the obvious 6 million musical activities I’ve engaged in since high school, this disciplined project really has “improved” my ears more than anything else.  I’ve also been recording myself which is enormously helpful, hearing myself through my own listener’s better ears than those when I’m merely playing.  It’s a phenomenal education.

So as stinging as Mrs. Blish’s comment to me was when I was 16, although I can’t find her drawing, I’ve never forgotten her point.  Here’s to “better ears” in 2010!

This week was the first week I felt I really returned to my own projects, projects which are increasing in size and scope with every breath.  I’m revising the Belle book entirely, writing and rewriting about a dozen other scripts and treatments and book proposals, and most immediately creating 3 different friend’s reels:  Jude and Leslie’s for acting and Adrian (and mine) for the Vancouver design project.  I know that things will settle — certain projects will fade to the back burner and others will dominate — but I easily have enough creative work possibilities in front of me at this exact moment to fill up the next five years of my life.

Last week I also started practicing again and to my surprise, when I returned to my much larger collection of sheet music in my bookcase in LA, found that all the Mozart practice had indeed “cleaned up” a lot of the other pieces I hadn’t been practicing.  I guess, even more simply put, actually practicing the piano has made me a better pianist.  (Sometimes the obvious is still startling.)

Last week I began learning new sonatas, beginning in typically perverse backwards fashion, with the last ones first.  Somehow, those are sitting very well under my hands — surprisingly so, sometimes.

Today I was again struck by how by far the most difficult passage for me in the beautiful K310 are those moments where the melody travels into the left-hand.  That’s not always tricky for me, but somehow here it is, perhaps because the right hand has to keep one of those tinkling trills going.  Even if you don’t read music you can see a similar wave of notes in the top staff for two measures, echoed in the lower staff two measures after that.  In measure 17 you can see two full measures of the trill symbol which perfectly reflects that ornamental fluttering of the right hand.;

In theory it should be easy to switch the melody into the left hand — the right hand is more or less on autopilot — but somehow I find it hard to negotiate.  There’s some metaphor here for me about balancing my projects and/or my life, but it eludes me.  I just know I have to keep practicing it and somehow the melody will continue to find its way out of the confusion of that which glitters and distracts.

And for those of you who are interested, here’s the video from the Vancouver project, along with my beautiful friend Leslie and her gorgeous family.  You’ll get to see the before and after transformation of the house and hear a little of that very sweet Lalo trio in C minor David Bowie loves but describes as “sentimental” in the HUNGER (but then again, he is a vampire.)

Vancouver Before & After, Christmas 2009

What a final month in Vancouver, NYC, and driving back to LA with Adrian!

So much has happened in the last 19 days since I last posted, I’m not even sure where to begin.

On the music front, I was able to practice a bit, even though finishing up the house involved a Big Push towards completion.  It was, however, completely worth it and the final results speak for themselves.  Leslie and Gavin and the kids were thrilled — the kids even vanished into their new rooms as absolute proof — and Adrian and I felt that final relief that only comes with genuine applause.

On a Mozart Sonata note, one of the great moments for me was the morning right before Adrian and I took off for the 20 hour drive back to LA.  Leslie and family had arrived the afternoon before and A & I stayed the night.  That morning I played a mini-concert — a few slow movements — and when Christian (age 4) walked into the room and heard me his response was pretty fantastic.  He just said, “I’ll get my guitar and play with you,” and ran up to his room and grabbed his instrument.  He then proceeded to strum along as I played, but with true sensitivity.  He was really listening — not just “rocking out” like I’m told he does with the Jonas Brothers — and basically eagerly trying to “catch the wave” of music come from the keyboard.  As is often the case with kids, the undiluted enthusiasm and purity of the response — he simply wanted to play together as though we were forming a spontaneous Mozart garage band — was fantastic.

There is so much more to write about but not this Christmas morning.  In the last 20 days, I did after all teach the first Yoga of Belle workshop at Sankalpah and I also officially became a performance artist via the Duo Holiday Happening Event.  I will post video from the latter on this website soon.

Right now, with Adrian in LA for two weeks, our happy trio of me, Belle, and him are truly shifting into the full-time Andante vibe.  Our only scheduled activity for the foreseeable future is a Christmas hike in Runyon Canyon and we think a movie date with Colin over the weekend.

After three months of wonderful Canadian life, albeit one where I handed everyone a laser-printed, highly specific “to do” list every morning, like those first days of Summer Vacation, we find ourselves happy and relaxed as we ease our way back to Play.

