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06/06/2018, 23:34



Tempus-fugit-II


 When I graduated in piano I felt already old. I was twenty, going for twenty-one. I knew I was a good pianist who had had some excellent results, just...



When I graduated in piano I felt already old. I was twenty, going for twenty-one. I knew I was a good pianist who had had some excellent results, just like many others. My teacher urged, pointing out the deadlines. She had graduated very young, before eighteen, so graduating at twenty was already a kind of failure for me. Pushed by an unhealthy desire to overcome myself and to rush because others asked me to do so, I hurt myself.The years in which I did not play were a revelation: I suddenly realized I was twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, a girl and nothing more. No competitions, no race against time, nothing. For the first time I understood what it meant to feel young.And yet my strongest desire was still there, one and the same with that silent piano that looked at me from a corner of the house. Every day without playing was a day lost, wasted.The days became months and the months years. I tried to keep the anxiety at bay, convincing me that there must be some sense in all that suffering.When I resumed playing after three years of silence I was twenty-four, and it took me another long year to get back on track. I felt out of the game, but the desire to go back to music was so strong that I did not care. I sensed the passion and I just wanted a new start... the urge to meet deadlines gone, the need for praises left behind.  And despite this, I felt my age no longer appropriate, I returned to be ashamed and feeling alien and unsuitable. The sense of inadequacy had been injected into my veins, I had grown and I had been tamed. And there was more to it. Returning to the musical environment I found that everything had remained unchanged, I found the cruelty of certain mechanisms identical and unaltered, as if, by magic, time had passed only for me. The first teacher with whom I resumed was very capable, but never failed to repeat that I was out of time, that at twenty-four I was already "ahead", that after three years of inactivity "I had almost no hope". Impassive I suffered every blow. The teacher I met after him, and that I left to study with Anna Kravtchenko, told me openly that I was "old", even if with some talent.I asked myself intimately, and I continue to ask myself: "Old for what? Old to accomplish something? Something what? Old to make Art? Old to make a career?". Nobody, in any case, for no reason in the world, in any area, should feel entitled to make a young man or a young woman feel old, as if the time of life was being played on the keyboard, as if we had no right to our youth. And it is sad to realize that we seem to be clouded, unable to see that we are not racing horses, but people, boys and girls, with a strong desire to make art, our beautiful Music. And Music has nothing to do with age, it is not interested in competitions, does not aim a gun against anyone.Have we forgotten about it?It is undeniable that the path of musical studies is long and therefore should be started early. It equally undeniable that a vein of great talent at an early age is admirable. But I ask myself: "...and all the others? " What happens to those who are not geniuses, who stand in the middle, good among the good, very good among millions of other talented musicians, and who for many years have been struggling to get to some anchorage, and already feel unnecessarily old, only to find out - perhaps too late - that they have been young?With relief, I have crossed the threshold of twenty-eight years. At this age, as old as I am, I can grant myself the incredible luxury of finally doing what I want. And now that I am officially and totally out of the race, I laugh and enjoy the extraordinary gift that experience has offered me: freedom.



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