March 11, 2017

Sometimes when I play the piano, I get a feeling that the music connects me to something so much more than my human mind can comprehend. I remember a piano lesson I had in 1971 with Charles Crowder, the teacher who shaped me. I nearly worshipped him. I loved his hands, his cardigan sweaters, his bushy eyebrows, and even his ability to smoke and play at the same time. He was an artist-teacher-therapist who told my mother that it was his goal to light the fire in me. He worked and worked to draw me out of my shy self. We had side-by-side grand pianos and he would play with me to help me let go into the keys. When I played scales, he played them in the contrary direction or in harmony with another key. He could boogie and jazz up the most boring finger exercises. Mr. C. created an exercise specifically for me to help me break a habit of curling my pinky finger. He knew that habit could eventually hurt me physically. His exercise worked.

One time, I came to a crossroads in my piano study and was looking for something new to learn. He thought for a few moments and then said, “I know the piece for you.” He produced a book of piano music by Johannes Brahms. Thus began a love affair with Brahms and the piano. Mr. C. made it all the richer through his masterful teaching.

As I learned the Intermezzi Op. 118 No. 1 and 2, I felt my heart expand. I was suddenly aware that there was the possibility of beauty beyond belief in this music. I practiced and practiced. I fell in love. The piece became mine. Even now, 45 years later, I still find its rich harmony and tender melodies so satisfying. This music makes me feel whole. Anyone or anything I have ever loved is held for me in this music. You can hear it here.

Sometimes, when viewing certain pieces of art, reading poetry, or in the remote places of nature where one is surrounded by quiet wonders, the feeling of playing Brahms returns. I find that I can’t just bid the feeling to come; however, it is a gift.

My favorite description of this feeling was written by John Steinbeck in East of Eden, Chapter 13. You can read it here. Maybe if you read his words, you’ll know what I am grateful for today. A kind of glory.

Advertisements

6 comments on “March 11, 2017

  1. This was a joy to read. I do also know what that moment of glory feeling feels like, and I agree it is beyond our comprehension. I enjoyed this the most because my mom is a piano teacher and I grew up with students and music continually in my life. I hope she has students who feel as deeply about their piano lesson experience as you do.

  2. Lisa L2L4L says:

    Yes, I feel that glory at times (not piano-induced, though) – lovely Brahms piece! Still listening!

  3. pokeygirl5 says:

    That is one thing I wish I knew how to do… play piano. I am glad you have that gift and a teacher that inspired that love within you.

  4. Your piano teacher sounds amazing. I see you being that for other teachers and students now. I still remember fondly you teaching my students the song in Echo! I did not ever learn to play music so I appreciate those who do! Thanks for including the Brahms link and Steinbeck link. I enjoyed listening and reading his words, too.

  5. smcninch says:

    Music begins where words fail. Glory to the minor and major chords of life. I didn’t know what i was missing today until just now. Thank you sharing Brahms with us and for making this day complete for me.

    • mgminer says:

      I’m so glad you listened. And so glad you found a completion there. Thank you for letting me know. Maybe one day we’ll meet and remember how we are writing friends.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s