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!