Refining Gold from Ore

I find the more I practice a piece the more I find "cracks" or fractures in it. The parts of Cristofori that sound really good only accentuates the parts that are still clunky, so I practice the fractures more to refine them. Then when they sound good, other points call out to me that they crave attention. It seems like progress, at least for me, consists of three steps forward and two a-widdershins.

While it occurs to me perfection isn't possible, nonetheless there has to be a point where you say good enough. Otherwise you drive yourself crazy striving toward a pinnacle of perfection which isn't obtainable in the mortal coil. One begins to feel like Sisyphus pushing his stone, and we all know how painful pushing a stone where it doesn't want to go can be.

But where is that line? When and where do you cross the finish line? I think a lot of people give up long before they can even see the finish line. Especially when the practice is hard, and when practice is the one and only way to achieve the goal. If you look on e-Bay and Craig's List, you find the detritus cast aside by frustrated would-be musicians: instruments for sale at a fraction of their original price, put on the block festooned with taglines such as Mint condition, Seldom used, Like new. These are the sad relics of dreams gone to despair. You observe this phenomenon with exercise equipment too; someone decides to erect a home gym in the spare bedroom, and six weeks later they're selling off the weight bench because of the astonishing discovery that exercise is hard, and it takes a consistent dedication to practice to carve out that Godlike body.

When I decided to take piano lessons (and has it been a year and a half already?) I bought a reasonably good keyboard, a $125 Yamaha, serviceable but far short of the stature of the piano I have now. The reason for this was I knew very well many people quit when the effort required to reach a goal becomes too intimidating, and in the past I have done exactly the same with many things. My personal history is a conglomeration of passions embraced then set aside. I am a dabbler in many areas where perseverance is the watchword, and I never persevered. The one exception is my own profession, and I sometimes took years to master the skillsets required.

The key element, I think, is desire. How badly do you want the prize? I know I always wanted to know more about music, and there were songs I wanted intensely to play. So I bought an inexpensive keyboard to see if I was going to stick with it.

As it turned out, I not only stuck with it, my initial interest flowered into full-blown obsession. So I sold my Yamaha and bought the Privia. For me, this was a huge investment in nothing more than a belief in myself. The Privia is a great instrument, and many pros use it, but when it became clear I was in the race for the long haul, I felt it was time for something that more closely emulated a real piano. Hence the bold and rather extravagant purchase of the Casio Celviano 420. My other option was to go for a Clavanova, but we're talking about a jump in price from $1100 to $3000. Perhaps in a couple of years. Financing a piano is darned close to financing an automobile.

While waiting for the Celviano, I've practically memorized the Owner's Manual. I have mastered all the various functions and sundry bells-and-whistles without ever laying phalanges on the dang thing. UPS hasn't updated the tracking information in three days, which, considering my past history concerning the juxtaposition of UPS and pianos, inspires a sense of rampant unease. But it is the weekend after all, and I hope to wake up tomorrow (Monday) with news from my Celviano informing me it's well, having a great time perambulating from Las Vegas to Indiana, and is anxious to meet me.

Let's not even consider what will happen if it arrives beaten to pieces. I'll curse the Fates so loudly it will ring the welkin in Valhalla.