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!

Fortunately, this week no one has stopped to yell at me to slow down.

However, on Wednesday, I opened the front door to spy this truck directly in front of our house:

At least the universe, rather than having strangers accost me,  is now giving me the same message on a “softer” frequency.

This has been a challenging week for actual practicing because the painters are at the new house with the keyboard and we are at the other.  This goes on for another 10 days until keyboard and I are once again under the same roof, but I am going to try to carve out a moment where I remove the dropcloths and play for a spell.

Last night, however, during our nightly “family dinner,” I did listen to all the slow movements on the stereo as we dined.   After having played a great deal the previous week, stumbling through almost all of them in the first volume, it was a particular pleasure to hear Barenboim’s recordings.

While working on the renovation together, the team of Adrian (designer), Carole (formerly a nanny, now a junior house-painter), and I (manager and muse) have had sit-down dinners each night together that have become increasingly formal.  Candles and wine every night and we have now decided that on Sundays we “dress.”  Last night, Carole wore a smashing black dress and Adrian and I wore sport coats.  Carole even gave a little speech in German which she translated into English afterwards.

In LA, Jude and I always had dinner together in the garden patio out back with lots of wine, lit by the Christmas lights.  I do fear, however, that we neglected to establish a dress code.   Even more on point, my godchild Atherton’s SF family totally rocks the family dinner tradition, going the whole nine yards of china, candles, and polite conversation.

In any case, I’m happy to report that, as demonstrated by unexpected new tradition of the leisurely and elegant pace of our “family dinners,” the  “slowing down” message may be subconsciously sinking in.

Twice now in Vancouver over the past week, I’ve slowed to a stop at an intersection where pedestrians were crossing.  Somehow these nice Canadians could sense my agitation at waiting—last night I was starving and last week we were mid-errands—and felt obliged to make comments to me, all the more disturbing because I’m still driving my LA convertible so less steel separates us.

Belle, unlike myself, smiling at pedestrians

Last night, I was edging out a bit in the intersection, and somehow this enraged the Canadian lady crossing the street who barked at least twice and perhaps three times:  “Slow Down!”  That was all she said (but she was really angry with me) which Adrian and I both thought was strange, since the car was actually stopped.

She was correct, however, in that I was famished after a day of errands, and making posters for the Rwanda show at Kinkos, and filming some gorgeous dance stuff in silhouette with Leslie, AND offering a mini-concert for her and her two kids of a few Mozart movements.  In my mind I was REALLY not enjoying the wait for “Slow Down!” Pedestrian Lady to cross.  Nonetheless, I drew the line at running her over.

I’m honestly not quite sure what this street-crossing lady wanted from me, so I said nothing (hence I think that’s why she repeated “Slow Down!” two more times).  I suppose she felt I should apologize, but I did not regret my desire to want to go faster, or more accurately have her get out of the intersection faster, so I could take a legal right turn on red and park outside the bistro. Her disapproval of my driving desires however, made me realize that I have not perhaps entirely shifted to the softer, kinder Canadian rhythms, despite my commitment to the Andante-lifestyle.

In any case, at Leslie’s kid’s mini-concert yesterday, I played through K333 and K330, but I felt the kids responded most strongly to K545 because it has that true steady walking feeling that lends itself to improv-dancing by four year-olds.  (Note:  the keyboard faces the wall, so I’m basing audience response entirely on overheard squeals occurring behind me, some of which were definitely inspired by the two dogs as well.)

All in all, practicing in Vancouver has been remarkably steady.  Last Friday, after I got over the shock that until this coming Tuesday, we have no wireless in-house (we travel to a local café two or three times a day), I hired a man with a van from Craig’s List Vancouver to bring over the rather deluxe keyboard from Leslie’s house as the first real item of the move (thank God that Leslie is extraordinarily supportive of this project).

Anyway, on Saturday, without wireless and cable (we’re watching movies on my small computer screen at night), during the day I began sight-reading several movements from never played-before by me sonatas. IE, more actual playing than I’ve done in decades.

Although we are not technically living by candlelight, with none of the usual ever-present entertainment options available (Oh, HBO how I miss seeing the finale of TRUE BLOOD while traveling…but soon, beloved HBO….soon we will be together again), playing the sonatas has been a little different than when living in LA.  I am, more or less, now the in-house entertainment, versus my usual surfing the web and 1000 cable channels & DVR.

It was actually a little disturbing mid-week how much better my playing and sight reading were getting.  Disturbing only in that it demonstrated for me all those clichés—“if you don’t use it, you lose it;” “practice makes perfect”—etc.  By the middle of the week, I was almost impressed with my second or third attempts at all those early sonatas I had listened to repeatedly on the drive up to Canada, all on my four CD Mozart slow movement compilation mix.

And while sitting at the keyboard this week, something strange also happened.  It’s also been years since I’ve written any music.  Only on the most special occasions have I dashed off a short, simple song (when I really needed to produce that highly personal, “just for you” gift like for a first nephew’s birth).  Slowing down here in Vancouver (more or less, just don’t ask some of the pedestrians), however, I have finally dipped my foot into the waters of my mother’s constant life goal for me:  writing a classic Christmas tune, something I’ve always resisted, mostly because it’s been her passion for me.

