The Aesthetic, pt. 2

So I've been adhering to my desired regimen of aesthetically driven practice. I never allow a note to leave my fingers without first subjecting the joints to some kind of disciplinary action. I'm really trying to wring as much delicacy as possible out of my fingers' action upon the keys. This means a lot—lot—of slow, controlled note-strikes, where I try to imbue my joints with something like shock absorbers (which I expect is just a generally increased sensitivity of the muscles controlling them). But this means I don't allow my fingers to bang upon the keys anymore. I try to let every one down easy in its turn. 

And it's not just difficult, but it's also sort of arresting in a certain sense. I realise I have to sacrifice progress (in a direction toward the final note of the score) for progress in a more vertical direction regarding my ability to get various levels of sound from each strike of a note. I like it, because it means I am now able to produce the soft sounds I've wanted. But I keep wondering how long it will take for me to produce these sounds without having to think about it. How long before I can take that increased dynamism for granted and move on to gaining more technique? I really haven't been committed to this for all that long—it's been exactly seven days!—so my impatience is kinda unwarranted. 

This new form of practice also means something for the way I move my hands and the kind of support my wrists provide. I find the motions—even contortions—are more deliberate and quite extreme. Still, I am always careful that everything I do is ergonomic, and I think it's even helped with a weird crick I'd had in my wrist for about a week or so. I move my hands as though outlining a lemniscate (rather than a circle), and that seems to create the most fluid motion on the keys. The circling of the wrists (which is often recommended as prophylaxis against carpal tunnel, etc.) actually seems to hurt, not help. So I don't do it. 

I'm a bit surprised at how committed I've become to this type of fluid wrist and finger action in my practising. It's making a real difference in the aesthetic of my playing, though, which is actually really important to me. I mean, it's actually making me play in a way I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to—though as yet ever so slowly and tentatively. I want to make not clangy noises on the piano but music. I don't want simply to strike a string of correct notes; I want them to depend from a string of fluidity whose aesthetic is both audible in the texture of the sounds as they light upon the tympanum and visible in the motion of my hands across the keys. And because I dare to dream of poetry, I'm willing to wait to play a song until I have the delicacy of touch necessary to truly make it sing. (Chopin's Raindrop Prelude is a case in point. I've loved that song for two years now, have acquired and looked at the score, but haven't touched it.) Consequently, I'm still working with Maykapar's Toccatina, Bach's Little Prelude in F, Loeschhorn's The Juggler, Haydn's Menuetto, and recently I added CPE Bach's Solfeggietto. These are pretty much all songs I'd played before, but with much less grace and aesthetic sensibility. This time I won't be done with them until they sound really fluid and light, like I'm playing with a feather for fingers, and with the utmost legato, even with my feet off the pedal! 

The Aesthetic

Two nights ago while playing scales I noted how clangy they sounded. I'd remembered times before when I'd been able to achieve some relatively impressive cantabile and I was quite depressed at my regression. Soon after it dawn on me (not for the first time, it seemed) that I really should play my scales with the same grace I would a piece or song. I began to realise that anything worth playing is worth playing well. Or, put another way: nothing I play should ever be treated as a "throw away" when it comes to practising tonal quality. Everything—every exercise—is a proving ground for tonality.

Legato, legato, legato!

So the next day (Sunday) I practised mainly scales, and I played them as though I were playing a song. And something happened. I began to notice a whole other dimension to my playing. I was playing with such a light touch and with graceful motions. I even closed my eyes and visualized the keyboard as I played C, D, and G harmonic minor scales in contrary motion. I can't even visualize scales in parallel motion! But it began to happen then, and then even today.

So it came to me today that I really have within my hands and fingers all the control necessary to make anything I play have a decently fluid sound. So if I'm ever playing and it sounds clangy, it's because I want it to. Consequently, I have no excuse ever to have anything sound that way again. So I must take care that it doesn't. 

Such is the aesthetic, the dance of the fingers upon the keys. Kevin J. Zhu has inspired me, because he has a built-in aesthetic that is quite prodigious. He progresses way too fast for me to get a true feel for the time it takes a mortal to get to each level, though. But still, he inspires, and I learn from him.

How long til'...?

The age old question. I've been asking it for two years. Well, I recently found a video of a small child playing Maykapar's Toccatina at full speed and relatively well. Then I checked later videos from the uploader, and he records this same kid presenting a very well-executed rendition of Chopin's Nocturne in C Minor two years later. Now, if he was playing Toccatina at the very edge of his ability (not likely), as I am, then it might take me a full two years of serious practice to get the supple carpals and metacarpals necessary for playing well pieces around the level of that Chopin. (Speaking of supple wrists, watch his as he plays Liszt's Six Consolations, No. 2 another two years after that! The kid's a genius.)