Here are some pictures of the house — including one of adorable Christian and of my Vancouver keyboard.  (Note:  in FireFox they if you double-click they open nicely in a separate window, and then if you double-click again they are full-sized…but I bet you already knew that!)

I’m thrilled to be teaching the first YOGA OF BELLE workshop on the 16th at Sankalpah.  Jude asked for a blog posting and I gave her this part of THE YOGA OF BELLE, which also seems fitting for this blog in some ways.

Mostly this fits because it’s exactly what I’m striving for in learning the sonatas — a renewal of the spirit of play through music rather than asana.  And frankly, any excuse to sing Belle’s praises seems incredibly worthwhile.   Enjoy!…

* * * * *

“The dog was created especially for children. He is the god of frolic.”
Henry Ward Beecher

“The sage perceives the universe as a Cosmic Playground,
and life in it as a Cosmic Dance.”
Swami Venkatesananda’s translation of YOGA VASISHTHA

Last summer, I arrived with Belle to visit my friend Genevieve’s family on Shelter Island.  After I opened the door to the rental car, like the people-loving animal she is, Belle happily greeted each person in the family, with particularly enthusiastic licking of the two squealing toddlers.  Then, spying their swimming pool, Belle made an immediate beeline for the water. Not asking permission, but climbing right over and pretty much toppling the mesh-fence, Belle jumped into the pool and began swimming joyously.  I can’t imagine that any living creature has ever been happier than Belle was splashing around that August day. (Fortunately my friend Genevieve was highly amused, telling me, “Honestly, I wish all my guests would just say ‘hello’ and then dive into the pool.  It would make being a weekend hostess so much simpler.”)

I’ve taught Belle many useful commands—“Sit” and “Stay” are chief among them—that make our shared experience run more smoothly.  Yet I’ve never heard of anyone training a dog to “Play” on cue.

Belle wants to dive into any body of water for the pure joy of splashing around.  She’s not motivated by anything external such as a food reward or praise from me, her owner.  Unlike myself, who had planned on swimming some laps later that day, she had not decided to maintain a disciplined fitness regime.  It’s simpler than that.  She has no motivation beyond the joy of play.  In fact, when it comes to play, she’s truly a master.

For several years I taught one of the most advanced classes in New York City at the Laughing Lotus, aptly titled “Cosmic Play.”  What made “Cosmic Play” so unique was really not so much that it assumed a level of physical mastery, but more that it was directed and led by the teacher and then interspersed with moments of individual creative exploration.  In other words, having taught something quite specific and given several challenging variations, I would more or less encourage students to “play” with the ideas I offered on their own in whatever shapes they wished—a “freestyle” section of the class, as it were.

Interestingly, I found these moments of freedom were perhaps the most advanced aspect of the class.  Some students who would zealously and bravely attempt any physical challenge whatsoever in my other classes would be utterly stymied by the idea of improvisation, of coloring outside the lines.  They were so used to being told exactly what to do—and being “successful” at it—that wide-open windows of freedom paralyzed them.  Simply put, they were so focused on “Getting It Right” that not only had they lost the joy of exploring, they were also stumped when asked to be even marginally creative.

Adding to this, having attained the status of “advanced practitioners,” attempting something completely new and spontaneous in class meant they were now exiting their comfort zone.  They risked being awkward and graceless, unable to execute a pose, or even literally toppling over on their mat.  Obviously, none of these qualify as major disasters—except perhaps for their egos!—and yet this willingness to “play” became the class’s distinguishing attraction—or drawback—for students.

Dogs never have this problem.  In the time it takes me to unfasten her leash, Belle can move from heeling patiently by my side to a madcap chase over an empty Evian bottle with my neighbor’s dog Dwayne.  A true master of Play, Belle constantly teaches by example.

Once, just as I decided that the theme of my class was going to be “Staying Present,” I got down on my mat to work out the physical sequence but Belle wouldn’t leave me alone.  She kept nuzzling me, wanting to share her toys.  “Not now…Not now” I kept correcting her, growing increasingly agitated.  “Not Now…Not Now…” I repeated, until I realized how unappealing and “anti-play” a mantra like “Not Now” really is—particularly when I’m prepping a class about “Staying Present.”

Then and there I saw that when it comes to play, how often and in how many different ways I’m actually saying “Not Now” to the flow of life itself.  I still finding myself mired in the mentality that work is everything and that play is secondary, unimportant, and childish.

To her credit as a teacher, Belle’s persistence usually pays off.  She keeps nudging my hands away from the keyboard or nuzzling me on the mat until I acquiesce and toss her toy back and forth a few times.  Ultimately, she’s completely right:  there’s always time for a few spontaneous rounds of fetch.   If I’m not too distracted or self-involved or obsessed with my projects, Belle’s always willing to share her All Day Pass on the Cosmic Playground with me.

