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greybetaA friend of mine once asked me why I made music. I really didn’t have an answer then, but a recent conversation with ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
purplkat made me re-examine why I make music.
In a previous post, I addressed why I loved the piano. But the reason why you love something and the reason you love to make something can be two very different things.
So now I must address why I play the piano. Um, why do I play the piano…why do I make music?
It’s not because I’m good at it. Well, “good” for me is being able to play off both sheet music and chords only, being able to both play formal pieces and improv.
I can’t do that because all I’m really good at is memorizing finger positions and chords and playing it from rote memory. I could train a monkey to do that.
So it must be a reason other than excellence that I play the piano. Let me suggest that I play the piano because it functions as a mirror for me, a mad method to reflect on my emotional state.
To digress a bit, allow me to say that there’s no doubt in my mind that the good Lord gave me one of the finest eidetic memories in the world. But the good Lord must have a good sense of humor because he forgot to give me some sense and sensibility.
Well, I possess a vast storehouse of knowledge yet I am often unaware of how people feel around you. I come across as an arrogant prick even if I am actually a fairly humble person.
For some reason or the other, I remember from a very young age that I should learn to guard my true thoughts. I became so adept at hiding my thoughts that I was eventually was able to hide my feelings—even from myself.
My thoughts and feelings are more connected than I would like to admit. If I cannot access my sincere thoughts at any given time, then I would have quite a bit of trouble assessing my genuine emotional state.
Invariably, I need a way to measure what I am thinking and feeling. For that, I have taught myself to become attentive to the manner in which I play the piano.
When I am happy, the music flows naturally from my brain to my fingers to the keys on the piano. When I am not, the music is disrupted in a variety of ways.
Confidence closes my eyes and allows me to measure what I am thinking and feeling. Suddenly, I lose myself in the music as I forget about all the emotional barriers that I have erected against the world.
Gladness noticeably speeds up my playing. I get excited when I am happy, and the piano reflects my more active mind state.
Nervousness causes me to stumble on songs that I am normally able to play from memory. I smile to cover my embarrassment but the notes betray the train wreck inside of me.
Sadness significantly slows down the pace at which I play. I guess subconsciously I am trying to give myself more time to meditate on what troubles me.
On the other hand, it might just be because I like to impress people by showing off how much music I can play without the sheet music in front of me. More likely, I am simply so narcissistic that I love hearing myself play the piano.
purplkat made me re-examine why I make music.In a previous post, I addressed why I loved the piano. But the reason why you love something and the reason you love to make something can be two very different things.
So now I must address why I play the piano. Um, why do I play the piano…why do I make music?
It’s not because I’m good at it. Well, “good” for me is being able to play off both sheet music and chords only, being able to both play formal pieces and improv.
I can’t do that because all I’m really good at is memorizing finger positions and chords and playing it from rote memory. I could train a monkey to do that.
So it must be a reason other than excellence that I play the piano. Let me suggest that I play the piano because it functions as a mirror for me, a mad method to reflect on my emotional state.
To digress a bit, allow me to say that there’s no doubt in my mind that the good Lord gave me one of the finest eidetic memories in the world. But the good Lord must have a good sense of humor because he forgot to give me some sense and sensibility.
Well, I possess a vast storehouse of knowledge yet I am often unaware of how people feel around you. I come across as an arrogant prick even if I am actually a fairly humble person.
For some reason or the other, I remember from a very young age that I should learn to guard my true thoughts. I became so adept at hiding my thoughts that I was eventually was able to hide my feelings—even from myself.
My thoughts and feelings are more connected than I would like to admit. If I cannot access my sincere thoughts at any given time, then I would have quite a bit of trouble assessing my genuine emotional state.
Invariably, I need a way to measure what I am thinking and feeling. For that, I have taught myself to become attentive to the manner in which I play the piano.
When I am happy, the music flows naturally from my brain to my fingers to the keys on the piano. When I am not, the music is disrupted in a variety of ways.
Confidence closes my eyes and allows me to measure what I am thinking and feeling. Suddenly, I lose myself in the music as I forget about all the emotional barriers that I have erected against the world.
Gladness noticeably speeds up my playing. I get excited when I am happy, and the piano reflects my more active mind state.
Nervousness causes me to stumble on songs that I am normally able to play from memory. I smile to cover my embarrassment but the notes betray the train wreck inside of me.
Sadness significantly slows down the pace at which I play. I guess subconsciously I am trying to give myself more time to meditate on what troubles me.
On the other hand, it might just be because I like to impress people by showing off how much music I can play without the sheet music in front of me. More likely, I am simply so narcissistic that I love hearing myself play the piano.
