LARC Group Project

L(indsey)

A(lex)

R(enata)

C(hris)

While the name of our group seems obvious, our approach and aim was far from that. Lindsey (a film editor), Alex (an actress), Renata (a fine artist) and myself (a pianist), were anxious to avoid the obvious (a movie featuring acting, a musical soundtrack, and a set design) in combining our skills for this project. We discussed a number of possibilities before we truly arrived at a decent premise for our work. In combining our artistic talent, we decided to conduct a type of experiment, rather than produce a physical piece of work.

The basis of our experiment was a canvas painting of Renata's. Alex and I did not know what the painting looked like at all during the time of the experiment. We relied on descriptions given to us (independently) by Lindsey, who acted as the middleman throughout the project. The goal was to have Lindsey meet with Alex and I individually and explain the various qualities of Renata's painting. Based on these descriptions, Alex and I were to select pieces of work in our respective fields that we felt truly reflected what we were being told. Essentially the idea of this project was to (hopefully) reveal how artists, whether in the same field or not, interpret art and words in very similar and dissimilar fashions.

Lindsey described to me something that was desolate and tragic, a large blob of black with intersecting yellow rays. From her description, I picked a piece of music that I felt appropriately conveyed this feeling of tragedy and bareness: the Piano Sonata by Leos Janacek, a czech composer. Janacek wrote this piece in response to the death of a fellow countryman who was bayoneted at the University of Brno during a student protest by German soldiers during the World War I occupation of Czechoslovakia. It depicts the aftermath of his death in the second movement (which I used) through a very somber and sparsely textured funeral march. To me, the tragedy was the black blob that upset the hopeful rays of yellow in Renata's painting.

Once the project finally came to fruition, Alex and I were finally exposed to Renata's painting and to each other's interpretations of her art. For me, the Janacek Sonata seemed like a nice fit with Renata's work. With Lindsey's help, she picked an excerpt from Julius Caesar, a monologue by Portia. To my surprise, Alex's choice was similar in principle to the Janacek that I chose to reflect Renata's work. It too conveyed this idea of bleak tragedy and an apparent lack of hope. For the presentation we compared our approaches and explained exactly what inspired our choices. It was an experiment that had potential to yield very different results, but in the end, there turned out to be more similarities than differences in Alex's artistic choices and mine.

Artist Statement.

"Music is enough for a lifetime, but a lifetime is not enough for music"

- Sergei Rachmaninov

I don't need to preface my work with any sort of philosophical statement or existential reasons addressing why I came to pursue what I love to do. All I must say is that the piano, in every way imaginable, consumes me. It enriches my life. It encourages me and gives me hope. It tears me down and haunts me. It allows me to speak to others when words do not suffice. It is my dear friend, yet my great foe. At times I wonder why I chase after it so fervently if it brings to me so much discouragement and anxiety. But I have realized that my love for it has inexplicably never faltered, through even the worst of times.

How is it that this oddly configured and misshapen black object is the center of my world as a musician and human being? How do I live with myself knowing that my existence is comprised of sitting in solitude pressing eighty-eight black and white buttons day after day for hours at a time? To be perfectly honest, there's no simple answer. However, I can safely say that most pianists who share the same passion for music as I do cannot pinpoint exactly why it is they love what they do. It just happens. Like growing older or losing teeth.

Playing the piano is an addiction just as much as it is a passion. When I am away, I long for the sensation of the keys under my fingers, for the empowerment I feel when controlling each and every sonority to my content. I consider it my safe haven and my distraction from reality. While music is a tremendous blessing for me, it too is a struggle. For me, being a pianist involves a never-ending journey and path to achieve success and a unified understanding of what I do. There is no such thing as a vacation, or a break. There are no deadlines, due dates, or time frames. Music is a lifetime's worth of work which I, and all musicians alike, hope will someday culminate in a profound relationship to our art. The ambition of accomplishing this comes with great risk and small success, but the hope that it will someday come to fruition is what fuels me to continue with the same unwavering passion with which I began.

Perahia

A few weeks ago, I took my girlfriend to Walt Disney Concert Hall to see a recital given by American pianist Murray Perahia. He has always been a favorite of hers, so I knew that this birthday surprise would be a success. As it turned out, it was a present for the both of us.

By simply looking at the program he had prepared for the evening, it was evident that Perahia is different from most classical pianists today. It seems that most concert-goers today aspire to see artists with flair and great virtuosity - pianists such as Evgeny Kissin or Martha Argerich, who possess note-perfect and physically imposing techniques at the piano. But for Mr. Perahia, perhaps this is all second hand. His virtuosity doesn't lie in deftness and agility of the fingers, but rather in his unique ability to shape and mold each musical phrase, to present music not as an impressive and demanding art but rather as a profoundly introspective thought.

Mr. Perahia opened the evening with a dramatic performance of the Bach Partita #6 in e minor (excerpt). Normally Bach doesn't captivate the audience the way Beethoven, Chopin or Liszt might, but with Perahia's performance, there was a certain palpable energy to his playing. Watching him play made me understand that he put thought and consideration into every note of the Bach. His arm weight and articulation of the fingers were all very meticulously sorted out to create a wide variety of tone and musical gesture. There was something about his playing that was so vital and energetic, yet reserved and personal... but it took me a good while to pinpoint what exactly made his playing so innately captivating.

He followed up the Bach with the Beethoven Op. 109 piano sonata in E Major (excerpt). This sonata made me hesitate a little... Perahia's choice of tempo and attack at the piano lessened my initial feelings of awe and amazement. At first, I felt dragged along as a listener, almost as though the musical lines were being forced upon me. The last movement began too slow and angular, but I began to realize that his articulation and tempo worked in a strange way. Once he had ended the Beethoven, I felt that despite my complaints about his playing, something felt cohesive about it. Maybe his ideas as individual musical identities didn't appeal to me, but as a whole, his presentation of the Beethoven sonata inexplicably made sense.

Mr. Perahia is what I would call an excellent 'crafter' at the piano. I began to realize this after intermission when he opened with Schumann's Kinderszenen (Scenes From Childhood) Op. 15. The Kinderszenen is a set of small and intimate character pieces, each a warm reflection on the innocence and joy of childhood. Mr. Perahia shaped each melody with distinct tenderness and affection. He used his hands purposefully and never wasted motion extraneously at the keyboard. I felt as though he was conveying musical ideas through very subtle motion of the hands... he was shaping the music just as one would mold clay or carefully stroke a brush across a canvas. He was crafting polished musical ideas from raw material.

He ended the program with an etude, three mazurkas, and a scherzo by Chopin. This finalized my opinion that Perahia is the consummate musical craftsman. His performances of the Chopin in particular were far from note-perfect, but they were charming in the personal intimacy they conveyed. I didn't particularly care for the wrong notes... in fact, strangely, they felt like they belonged there. Mr. Perahia's natural sense of charm shone through the best in the Chopin - the long lines in the etude flowed with ease and agility, and the quick runs in the scherzo were perfectly whimsical and full of excitement.

I can't say Mr. Perahia's recital was a life changing experience, nor can I say that it was the best recital I have ever attended in my lifetime. But I can easily say I heard an evening of wonderful music, and came to realize that there ARE musicians out there who seek to impress not through sheer virtuosity, but through an apparent deepness of thought and intimate, even spiritual, connection with the music.

Here are a few samples of his playing:

Beethoven Moonlight Sonata, Last movement

Mendelssohn Fantasy in f-sharp minor, op. 28

Schubert Impromptu Op. 90 No. 3