There’s a line from Hesoid I remember reading in college that’s strange, but somehow suits the situation.  It’s from the THEOGONY, “We Muses know how to tell many falsehoods that resemble that which is true.  But we also know, when we wish, to proclaim the truth.”

Thus, although I’m reluctant to admit it, it may be that my mother’s desire for me to compose popular song (for Christmas and otherwise) was a total bull’s eye in terms of my alleged abilities with music, words, and mass-market sensibilities.  How ironically frustrating that she may have been right all along about something I actually should be doing creatively.

In any case, having written the first chorus and verse on Thursday of a no-doubt future “Christmas Classic”—and having re-watched “About A Boy” with Hugh Grant as someone who lives off the royalties of his father’s hit “Santa’s Super Sleigh”—I feel it is only moments before Celine Dion knocks on our door asking if I have a song for her.

“Bonjour, Celine…Entrez!”

This has been an amazing week.

Last Saturday night, Leslie arrived in town for a workshop, and then we had a reading of a new script — an All-Black DANGEROUS LIAISONS set in the Harlem Renaissance in 1945 — in my backyard.  Isaiah Washington read the lead.  (By the way, Isaiah was GENIUS and charming).

Anyway, since she stayed with me, Leslie is really the first person I’ve played for — Jude and Adrian and a few others have been floating around in the background at times — as an audience for a LONG time.  She reclined and I played the five movements I’ve been focusing on.  The experience offered a gentle but honest assessment of where I am.

The two sonatas that I learned as an adult at Yale — K332 and K330 — are both reasonably friendly with me.   I am re-aquainting myself with K 545 which I know I played in the far-away past of my childhood, but have no memory of (or maybe I just tackled the famous first movement…)  In any case, K545 I can more or less site-read my way through.

As for new material, I’ve started with K310 which I’ve always found particularly stunning.  Post college, during a brief interlude more than a decade ago when I had a piano, I began learning it, but we are pretty much still on our first or second date together.  Some of the piece almost plays itself, but there are tricky passages where the left hand takes over the melody and some complicated rhythms that are still working themselves out.  It is, nonetheless, coming along.

At the other end of the spectrum, I’m tackling one piece I’ve never played before at all — the first sonata, K279 — which seems like a simple and appropriate choice.

Therefore — if we are keeping score — that’s five movements:  Two old friends, one re-learning, one just learning, and one total stranger.  It is an interesting cocktail party indeed.

The morning before the reading, Leslie and I had brunch with Fritz, and not relating to this at all he quoted a line I don’t remember from LOVE STORY where a dying Ali McGraw said that she once knew all the Kershel numbers but has now forgotten them all.

I did some quick research on Kershel — it’s actually “Köchel” from Ludwig von Köchel.   Frankly, I don’t remember anyone ever explaining K numbers to me, but somehow I’ve always known what they were, more or less, from their context.  Whenever you see a Mozart piece, there’s a “K. #” after it, like “Piano Concert in A Major (#23), K. 488.”   Köchel catalogued all of Mozart’s works — there are 626 K numbers, ending with the Requiem — chronologically and thematically (there’s definitely some guesswork) and with six scholarly revisions.  [The only other system like this I know of is "BWV" number for Bach.]

Obviously, if there are 625 works in question, except for the operas and songs and masses, you do need some system so you can refer to them with clarity.   [Do we really believe Ali McGraw's fictional character memorized all 626 of them, by the way....I don't!]

Anyway, K numbers are a supremely useful and necessary tool, and at the same time I also find it amusing to think of the “housekeeping” required by librarians to “clean up” and “organize” the oceanic outpouring of Mozart’s music.  It’s sort of like cataloguing the leaves of a generous tree.

Giving the works numbers makes so much sense, but as I’ve been writing this blog about my encounter with this music, it’s as strange to think of a piece I adore like the slow movement from K330 as it would be to think of a person I love as “V 221.”

I suppose all language is reductive, but that’s definitely highlighted when it’s used to capture something as gorgeous as this music.  I find that names for wordless classical music — actually usually nicknames — like the “Raindrop Prelude” or the “Moonlight Sonata” are rarely given to them by the composer and are usually pretty corny.  [There's actually a moment in the script where one character plays the "Raindrop Prelude" although I am begging the writer to change it to something in the Harlem jazz world].

Although perhaps having a nickname for a classic piece might help its popularity — and I suppose it increasingly common once you start getting to Debussy — I can’t imagine making up names for these sonatas.  It’s an interesting juxtaposition to the rest of my work which in one way or another is all about the power and presence of language.  But great music like this somehow exists in a different artistic universe entirely.  Names would be too cute, reductive, even burdensome.

I think there’s something about the elegance of these pieces that makes K numbers much more fitting than any made-up name could ever be.  They embody the idea behind that terrific Diana Vreeland line, “Elegance is refusal” — something that’s always a good reminder and particularly fitting for this project.