piano – Clara Hsu

The Piano–a play-movie

The Piano is a fantasy-adventure theatrical play written by Clara Hsu for the students of Clarion Summer Theater, 2020. The play is based on Clara’s knowledge and experience as a child growing up in her father’s piano factory in Hong Kong.

Players ages 10 to 16 met frequently on zoom to rehearse. They learned to act, dance and sing. Then each player was filmed individually at Clarion Performing Arts Center. The footage was creatively edited together by Brent Benaway. We’re proud to present to you “The Piano 2020 — a Play Movie”

The Piano is produced as a testament of tenacity and creativity of the human spirit. It was so for Mr. Ma, the piano manufacturer. It is so today, for all of us in the time of Coronavirus.

The Warsaw Chronicles 7

After Seong-Jin Cho’s Performance of Chopin’s 24 Preludes

The imperfection comes
not from the perfection of the playing.
For perfect playing does not invoke
conflicts in emotions,
nor bring about pain and sufferings.
Sensing perfection,
one naturally gives up the rein,
passes control to the higher authority,
lets the guide reveal
one mystery after another,
and at the end applauds the marvelous journey,
the pleasant surprises,
while safely touched down on earth again.

This imperfection, therefore,
comes from a judgement,
a prejudice against the representative of a country:
the downward points of his upper lips
the single syllabic sound of his name
are reminders of the rape
in a summer night,
in the innocence of my youth
in the safety of a college dorm.

It is through this imperfection
that I write about a perfect performance
when memory has served its purpose of reminding.
But in the flow of music
it is nothing more.

Photo from opera plus.cz

The Great Observer

Kayla, six, asked me why I have gray hair.

“Because I’m older than your mom.” That seemed like a good answer for my piano student.

But she persisted, “How come your veins are so big.” Then, “What’s that little bone on your wrist?”

We were no longer playing the piano but comparing the differences between a grown up (much older than her mom) and a child. Did Kayla think that some day she’ll have gray hair and large veins?

She was conscious of the protruding extra bone that grows out of her right thumb. There was one on the left too but the doctor had removed it.

“Why didn’t they remove this one too?” I asked. She said she didn’t know.

She went on to comment on my tattoo, told me my favorite color was green, and that I loved flowers. She was right.

I reminded her we needed to get back to playing the piano. She put her hands nicely on the keyboard and began the five-finger exercise.

Image comment: The Fantastic Flying Books of Mr. Morris Lessmore – piano lesson
Image credits: Moonbot Studios LA, LLC

The Last Lesson

Even though time ticks away in a constant tempo, sometimes it seems to accelerate. One moment I was teaching a willful teenager who was angry at everything, the next moment she is a young lady, sweet, graceful, graduating from high school.

We have certificates to show that she has indeed learned something from me, that I have taught her more than just counting one-and-two-and. In our last lesson she told me she has started a new piece, J.S. Bach’s Cappriccio in C minor. All through the years she has hated playing Bach, to the point that she managed to lose the book of Two-Part Inventions. I don’t know what happened, but I know it is not a change but an opening of the mind. It’s what gives me the greatest pleasure as a teacher.

The Quirky Side of Things

Kids get sick. They sneeze and cough and wipe their noses with the back of their hands and then come into the piano studio and play on the keyboard. It’s a miracle that piano teachers don’t get sick more often as they should. Perhaps the constant exposure to germs help in strengthen the immune system.

Neither do piano teachers go to the toilet like normal people do. “We can hold it like nobody else,” said one. It’s true. They cross their legs and beat the time and five hours later their legs are still crossed.

Not that these subtle observations would bring insights into the quality of teaching, but sometimes a student wonders about the indestructible quality of his piano teacher, how she counts, one-and-two-and, how she throws herself passionately on the piano to demonstrate a phrase, and just as he thinks she is going to have a nervous breakdown after listening repeatedly to his miserable wrong notes, she calmly asks him to please play the phrase one more time.

Image from Peas and Cougars.

A Treat

Despite this being the last day of the year, all my piano students except one came for their lessons. They seemed happy, relaxed. Maybe because they were still on winter break. And practiced too, so that a few of them actually made some good musical progress. Most of the year they came to their lessons yawning or sick. Kids work so hard when they’re in school. Three or four tests a week, book reports, projects on top of everything else. I felt sorry for them, but they just shrugged their shoulders. They learned from a young age life is work.

As a teacher I demand the same thing—practice, practice. But piano often loses out when pitted against schoolwork and I find myself a lone caller in the wild. “It’s OK,” I tell myself, “so long as they don’t hate coming to their lessons I’ve done my job.” And look, we had fun today. What a great way to end the year!

The Great Seduction

Before they are introduced to the concept of examination, I find my students enjoy playing the piano with a certain degree of innocence and curiosity. But as soon as they have taken the first exam, the pleasure of playing is transferred to the pleasure of passing. And when the certificates arrive in the mail with their names printed in gold, they are forever seduced into the system of achievement.

Learning to play for playing’s sake doesn’t go down well with the parents. After years of lessons, they are no longer dreamy-eyed about the essence of the soul and how music will nurture the character of their children. The piece of paper is proof that they have gotten their money’s worth. All that tuition and the weekly transport have to have tangible meaning in the end. Their children agree. Music is a must-have to put on their college application. My job is to whip them in shape before the next exam.

This Funny Thing We Called The Brain

To get to know a friend is to try finding things in common. Pick a topic–hobby, age, birth signs, politics–between two people there has got to be something you can talk about. My friend Andy and I are excited over our dyslexia. It may be too broad a term to describe the sense of loss in our childhood, but we definitely were not wired optimally and timely. I remember eating an interminable lunch at my desk, while the rest of the class lined up to go somewhere. But more tragically was the lack of comprehension on all subjects (except music) no matter how hard I tried.

For some, the wires of writing, reading, remembering, comprehending, interest, drive and skills in the “jelly-mold” may never touch. The disconnect is real and surreal. I don’t understand why I write poems and not be able to read others’. My love of sound does not help me in learning a language. People said if you can play the piano you can type. That’s an assumption that I can prove them wrong. Anyway, I tell my piano students the brain is a separate entity of the body. In order to make it work for you, you have to command and repeat an action over and over again. That means practice, practice, practice.