Sweet Memory by anahata.c
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No AI - This artwork was created entirely by hand or with traditional digital tools.
Description
This month, years ago, i met one of the sweetest, most inspiring people I've ever known. She was a piano teacher, and I was 12.
I only studied with her one year, but it was heavenly. And now, some 65 years later, I want to honor her.
I posted a little on her, years back, but this is more complete. I wrote it overnight, so I hope it reads well (without typos)! It's about being an artist. I hope that comes across.
Thanks so much for your visit; and if you're not a big reader, don't worry! I'll post more art soon...peace, everyone, Mark
(the drawing is mine, very old)
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It was a close, musty room, stuffed into the 20th floor of an old, rickety high rise, in the run-down South Loop of Chicago. The stone was dilapidated, the brick worn to a nub, the windows were soiled, the halls smelled of mildew and moldy carpets, and everything---everything---creaked. And when you got in the elevator, it had those old criss-cross sliding doors that took an army to pull back, and the chamber inside shook so much, you got sea-sick.
I'm only exaggerating a little...
I had my music lessons there: I was 11 or 12, and this was one of the places in Chicago for serious music study. Lotsa big teachers there. (I'd studied classical piano since 5, and they decided I was ready for advancement.) I was petrified. And, after walking through the halls of this 30 story crypt, I felt even moreso. I even joked about taking garlic with me, in case Dracula popped out (which wasn't all that unlikely)...
I started with Katrina. I nonestly don't remember her last name, because, at 77, my memory of names when I was 12 is not too great. But I remember her! Oh my.
She was Russian; and every surface in that room had a Russian shawlthrown over it---they were all black, wool, with gorgeous colored flowers. (The black was to make the flowers stand out; and also to hide wear...a very popular style in the 19th C.) I felt I was in a drawing from a Russian novel...
And---as always---she had sheet music strewn everywhere: old, yellowed, marked up, piled everywhere; and sacred. I say "sacred" because to an aspiring classical pianist, those old scores felt sacred. I pictured Beethoven himself playing them. They oozed sacredness.
And------the inevitable plate of cookies---a staple in the older teachers' rooms. And these were great cookies! I begged my mother to buy some, but they were strictly home made. (They were used as rewards for a good performance.)
Finally, the place smelled of wool, old wooden floors, and fatigued perfume---perfume that'd been worn a long time and had grown 'tired' (it needed a nap). But it was still sweet. And busts of Bach and Beethoven: terror! Beethoven's was the worst: He had a scowl that could stop a truck; and he looked down on the keyboard, reminding you that if you didn't give your all---and then some---you'd have to answer to him. So if she put him in front of you, you shaped up. (I told my parents it was 'child-abuse'. But that didn't go over.) It was terrifying, all the same.
In my 4th or 5th session, I eyed a Beethoven sonata I'd heard the world about: The Hammerklavier. It's a bear. A leviathan: one of the biggest challenges in the piano repertoire. I wanted to play it; and this wasn't negotiable. I was 12, I was an adult (I felt), and it was time.
"Can I play that?" I said.
She stared at me like I'd lost my mind, and said: "The Hammerklavier? Is that what you meant???"
"Yeah," I said, expecting lightning bolts to come down on me.
She glared, then softened: "Now, my child," she said in a thick Russian accent: "Let's not reach beyond wayyyyyy our grasp! Many greats don't touch this until their 30s!"
"I don't wanna wait that long!" I said.
"You wanna see it?" she said.
"Yes. Just see it!"
"Da, da," she said. "Aukay!" (Okay, in a Russian accent:) "You can 'see' it."
She grabbed it, opened it for me, turned to the slow movement (hint---the "slow" movement, so it would be easier), and said: "So, my solnyshko (my little Sun---ie, my little student): Play!" She grabbed me: "Make me weep!"
Well that wasn't what I wanted! (The only way I'd make her 'weep' was from my mistakes.)
"Come!" she said: "It's the slow movement. Easy pickings, no?"
I detected sarcasm. "Ok," I said. And I got ready.
This consisted of "going deep" (inside me), looking reeeeallllly devoted, breathing deeply, doing a Method Acting "getting-in-touch-with-your-feelings," then raising my head in deep gravity, and putting out my hands. God I was obnoxious.
