Over the centuries, the piano lesson has been a source of inspiration for painters but somehow has not found enough place for itself in literature. Painters were fascinated with the idea of portraying the invisible, while writers seemed discouraged by the prospect of describing what inevitably must remain inaudible. The lessons themselves were, more often that not, far from constituting a "pretty" picture, as evidenced in the unfortunate memories of renowned British music critic and composer Cecil Gray: While our ways of teaching today are dramatically different, the time-honored institution of the "lesson" persists as the primary vehicle of music advocacy across generations. As a student, I was fortunate to work with many colorful personalities. For example, one of my teachers suggested that my little Clementi Sonatina reflect "more orange." As a twelve-year-old at the time I was unaware that his constant demands for various colors might have something to do with synesthesia, the way he personally heard music in colors.

Another teacher of mine was given to unpredictable changes of mind; the tempo of a given Nocturne might be too slow this week and too fast next week. I was fifteen at the time and could not figure out how to proactively influence my teacher's mood. When I finally realized that he was never going to be satisfied no matter what I did—his teaching style apparently being based on the principle of "permanent questioning and continuous dissatisfaction"—I ended up developing a strong sense of my own tempos and dynamics. Interestingly, this particular teacher is very happy with the way I play the piano today, some thirty years later.

Nowadays, I view the process of a piano lesson from the other side. I perceive my job as involving my donning a variety of hats—that of a trainer, a psychoanalyst, an actor, a historian, a musicologist (or "musical pharmacist"), a singer, a dancer, and a motivational speaker. Sometimes I have to even wear a policeman's helmet. Occasionally, I feel that I am teaching kindergarten, or that I am stranded in a foreign land, speaking an alien tongue that nobody can understand.

I am expected to be able to assess my students' emotional maturity and technical ability, as well as to foresee and plan the future in terms of their musical development. In addition, I also have to engage in perpetual dialogue with my students' parents, which at times can morph into a comedy of cultural and intellectual misunderstandings.

Nevertheless, a piano teacher is one of those lucky people whose professional life never features a single dull moment ever. The variety of individuals coming through my office door is very impressive; their ways of dealing with musical issues are all distinctly different. Every single hour or half-hour I encounter a different level of musical energy. For example, the day can begin with a nine-year-old who declares that, while he loves "the Bach's Intervention" (meaning Invention), he does not like playing the "potato" (meaning "portato"). Following this I may get to enjoy the thunderous C Sharp Minor Prelude by Rachmaninov delivered by a spirited teenager from high school. Rachmaninov's thunders then set the stage for a battle with the perpetual shyness of a college freshman, following which an earnest Master's student may solicit my help in planning her audition for a prestigious doctoral program. I might even get to witness the excitement of a recent retiree who always wanted to learn the piano and just mastered the Beethoven's "Für Elise." And all of this happens over the course of a mere three hours!

Eventually, though, all aspiring musicians—irrespective of age, gender, position, or circumstance—can be divided into two groups: those who attended lessons regularly and listened to their teachers' advice, and those who skipped lessons and ignored their teachers' entreaties. In this era of whirlwind technological and socio-cultural change, regular lessons—along with regular daily practice—remain a crucial and irreplaceable part of the journey towards becoming an accomplished musician.

¹ Cecil Gray, "Musical Chairs," published by The Hogarth Press, London, UK, 1985, p. 74.