Adrian and I have become obsessed with Moksha Yoga in Vancouver.  It’s a kinder, gentler Bikram, and is, quite frankly, NECESSARY during November when it rains almost every single day and there’s only 8.5 hours of daylight (by contrast, Leslie in Kigali is getting 12.25 hours daily and my LA friends a solid — and SUNNY — 10).  Thus, loving the warmth and the beautiful studio and the wonderful staff, Adrian and I have both gotten monthly passes and schedule our errand-filled lives around getting to class.

Usually when I take classes these days, one of two things happens.  Most often the teacher gets one good look at me in Downward Dog and, with my heels and even head on the ground, pretty much figures I’m flexible and aligned enough and then just leaves me alone for the class.  It’s kind of heavenly to be anonymous and invisible in the back row.  Conversely, the other breed of teacher will spend a good portion of the class trying to figure out something they can adjust, something they can correct or fix,  and ultimately it’s always “strengthening” my back leg — something that holds little interest for me — in one of the standing poses.   In fact, as I predicted to Adrian before taking class, it’s happened in both of the other yoga studios we’ve visited here, from classes I pretty much liked.  I firm up the back leg a bit and everyone’s happy.

Anyway, yesterday in our Moksha class, a brand new, super-sweet and enthusiastic teacher gave me an adjustment in Eagle, a pose I honestly feel is a complete waste of my time.

My arms do the wrap just fine, and my balance is steady, however I cannot get that foot wrapped behind the thigh.  Although I can get it wrapped relatively easily when doing it lying down on the floor, I honestly don’t think I ever will while standing.

I think that the leg wrap eludes me because I have strong, muscular thighs, not because I need a greater degree of flexibility in the hips.  It’s really a matter of muscle mass and geometry and I should probably enroll an architect or engineering friend in proving that it’s impossible for me.  Yes, I find it mildly irritating that an “easy” pose eludes me, but I’ve got a full lotus, a solid hanuman (the full split that can torture the hamstrings), and on a good day, the craziest hip openers like Vamadevasana  — see the dude below — are my friends, so ultimately I’m fine with it.

Since I feel like I’m getting my balance work on in everything else — Ardha Chandrasana to Warrior III to Shiva Nataraj — and my “real” hip openers in pigeon and ankle to knee — although I don’t technically sit there and stare at the seconds hand on my watch, I am mostly biding my time until we’re done with Eagle.

Yesterday, the well-meaning teacher want to give me an adjustment in the pose and I felt myself inwardly dismissing it with a silent, “No thanks.  I’m just not that into this pose.  It’s not worth my time or yours.”  Fortunately, the rest of my resentful monologue was silent:

“Although I can’t get this silly wrap, mostly I’m pretty much ready for my Yoga Journal Cover Shoot in tons of other poses, so why in a room where there are so many people who actually NEED adjustments, are we fussing with this?”

And then I remembered something that one of my great teachers Dana Flynn used to say at the Lotus — something that I more or less repeated whenever I felt someone was being difficult in a class or going rogue — “Why don’t you give yourself permission TO BE THE STUDENT?”

Look, I pride myself on always being extremely well-behaved when I take someone’s class.  I never improvise or take things further, even if I’m dying to make the shape more intense or travel to what strikes me as the obvious physical conclusion.   Outwardly, I perfectly conform and yet inwardly, I realize somehow I’ve developed a bit of an occasional attitude that goes something like “I love being in this class and I will completely follow your directions, but really, there’s not much you can teach me.”  Note:  there’s only a hint of this in my psyche — mostly I’m like a raccoon or some other feral scavenger, eager to swipe any useful piece of information I can use — but it definitely surfaces in those Garudasana moments.

I began to think about how this might affect my piano playing — this self-given permission to be the student — and remembered how on Thanksgiving a few days ago when we had a few folks over, somehow my blog came up and mid-dinner someone asked me to play.  It would have been weird to start busting out a tune just after carving so I easily avoided it, but honestly I just felt unready to perform.  Later when the party had wound down and all the wine had been consumed, around midnight I did play through a movement for the stragglers.  It was, not surprisingly, the worst playing of my life but given that my listeners had had as much wine to drink as I had — actually I had probably had more since I nursed a glass or two while basting the bird — I figured everything evened out.