Problem was: This is one of the most profound and deeply penetrating, slow movements in the repertoire; and it takes great endurance and concentration---and maturity (which I wasn't overflowing with). I put my hands on the keys; and she grabbed me immediately: "Markusha," (intimate form of "Mark") "what did we say? Hands even, fingers curved, feel the electricity about to gush out of you---da? Aukay---play!"
I played. Whoosh! I did 1 or 2 minutes, and I froze. God, this was deep! And mournful too. (It's a mournful movement.) I sunk into the chair, and I stopped.
"Too heavy?" she said, smiling.
"I----------- "
"Da, da (yes, yes): Of course!" she said. "No need to explain! But you dived into the Hammerklavier---yes? You see what's waiting for you?" She shook me: "How exciting! Now...let's get back to the present." She held my shoulders from behind: "Plenty of heaven right here---da? So...play!"
Yes. Lots of Heaven. She explained that that slow movement of the Hammerklavier was from Beethoven's final years, when he was deaf; and how losing his hearing forced him to go way inside his soul; thus he acheived a deeply inward music; music for the "galaxies," as she said. When I just touched the score, I felt like my hands would burn. I finally did play the Hammerklavier, years later, and it was every bit as difficult---and transcendent---then as it was earlier. And yes, for all my mistakes, it was like climbing a stairway to heaven.
Our lessons were masterclasses. She took me into each phrase, reminding me that the whole universe could be heard in a 3 second passage. "This is true of all art," she said. (Yes!) She opened me to seeing worlds in a mere glance...and to seek the 'sacredness' in each moment. "Play like it's the greatest prayer of your life," she'd say. I wasn't religious in a normal sense (still am not), but "sacred"---I loved to hear. So every session I had with her was like a small journey towards the sacred.
And when I played well, she got tears in her eyes. I'd look around and say, "was it that bad???" And she'd whisper, "no, it was wonderful...everytime one of my students finds heaven," she added, "I'm in tears." Then, of course: "So why're you stopping? go, go! Next passage, please!"
That perfume never left my memory. And everytime I went home, I glowed with all the love she poured into me. God, what a teacher. She imprinted on me endless love for making art. When she took me through Bach's fugues---her last teachings for me---she'd gush over one line at a time; and then she'd play it, and it was like the music rained down from above. And to think she did this for every student...how she didn't pass out at the end of each day? And she came from Stalin, and the Stalinist purges, the Gulags, etc. And such joy. Such beauty and inner strength.
One last story.
One day, after leaving Katrina, I passed the dance studios. I peered in: young dancers twisting and turning their bodies, grimacing, forging forward, shaking with pain...The teacher wasn't a slave-driver (as some were), but she kept reminding them of the highest they could acheive: That's what they were there for. (These weren't casual classes.)
At the break, the students piled out. One girl---my age---came out, saw my music, and said: "Piano?"
"Yeah."
"Looks difficult!"
"Yeah, it is," I said.
She smiled: "Why do we do it? Why?"
"God," I said, "if I did the moves you did, I'd be in the hospital!"
She lunged forward: "I was in tears," she said. "I am everytime I'm here!"
"God---why don't you quit?" I said.
She looked at me like I'd lost my mind, and said something I never forgot:
"Sir," she said, "I love this. I love it. Not the pain: the art! I love it. My whole heart is in it. My whole everything. I can say anything with it---anything. I adore it. I just adoreit..."
Her teacher rang a bell.
"I have to go," she said: "Best of luck to you!" Then she eyed my scores: "The Fourth Ballade???" she said. (Chopin. A very difficult piece!)
"Yes," I said: "But just to analyze. Not play."
"Whew!" she said. "Good!"
I leaned in and whispered: "I'm gonna play through it, this weekend! Don't tell anyone!"
And she ran into the studio.
Well, Katrina had been down the hall, talking to a teacher. I hadn't seen her. But she saw me I immediately flushed red. She stared, and walked over to me. (Save me.)
"(Like an all-knowing parent:) You're going to play the Fourth Ballade?" she said.
I wanted to die. These teachers have radar. Or telepathy.
"I----------"
"Relax!" she said. "Mess with it! But don't go too far---you could develop bad habits." Then she leaned into me: "But mess with it. It's heaven!." And she smiled and walked away.
I never pursued a career in piano, but I got to play many amazing works (including that Ballade). I haven't played in years...and I miss it. I want to sit with Bach, and play him all morning as I did in years past. But more important: To this day, whenever I tackle something big, I tnink of Katrina and her talk of 'sacredness'. She was one of those rare teachers who opened up the gates to heaven for you, and told you that everyone was worthy of going there. Spasibo, dorogaya Katrina...thank you so dearly, dear Katrina. You were a gift beyond words...
