In over my head

Most of the time when I'm practicing piano, I think I'm in over my head. But especially with Clair de Lune. It was my dad's signature piece, and I know that no one will ever feel the same way when I play it that they felt when my dad played it. My uncle Jack used to pop in the video we took of dad playing that piece at his recital. It was one way to feel close to dad. Joanne told me that Jack could play the beginning of that piece - the part that is harder than it seems, but also is a siren song, lulling you into thinking you might be able to go all the way with it. I never heard Jack play a note. But it makes me happy thinking that he and my dad shared a love for Clair de Lune.

I think the 5 flats in the key signature should have been a dead giveaway. That and the 9/8 time. The key of D flat is easier for me to wrap my head around if I think of it as two notes out of seven that aren't flats, rather than five out of seven that are. I just flat everything that isn't a C or an F and I come out of it okay. Feeling pretty confident. Then I turn the page and see myself approaching 4 sharps - a key of C sharp. And that's in the fast part.

Well, fortunately, I'm not playing the fast part fast. I'm not sure I'll ever play the fast part fast. My teacher, Jacqueline, wants me to play each note of those beautiful runs slow, firm, and strong. With the bottom note the firmest and strongest. It sounds quite ridiculous, and a very long way from sounding like Clair de Lune. I can't even hear the melody. But Jacqueline hears it, and I trust her. She points out which notes to push and which to pull back on. I have no idea. I do what she tells me to do. Most of the time.

And when I have a hard time discerning what I'm doing from a Czerny exercise (which Jacqueline doesn't believe in - hurrah!), she tells me that I'm building muscle, and laying the groundwork for speed. My hands hurt, so I think she's right on the muscle part. But to imagine how I will get from slow, loud, and strong, all the way to fast, "en animant," and beautiful is beyond me. But not beyond Jacqueline. She believes in me. She applauds me and shouts "Bravissimo!" She sits by my side and loves the music out of me.

Everyone needs a Jacqueline in their life. When your hands ache, you can't hear the melody, you feel you'll never be able to move quickly enough, when the sharps and flats tease and taunt you, when you know you should never have tried, there she is guiding you through the circles and lines and symbols and scribbles. "Don't worry. We'll find the notes together," she says. And you do. Slowly your fingers find their way to something that sounds occasionally, vaguely like something your dad played, what seemed like a long time ago.

Over my head. But not drowning. In fact, I might even be swimming.