I am at East Coast Piano, a boxy, windowless warehouse store on New Jersey’s Route 46, because my husband, David, has insisted.
Claiming your passion
For my performance at Carnegie Hall, I wanted to infuse my music with the same emotion I experienced at home.
On New Year’s Eve in 1986, a crowd wearing pointed party hats pressed against the velvet ropes outside a Manhattan club.
An adult piano student considers her music ugly, a holdover from her childhood. Then when looking to buy an antique Steinway, she instead leaves with hope.
Around a year ago, when I began studying the Nocturne in C-sharp Minor, I felt awed by how Chopin had packed in the notes a plaintive sadness. In contrast, in my childhood home, although Mom never articulated a rule on the matter, feelings were prohibited.