Thursday 11 June 2015

Emptying My Hands of Old Blackness….


This book carries deeply emotional memories for me…
I burned it last year when I found it again in a pile of music.
It felt good.
(Now I find it is rare and fetching $250 - damn it;
That would have felt even better…
Delightful recompense...)

This book was a passion of my piano teacher.
She thought it would make me into Ashkenazy #2.
At 19, it gave me a breakdown.

It asked the player to perform acts with the hand
That are surely as far from freedom as can be.
And I don't know what Ms Rennie's idea of strength was,
But it wasn't mine.
As for 'independence' - there was none;
I've enjoyed a flowing inter-dependence within my hands long since…
It's a lot easier when the fingers can talk with each other.

Tonight, for some reason, this book's memory came back to me.
I was watching a programme on James Galway, the flautist.
His economic quietness as he plays -
His soft, just-enough fingers on the keys -
His light but appropriate breathing -
His body still, yet peacefully energetic -
His heart pouring forth the music….



But it was his hands that really got me….
Mine curled up and ran away in  shame as I watched…
And the book of exercises danced in my mind…

'Place the index finger on middle C, depress it and hold', it said,
'And play up and down the scale several times -
D, E, F, G, A, B, C, with your third finger -
Rolling the hand over towards the thumb as you do so
In order to be able to play these notes.
This will stretch the tendons between and within index and third finger.'


Stretch?
Tear……

And so it went on
For pages.
Fuzzy black & white photos of deformed and rigid fingers
Twisted hands, arms and shoulders
Forcing me into playing notes that tore into my hand,
and my mind….

Contorting.
Fixing.
Tightening.
Way beyond the hand and into my body….

"How many hours Blanch did you do this week? I want at least 2 hours a day."
Ye Gods.
Something in me knew this wasn't the way,
But I didn't know anything, did I; they said not….

She used to get my hands - like here, in this picture -


And squeeze my fingers' bends ever tighter,
Wrestling them
Until my fingertips were level with the crease
Right up between palm and fingers….
And until they were, she wasn't happy….

Please don't try it at home - it's painful, and so, so horrible.

Sometimes she'd make my fingers crack.
I'd wince.
She said it wouldn't hurt any more when I was getting it right.

Then she made me play the piano
With fingers as close to that shape as I could....


Funnily enough, I had to fight for every note;
My hands were too rigid to obey and play;
Clawing at every note just isn't the way….

I loved the piano -
But this way I hated it, too.
And I gave up -
Stopped.
Ran away.

A while later, Alexander lessons and teacher training….
Soften your hand.
Lengthen the fingers.
Sense - flow - feel
Finger pads touching life
Openingly…

And that's how it's been for 35 years.
A work-in-progress to touch with lightness,
Especially at the piano's keys -
Old habits dancing in the wings, but joy at the soft touch's kindness.

But tonight the memory flooded up again -
Watching 'Jimmy's fingers'.
And I screwed up my hands -
Not even half as much as she liked it -
To see if I was imagining it.
Ouch.
           No.
                  Please!

Oh how wrong it is…
I let my hands go again -
Something in their release revealing to me
The memory of the pain,
The constriction,
The deep hurt -
With an emotional depth.
With an apologetic ache,
My hands still emptying themselves of yet more
Of the black tightening that was inserted so long ago.

Poor woman -
          Meant well -
                    Had no idea -
                                Long gone now.

'Finger, hand and arm gymnastics at the piano'…?
No, don't ever let anyone ask that of you;
Let them ask you for music,
For heart,
For soul.

I am grateful to my hands for showing me this memory,
For I want to live with ever softening touch,
My fingers touching the world quietly,
And the world touching me gently.

Touch is where I meet the world softly,
And the piano,
And the computer, too.
So I continue to release,
Soften,
Let go...



1 comment:

  1. A friend's comment about 're-membering' my hands did bring up a long forgotten memory of how scared I was of hands - mine and others' - from a very young age. Until my Alexander teacher training I think, or even some time after; all the emphasis on 'good hands' had mine tighten up for a long time yet!! And still I work on it; touch is so, so special to me, it's my language. Maybe that's why I was afraid of hands when so young; I didn't have kind hands around me.

    I do want to say I am still grateful to this lady, my teacher from my first lesson on my 7th birthday until I was 19 - her teaching might have had some really tough things, weird things, not so good things, but that's where we often learn best; at the hands (!) of what doesn't work, what isn't true for us, and through that find our own way. I've had some wonderful teachers since, although I never had another piano lesson in my life!

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