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Comments (10)
Stellar work, mr. Escher!😊💝🤗
You perfectly know how to flood anything with magic, again.
Thank you so much, mifdesign, I greatly appreciate it. And thanks for calling me Mr. Escher! (I'll have to design some stairways that circle around forever!) Thank you for your very kind response.
Mark, this was such an enjoyable story that you wrote about your early years in playing the piano with such an amazing teacher...she would be proud of the person that dared to tackle the "Hammerklavier" at such a young age. I have personally never heard it, but now I will search it out, as I am curious to hear it!
Question for you my friend...what are the top three most favorite piano music performances that you enjoy most? The reason I ask, is that I would like to do as video animation with one of your favorite piano performances playing in the background of an animation that I may do sometime in the near future for you.
Once again your talent as story teller is amazing...you definitely have a gift with words! :)
Johnny, thank you so much once again. I'm very grateful for all you've written about my work. And I actually have an old recording of me playing some of this music---but it's so "tubby" (in sound), I don't share it much. If you want to hear the beginning of that "Hammerklavier" slow movement---the one I played at 12, and quit because it was so profound? Here's one of the masters: Go to 17:15: That's the beg of that movement. Just listen for a minute, you'll see how mournful and 'inward' it is. (The movement goes on a lonnnng time.) The pianist is the great Grigory Sokolov:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OB6kU36MCB0
(The whole sonata is very difficult to hear...so strange, complex, even bombastic...It's not easy the first several times; but the slow movement is a deep meditation.)
I'll drop you a line about your request...I'm very flattered by your offer. I'm still working on your video of the android and the bear and the Syndicate...I'm very slow, but I'm really trying to complete a piece based on some of your questions. I'll drop you a line on all this...Thank you again for your very generous reception of all I do. I greatly appreciate it!
The drawing - a charm 💝 The story: I was watching the movie you've described. So beautiful, so intense. The smell, oh I know this tired old smell, my great-grandma had such one, it was called Nonchallance.
You were really lucky and blessed to have such a wonderful teacher 💝
Thank you so much, Nena. To say it was like watching a film is about the best thing you could say to a writer. Many thanks! And I looked up "Nonchalance"---amazing how we remember those fragrances, decades later. (My father used "Old Spice" and I swore he was born with the stuff, one bottle in each hand...) (It smelled great, but 365 days a year? It grew a little tired...) Thank you for your kind words. I greatly appreciate them. And yes, a great teacher is a gift beyond words...
from your words you really were inspired by this awesome teacher Mark. she was dear to you. i bet if you pursued the piano career you would have played extremely well, guessing by your super writing and photography skills. heartwaring story.
BTW i love your old drawing from your younger days.
Thank you, Steve (for both your comments). You're always so supportive to me and everyone else. I thought about being a concert pianist. I mean, you can't study that long and not "think" about it. But it takes so many years, and so many hours a day, and you pay your way the first several years...I just couldn't make the time and effort, unfortunately. Thank you for always being so supportive, I greatly appreciate it, Steve. And I continue to wish you strength and comfort for your great loss...
I could just see all of it, just like watching it on the computer. Every time I read one of your stories, I have this wonderful feel of watching a classic movie. Such a beautiful story, Mark!
You were one of the first souls to wholly support my writing here, Rod, and I remain grateful for that to this day. And as I said to Nena, to have someone "see" my writing as they read it is one of the nicest things you can say to a writer. Thank you for always being there for my work...and your response to my writing kept me doing it at times I didn't know if I could write another word. (Bows.) Many thanks again, Rod. And take good care!
Nothing beats the pleasure of paper and pen, eventually charcoal😊🥰🤗
I'd never say no to black ink with a feder sticking into a pen, I actually still have some feders between the ww1 and ww2 era, original stuff and I keep them safer than any treasure I don't have😂. Vintage Rotring, Staedler, including modern Pilot, Schneider, I keep those for my treasures, but keep it to yourself, it's confidential😊🥰🤗
Super !
Thanks for your comment, water.
Bach is my favorite, specially with Toccata that I discovered... through a video game. Since, I have a CD with it at home and listen it time to time. Love classical music, but don't listen often, just Bach. And the others in a shop I go once in a while (they passe classical music only). I know, it's organ, not piano ;)
You had a great teacher; loving what she did, passing that to hre student. Making the world better by her way.
