One more reason for me to play, again. Beautiful music, man. Beautiful music. Our organist and I were having a conversation about this, and about my inclination to composing. (I know, you’d never know it about me – okay, perhaps a few friends could have guessed it was possible.)
Composing isn’t something I’d ever received permission to do, permission being something very important to me, previously. But I’ve since realized that I don’t require anyone’s permission to be who I am. And who I am, you may not be surprised to know, is musical. And if I want to try my hand at composing on the piano (as opposed to just in my head), who is going to stop me? Only me.
And yes, it’s true that I don’t actually own a piano, but it’s also true that there are no fewer than four of them in my workplace, and three of the four are grands. And one of them is really quite a nice stienway.
Of course, I’m rusty as all get out, but that is easily remedied. Really, it’s about permission. Do I give myself permission to play imperfectly? Do I give myself permission to create? Do I give myself permission to learn and try new things?
It’s funny. In voice, or on guitar, I can play – literally, play like a child would play with blocks. It’s fun, it’s liberating, it’s joyful. On the piano… I think I carry so much baggage to the bench, I might need to meditate every time before I sit down. Just to get rid of the baggage.
All that to say, I can’t wait for Hal Lenard to release the sheet music of this piece, which they say, will happen by the end of the year.