There’s an old joke that goes

Like this

The piano was only

Invented so the musician would have a place to put his beer

I tend to think

Otherwise about this and music in general

Yes it is another language one

Without words but full of emotion

One without grammar but full of structure

sonatas have definite sections and preludes

Used to be introductory pieces

Your fingers are an orchestra

Left hand, the bass, crammed with cellos, tubas, and other instruments in the lower

register

Right hand, brilliance, vibrant, the color in the painting

Violins, flutes, and more delicate instruments inhabit this area.

It’s a lot like writing

Practice is in solitude, performance is solo

There are many talented but few inherently gifted

It’s for anyone, any age, any skill, any ethnicity

Universal to all but oblivious to many

It’s not for reluctance or doubt

It was composed for passion, for effort

and diligence, for torment and frustration

But when you feel the exhaustion

in your hands, or the noise of the audience, you know you’ve done

your duty to those geniuses behind you who

wrote the foundation for your version

whether its Beethoven or Ravel, Chopin or

Rachmaninoff, commonalities exist

but difference create the beauty we’ve

come to love.