In different ways, I’m exploring this idea of giving oneself permission to be the student — or in the latter example — to play badly.  With so many of my yoga poses looking “perfect”– parallel to my knowledge of the “perfect” recordings of Brendel and Barenboim — it’s easy to dismiss the annoying, “can’t quite get there” pose as trivial and shrug off any advice or adjustments.  Or in the case of music, simply avoid playing for anyone else for years.

Being quite good at many things can make one dismissive (or arrogant) about what’s less than stellar (like Eagle).  A similar snobby perfectionism can also cause one to never step up to the plate unless conditions are perfect.

In the end, although I’d absolutely vote that Eagle get taken out of the Moksha series, I’d like to think that as I progress, it might take only a glass or two of wine to reinforce my self-permission to be the student — someone who is by definition, less than perfect, and ideally, completely open and eager to learn.

With only 3 weeks left in Vancouver before my NYC trip for the Dropback Show & to teach the 1st Yoga of Belle workshop, the pressure is really on to finish all the endless house details.

The place looks amazing, having gone from crayons to perfume, from steakhouse lighting to postmodern chic:

Now, of course, I feel like I have 4,000 little things to do — from Ikea returns to setting up the wireless printing — but I am determined to keep practicing.  After all, when I look at the slow movements of the Barenboim recordings they range from 3:56 to 13:16, with 16 of the 18 below 10 minutes and 12 below 7.  In other words, time can’t really be an excuse.  One can always carve out 3:56 in the course of a day.

Even so, my “to do” list is now volumes long thanks to my three deadlines, but they are helping me focus and clarify enormously.

You see, on the 14th of December, I have the Duo Theater event for their Holiday Happening (I am, as the last act, more of less the finale).  Honestly, there’s nothing like a live performance event where you have to perform gymnastic stunts to get one focused.

The same is true for the December 16th first workshop for the Yoga Of Belle;  I’ve got to have something worthwhile for a roomful of my wonderful students, and in a perfect world, I want to complete the book.  Frankly, having a workshop as a deadline has been tremendously helpful to focus and shape what the book should be.  The issue seems to be the proper voice for the book — not too academic and not too generic — and having it be grounded in my authentic teaching voice, the one I’ll use again in front of a live class might just be the most natural, easy solution.

Back to the music –

So today, I played, for the first time ever, through K 457 in E flat, a piece which a moment of chord progressions and a melody which remind me of the Chopin Etude Op. 10, #3.  And I diligently practiced the K332 fancy chromatic passage, and for good measure played through the K 545 as well while Adrian cut and measured wallpaper for the bathrooms on the dining room table.  Actually, the only reason I stopped was because our contractor came back to retrieve his circular saw and Belle insisted on a big greeting.

I am reminded of how an old friend of mine, E.S., once had an idea for a book project for the two of us.  As we were talking about it over a coffee shop lunch, she pulled out a notebook and a pen and pretty much said, “OK, let’s go.”  I was startled because even though I do tend to plunge in all the way, I somehow feel that artistic projects — especially beginnings — need to be more, well, “ritualized.”  Didn’t we have to consult my astrologer/lit theory PhD friend Hillary and wait for an auspicious New Moon?  Didn’t I need to make a visualization collage or at least do a lot of broad background reading?  Could we just START like that?

The same is true for playing the piano.  My fantasy artist cottage in Nova Scotia — one where I do nothing but court the multi-media muses — is a far cry away and probably doesn’t exist.

Thus, perhaps the most valuable life lesson I’ve learned in Vancouver is that, given their mostly under 10 minute length,  I can play almost any Mozart slow movement with utter devotion while waiting for two lunchtime potatoes to bake in the microwave.

Every now and then, I have actually played through a slow movement, but honestly the past month has been devoted almost entirely to the house project.

It’s easy to forget how utterly immersive this kind of project is.  It’s like putting on a show, except rather than constructing prop kitchens, the plumbing has to actually work and the wardrobes have to be solid, and nothing can look shoddy when exposed to daylight.

Primarily, I’ve been devoting myself to a career of driving.  Adrian does not have a license, and neither does Carole the housekeeper or Ryan the contractor.  This kind of remodel (the kitchen entirely and the tiles in the foyer) involves pretty much a daily pilgrimage to Home Depot.   Trying to organize and consolidate the trips doesn’t really work because new problems constantly arise which require another tool.  I have managed to read the entire Sookie Stackhouse Southern Gothic Vampire series (9 novels + 1 collection of short stories) almost entirely while waiting in line at Home Depot or while Adrian decides on sanded or unsanded grout, or the pallet from the top shelve is airlifted down to get the last set of matching tile we need.

Oddly, I’ve been watching a lot of other people in movies play classical music.  Last night we saw RIDICULE which a scene with an enormous keyboard on which the aristocrats dine while a lady plays.  [As a decorator, Adrian adores any movie featuring a manor house and billowing curtains...I'm not kidding.]

