There have been a couple of occasions where pianos have been encountered in the homes and apartments of friends, and on every occasion I have sat down with the intention of plucking out melodies and improvising tunes, recollecting music I played in high school, and been openly discouraged from doing so by the owners of the pianos. Their excuses are always about how it's inconvenient, it's loud and not appropriate for the moment . . . This is odd, to me, because in high school and even college I was openly encouraged by the families whose homes I visited to play their pianos; they wanted to hear me make music so badly.
I recently listened to a live performance of Ravel's "Piano Concerto in G", and cried as I realized it was one of a number of ambitious piano works I tried to teach myself when I was 20. I still have no piano, no access to one, and as I get older I find myself growing more and more frightened that something as beautiful and intimate as the act of caressing ivory keys will soon be lost, never to be known or tried ever again.
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I think you could teach yourself easily.
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