Your drawing is so true: plants love good music. Seems you made a very old fashion piano, great to see something else that the models we always see on the scenes.
thanks again caty77...if the only classical composer you listen to is Bach, you're doing fine! There are musicians who would be happy if they never heard another composer in their lives. And I assume you mean the Toccata and Fugue in D Minor (since you said it was for organ---that's one of his most famous organ works).
And the keyboard in my drawing is based on an 18th C piano, which IS very old. Very observant of you! The older instruments are wonderful to draw. Esp their ornament.
Wow, Mark. That is a wonderful story. I usually struggle with English texts, but I really enjoyed reading this one (despite my lousy English). With this, you’ve created a tribute not just to your piano teacher, but to anyone who has ever experienced how art—in whatever form—can simply sweep you away. Whether as a creator or an audience member, art is capable of so much. Your drawing is simply beautiful, too. Truly magnificent work—next to it, my own pitiful attempts at writing seem like nothing more than the tired efforts of someone incompetent. Huge compliments to you.
(this has part of a comment on your recent tale---I'll leave a full comment soon...)
thank you so much, your comment means a great deal to me...thanks for coming back here and reading this piece, especially in a second or third language. I'm very grateful you did, and got through it. I'm very grateful for your comment.
And i'm glad you felt the elation for art: All of us go through a lot to create; and like the young dancer implied, in the piece above, we're crazy enough to go though all that, and then put it in front of the world. Most artists have other jobs (they don't make their living from their creations). And even those who've made money from their creations often struggle to do so. But like that young dancer said, we love it, and it is so transcendent. When i reached maturity as a pianist (speaking of the above memoir), I wanted to be a concert pianist. But I had to discover what so many advanced instrumentalists discover: That, of the thousands of piano students (or violin students, etc), maybe 40 make it to the concert world---ie, full-time, full-earning musicians, playing in the concert halls of the world---because you have to study 8 or more hours a day, every day of your life, and for years...you "eat, sleep and drink" piano, practicing day after day for years. You have to have good money behind you (ie, sponsors) so you can do it full time. So many of us had to work (for a living). And when you enter the concert world---if you get that far---you pay your way for a long time: Ie, you pay for flights, hotels, etc. It takes a long time before you are paid well, and get jobs regularly (I mean concert jobs). The universities and colleges of the world have many very talented pianists who just didn't have the time or money to "go the whole way"---to become one of those 40 pianists who make their livings in the concert halls of the world...
My only point is, there are some artists who make it "to the top" in the world...but most artists do it for love, for inspiration, and to inspire the people they reach. Art is like a 'calling': We do it because it 'calls' us to it: And it is glorious, and a wondrous gift of light. It's a passionate, glorious calling. 'm glad this little piece made that visible.
Which brings me to my last point.: Your "pitiful attempts at writing" (lol---your words): I'll comment on your latest writing (I have a spinal problem right now, and I just got in and am too tired to give a good comment right now) But I've been writing since I was 12, and I've studied literature and literary theory (etc), so I have some real experience with writing. You can truly write. You really can write. Your hospital piece has so much clarity. (I work hard for clarity---I appreciate that greatly.) Your words "jump off the page"---ie, they strike us, wake us up. You combine humor, silliness, day to day realities, deep humanity, pathos and the realities of life and death...and you do it with an easeful flow that I noticed the very first time I read your tales. I didn't read the Deutsch this time, only for lack of time. But whether I read it or not, I know by now that your English comes pretty close to your Deutsch; and if the English was that good, I'm sure the Deutsch is even better. Your diction, your "voice", all bounced, it was airborne. And your descriptions of the suffering of others was moving and compassionate and very honest. The way you reacted when that family thanked you...honest, direct and moving. It was a very moving moment...As we say in English, "I ain't shittin' ya, Jack!" (I'm not 'putting you on'): Please don't feel you're doing "tired efforts of someone incompetent" when you write: You are a genuinely good writer, with heart, real humor, and real clarity. Editors might change phrases, remove paragraphs, etc---that's their job. (I've had that surgery in several fields.) But any editor who didn't see how fine and buoyant your writing is, is blind. Period, as we say. I'll comment on it soon, but for now, 5 stars. And thank you again for reading this piece, and for your comment.