Earlier this year, I was searching for a new piece to learn on the piano when my teacher suggested Ludwig van Beethoven’s “Piano Sonata No. 1” in light of his upcoming 250th birthday. Of course, I eagerly agreed, pouring the majority of my time into the music. For me, music is my definition of self care — bubble baths just don’t do it. As someone who struggles to talk about my emotions, music has provided me a vehicle through which I can express myself. Indeed, this past year, many a piano have felt my wrath. So, in light of this monumental year, here are a few letters to the pianos that have gotten me through it all:
Graphic by Mia Katz/ The Choate News
Dear Yamaha upright on which I first learned to play piano,
Oh my God, have you seen a lot of tears! Thank you for being patient when I was not. I have to admit: six-year-old me had a lot of anger. I’m sorry for slamming my fists down on your keys — those performance exams seriously distressed me until I was old enough to talk my way out of them. Still, you stuck by me, and I like to think that the frustration motivated me. I don’t think either of us could have anticipated that dreaded email informing me that spring term would be virtual. Still, as soon as the initial shock left my body, I rushed downstairs to play loud songs in minor keys until my fingers gave up. Throughout spring term’s online classes, you tolerated hours of stress-playing as I took out my anger on you until your keys stuck. I thank you for your persistent patience and for teaching me how to play.
Peace out Girl Scout,
Charlotte
To my beloved grand piano,
You are literally the love of my life. I’m not joking. Hearing one note from your keys could send me to happy tears. Since you live in Nantucket, I associate you with summer — when we reunite after nine months apart. When I’m with you, my favorite songs to play are showtunes, so that with your lid up, no one can hear any mistakes over the cacophony of noise. Thanks for enabling my addiction to dramatic dynamics. You taught me that if I can make someone tear up at a piece, I can get them to buy me a new songbook.
I played you, too, during quarantine. You never failed to take my mind off of the coronavirus because a Beethoven sonata requires a lot of attention. I give credit to you for my success with the first movement to Hanon’s evil book of finger exercises. You’re the only piano I would willingly do metronome work on.
Stay tuned,
Charlotte
Dear old upright at my grandmother’s house,
I could never think badly of you. Mostly because you’re in my grandmother’s house, but also because you still sound good even though you’re not played nearly enough. Personally, I think your sound works best for “The Peanuts Theme Song,” not classical music. Sorry, Beethoven. My heart almost stops every time a young child recklessly hits your keys (although we both know that I’ve done that myself). While I’m terrifying when I don’t get enough sleep, I will never mind if my nap is cut short by your notes floating underneath my bedroom door. Honestly, most of the time, I can’t even tell that you haven’t been tuned in years. Thank you for being my piano away from home.
Until next time,
Charlotte
