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Yesterday I was drawing in a cafe. There was an old piano in the corner and this guy sat down and played a beautiful little tinkering song. When he got up, he left me wishing a well-worn wish: that I could sit down at the piano and my hands would know what to do, the same way they know what to do with a pen and paper. I wish this every time I hear someone play the piano. But it remains a wish.
When I’m drawing or writing or shaping a hunk of clay, hours can feel like minutes. I lose myself in the activity. I’m playing. But playing an instrument almost never feels like “play” to me… When I sit at a piano I quickly become confused, impatient and self-conscious. The keys, lined up beneath my hands, seem to merely tolerate my clumsy fingers. I might as well be playing a brick wall. Why is this? Why should a piano be so different than a pen? Maybe if I drew a piano I could play it?