Two years seems long, alas, though I know it isn't and that once it has passed, it's past: I will never have to be less good again! But, in the words of Menudo: "It's the waiting that's driving me out of my mind!"

It is nevertheless heartening to know that such improvement is possible. Yesterday I acquired (way too early) copies of the RCM Level 8 Etudes and the score for Rachmaninoff's Etude-Tableau in G Minor. The music store here was having a moving sale, so I decided to get these things now before the store moves too far away for me to frequent it anymore. These will be material for my future technical development, as I am not now ready for them.

So... I've known this, but it really came home to me recently how important it is to practise pieces well within your range as well as the ones that stretch your technical abilities. I have now returned to the John Thompson Fourth Grade Book, as I said I would. I've been replaying The Juggler and (just today) I started Bach's Little Prelude in F Major. These no longer tax my abilities, so now I get to focus on really—I mean really—making the pieces sing. I would like to make an art out of my hands' motions, make them dance. (When I work my hands, the loosening of the wrists and the muscles in the palm and forearm actually feels therapeutic, almost like a massage.) I think exploring and experimenting within the limits of your current ability must be they way to work out the aesthetic of the discipline. Maybe that's how a musician acquires depth? I hope so, and that I'm doing it right. I sort of feels right.

Touch

I think today I acquired a more delicate touch in my left hand, especially the thumb, index, and middle fingers. I also worked a bit on the same fingers in the right hand while I was practising Maykapar's Toccatina. I recognized they needed work in comparison to the way the 3-4-5 finger combo was handling the opening of the Maykapar. Yesterday, too, I worked on tonal quality and dexterity in the left hand while practising Beethoven's Sonata in F Minor (Op. 2, No. 1). I was trying to get that Alberti bass part to sound like a true crescendo-diminuendo. See how the first two bars of the picture above has the climax on one note in the middle. That's played by the middle finger, but a similar thing happens a little later requiring the pinky to sound that loud note. It turns out that using the pinky to play a note that sounds loud in comparison to the rest of the fingers isn't the easiest thing in the world. Still, it's coming along. 

I'm still working on the G^♭ Major scale in contrary motion. That started coming together a bit better today, especially since I began feeling freer to practice the tone of the notes and to make the thumb crossings smoother. My wrists have loosened up a bit more to facilitate this, and this looseness shows up also in the C minor run in Haydn's Menuetto (pictured above-right) and the F minor run in Beethoven's sonata. It also shows up in a better handling of the first run passage in Mozart's Sonata in C, which I still occasionally use as an etude and a dexterity measure to sort of see how far I've come. So I guess I'm making some progress. 

Nevertheless, Onward! like it's the first day.

Random Update

Today I played C Major arpeggios and felt good about them. I was hitting the right notes most of the time and moving with more speed and confidence across the octaves. Again my body was moving along with my hands—though I suspect it might now be too much and I will soon need to tone that down.

I also read through a bunch of songs in JTMCP 3, including Bach's Prelude in C, Clementi's Sonatina, and Thompson's Tarantella. Played through Massenet's Melody, too—especially the beginning (refrain) which I memorised and was actually trying to play decently. I ended with some finger exercises. For the left hand, I used Burgmuller's Ballade and for the right Maykapar's Toccatina. Felt my 3rd and 4th finger loosen up when playing trills because I tried to work that technique at slow and medium speeds. I guess my read through the first part of The Skaters inspired this work out. It helped. 

Two-Year (Late) Check-in

I haven't posted in a few weeks, but I've been practising! That, at least, hasn't stopped.

It's been two years, one month, and (almost) two days since I started this journey, and I'm still happy I'm doing it. I've struggled with a lot of things, not the least of which are the technical aspects of practising—scales and especially arpeggios. I've been finding my progress with the latter to be slow and they are in general just harder than scales. Motivation to do them lags behind that of scales, which I do in small bits (but thoroughly) every day. I might end up doing arpeggios only 4 or 5 times a week. Maybe 6. 

I've recently (two days ago) switched the fingering for playing minor arpeggios that begin on white keys with a black in the middle (like Cm and Gm). This has made a huge difference in my ability to play accurately. I'd been doing 1-2-3-5 in both hands as with their major counterparts, and switching to 5-4-2-1 in the left hand has decreased a lot of the awkwardness and mild contortionism involved. (This was usually in the "descending" motion toward the low end of the keyboard, when the fingers 1-2-3 would find the gap between notes a tad too wide.)