Of course, David Bowie and Catherine Denevue in THE HUNGER are particular favorites for both chamber music and billowing curtains.

Click to see music video from THE HUNGER of the Schubert E flat Trio

Without even trying, I find myself sporting a ponytail and setting the keyboard on “harpsichord.”  And I am also getting paler and paler, thanks to the rain–all part of my master plan to appear on TRUE BLOOD Season 3.

Anyway, today was the first day where I’ve returned to Edward Vilga Ventures.  In some ways, it has been a mini-vacation — certainly not from work since we’ve been working from 8 to 8 usually — but a respite from working on my own projects.  The house is going to be GORGEOUS and now that we’ve bid adieu to the contractor (and it is hard to practice the piano when there’s a circular saw competing with you) and we are focused on general decor, I can swing fully back towards my own writing and visual art.

Thus today, in what felt like an orgy of virtue, I played through the first 3 sonatas slow movements (requiring some concentration as they are relatively new to me) and then dutifully tackled a few difficult passages in K332 and others I more or less have under my belt.  It was thoroughly satisfying and extremely focused and productive.

Perhaps waiting on line at Home Depot has taught me more than I know…

Now that “the team” has regrouped and we live in the new house — the one with the keyboard — it is amazing to play again.  During the last week, especially with the intensity of the move, the only “practicing” in my life was having the sonatas on my ipod dinnertime play list.

This Saturday morning, two days after our Thursday move, our day began with a typical 6:30 am errand to pick up a skill saw rental at Home Depot (which opens at 7) for the contractor to create the subfloor for the new tiles.  One the way home we stopped for our second cup of coffee at 8 am at our favorite, the Well Cafe.

At the Cafe there’s always some background classical playing at such a low level that it barely registers at the back of my brain.  Once or twice a Brahms intermezzi floated past me, but mostly it goes unnoticed.

Today, however, I felt a huge wallop when I heard the Chopin Polonaises — perhaps because we were actually sitting down (rather than racing back and forth on construction errands).  First the Military got my attention, although I’ve never reallyed loved it that much.  Then I waited to see if Op. 53, the “Heroic Polonaise,” would be next, and sure enough, it was.

In high school and beyond, I more or less, thought of it as my unofficial “signature piece.”  It has all the spectacular flourishes that allow one to dazzle and, along with the Revolutionary Etude, I was completely crazy about playing it with wild abandon.

Poles (like me) Dancing the Polonaise

Beyond the pleasures of the piece itself, one of my life-altering musical moments, in fact, was listening for the first time to Horowitz’s recording of it.  Looking back, I think it was probably my first experience of hearing something that I was playing myself performed my a master.  Until then it had been mostly pieces from a progressive book series on learning the piano, rather than diving into easier pieces in the repertoire. Frankly, although very sweet and good-natured, my earliest piano teacher was at best moderately accomplished and really not up to the task of anything near the level of virtuosity required for a Polonaise.

Hearing Horowitz play it for the first time, was truly hearing the piece for the very first time.

The brilliance of his technique and the furious passion of his playing were astonishing to me.  Of course, I’d heard fabulous classical piano playing before–I have particularly fond memories of the Tchaikovsky piano concerto–but this was someone playing something I was playing at home, with music I could hold in my hands and follow along.  That level of access alone felt mind-blowing.

For the first time, I heard how all the passages that I was fumbling my way through were actually supposed to sound.  It was utterly inspiring and completely humbling all at once.

Today, in 2009, given that we live in an age of wonders, I was able to return home and download (FOR FREE!) the Polonaise score again.

This is music I honestly think I haven’t played in about five or ten years, even though in high school I thrilled myself with daily, exuberant performing/butchering it.

Although I may tackle the piece again — it’s always good to have something up your sleeve when the urge to show off is overwhelming — after clunking and splashing my way through all those massive chords and endless glissando rolls, I was glad once again to be mastering my beloved slow movements.

With the Chopin, I can create some big “effects” with jangles of wrong notes hidden from most listeners.  Even worst, I can try to fool myself that I can really play the piece because there are a lot of notes happening.  I’ve said it before here, but it was never more clear to me that there is just no hiding out in Mozart.  Everything is so exposed.

So right now, the Polonaise is like a big gooey dessert:  delightful, decadent, but definitely a distraction from the new regime.  Playing through five movements yesterday felt not only virtuous, but I heard how much cleaner, much much better my technique and my expression are in them.  No impressive faking!  Time to stay slow!