I've also just now (in the past week or two) detected a general improvement in my body's ability to move in such a way that it facilitates the speed with which arpeggios cover the keyboard. Before, I wasn't moving my torso sideways fast or evenly enough, and I also didn't move automatically closer to the piano at either end of the six-octave arpeggios. Now I find my body more limber and almost eager to move—even shift!—for the sake of the exercise. That's heartening to me, because in general I'm too phlegmatic and, well, lazy actually. Even my elbows have begun to raise themselves and remain that way throughout my practice session. 

Scales have their challenges too, of course, not the least of which is the fact that so many of them exist! I'm working on G^♭ Major in contrary motion and have been for quite a few weeks. It's hard. I'm to the point where I play them without errors (but not fast) if I look at my hands, but mess up about once or twice when not looking. I did have a feeling of near mastery yesterday, though, when I was playing G minor harmonic in contrary motion. I had it down so well the dynamics were starting to come out: I was almost playing it with style!

O that G^♭ Major might become like that one day... 

I've also been working on D^♭ Major along with the G^♭, but it has proved a bit easier. I do need to give it more attention though. Still haven't really touched the black key minors yet. The volume!!! (cf. The horror!)

Having found my level (RCM 7), I've been working on one of the studies, and I've sight read Beethoven's Bagatelle a couple times. I'd like to work on Bertini's C minor study too, but right now I'm still memorising Maykapar's Toccatina, so... (sigh). It'll happen though, especially since my sight reading has improved enough that I don't fear reading at all anymore. (I'm at the end of the Piano Adventures 3B books—almost the last page, since I'm skipping the Pachelbel Canon in D entries because I despise that damn song.)

I hope to return to blogging about my John Thompson series soon. I'll be revisiting many songs I've played before because I've demoted myself. I may have to begin again with the fourth grade book actually, even if I start somewhere in the middle. Schubert's Scherzo in B^♭ (the second entry of the fifth grade book) is a level 8 RCM exam piece, so the second half of the fourth grade book seems about right. 

Level Discovery!

I've recently been looking at the RCM syllabus for piano. The technical requirements are quite detailed and seem to indicate that my current level (Sept. 14, 2016) is the seventh of their system. 

I currently have all major keys under my fingers pretty well in parallel motion, all white keys in contrary motion and I've started on the black. I don't have all the black minors down yet, and I haven't truly started on the melodic minor. But judging from the above list, it seems I'm about 70% complete with all RCM requires for level 7, and I already play them at a faster tempo than their minimum, so that also indicates this might be my current level. This is heartening because I remember looking at the technique for as low as level 3 several months ago (and level 1 two years ago when I started) and finding a lot on the list I hadn't even covered yet. So if I ever wanted proof of progress, here it is. 

The arpeggios I've also covered, although there's plenty of room for improvement in that department. Arpeggios are fiendishly difficult! I certainly have the tonic four-note chords down—always have had from my days of playing by ear. I've recently learned the cadences from the method books I've been using for sight reading, but even though the chords' inversions per se are no problem either, I really should practice playing them in succession—if only for the sake of being comprehensive. 

My dominant and diminished seventh arpeggios need some attention. I've only practised them sporadically in the past, just enough to realize how fun the diminished seventh is in the way it sounds and the way it's played. 

I've also identified a video of a student playing her Level 7 RCM pieces rather well. I'm going to try some of them, since I own the repertoire book that contains them. I tried a bit of Maykapar's Toccatina and it's fitting pretty easily under my fingers, so this fact supports my hypothesis as well. 

Sept. 21, 2016 Update: 
I've been practising the first couple phrases of the Maykapar for about a week (since Sept. 13, missing one day, I think) and even though it lay pretty well under my fingers from the beginning, since several of the figures in the right hand are variations of each other, it was hard to play the right note group at the right time and not get it mixed up with an earlier or later one. Today, finally, I felt my hand relax into the pattern, so that I no longer needed to worry about messing up. I'd played the entire portion correctly several times before, so I'm not just talking about the sort of fluke accuracy that is really a memory-aided phenomenon. This level of accuracy actually feels different in my fingers themselves. It's a little weird and difficult to describe, but it's a state I've been waiting eagerly to attain. I have been wondering how many repetitions it would take to reach it—for without it, I could never feel justified speeding up the passage. So... it takes 7 to 8 days for a passage of this length, then? Naturally, speeding it up introduces new instabilities, but that's all part of the process, I guess.

Nov. 29, 2016 Update:

I've got this pretty much up to speed, even though I'm not quite finished memorising. I need to work on the recap of the opening theme and the descending arpeggios at the end. But the problematic "note groups" still trouble me. These can be found in measures 2, 3, and 5, where fatigue and error are the main hazards. Yesterday I practised playing them with the proper aesthetic motion, but at speed. First it was necessary to slow it way down to have my hand learn the behaviour. It's coming along but not easily and not without the not-so-occasional relapses into error. (Sigh...) 

Still, I keep on.