The Blind Cat and the Rabbit, Why We Dream

'Please, take one of mine," said he, 'for I do not need two.'

I wondered why I made this strange cartoon, but then I remembered two things that recently happened in my life.

1. I had just studied a couple days ago, the complicated halakha of whether it was good and whether permissible to donate organs.

2. This week I heard that my friend of just 20 years is now finally blind.  He lost one eye early to childhood cancer and had been battling it in the second since.  He had fluctuations of blindness and, after surgeries/cleanings, sight again.  Now he has finally has lost his sight irreversibly.

Fortunately, he has kind and dedicated parents who soften the physical loss and deep emotional pain of his tragedy.  Once, I remember, when he was six, his mother and he, my son and I, were late for somewhere and about to hop in a taxi.  He broke down in fear and trembling (not a euphemism), and his mother explained he had come to associate taxi rides with his extremely painful treatments.  We went by subway.

All that is left for his family is waiting.  One of the old signs of the anointed Jewish king is that he will specifically heal the blind.

We experience the story of our waking world as we live but we need to make sense of it on a personal  level, so we dream.  We obliquely confront our fears, obstacles, setbacks and accomplishments in our dreams.  The obliqueness softens it, makes it easier to approach.  A mean schoolteacher becomes a werewolf chasing us through a library of books, or perhaps we fly over our school like Peter Pan.  The death of our family dog becomes Pinocchio leaving us to join the army.  Getting a Rhodes scholarship to study at Oxford becomes, well, whatever it becomes.  I wouldn't know, my scholarship must have been lost in mail along with my Hogwarts acceptance letter.  

Another way of dealing with one's life situations and experiences is though the creative arts.  Tolkien wove his gritty war story of the rings after suffering though ground warfare in WWI, Charles Schulz dealt with his relationship with his wife by acting it out in Schroeder - Lucy cartoons, and I here today.

Still another way we safely process our fears is by sharing others' creativity in their novels, films and cartoons.  Here the audience safely deals with fears is a way abstract to their lives.  That is why scary stories are so popular.  Even when the stories are true as with your parents' retelling their childhood memories or in biographies, we are still safe as we hear them. 

"I'm sending you this email to tell you that I can't send you an email."

The New York Times may be one of the best sources of intelligent news and info, but today they proved they can also be the "All the news that fits, we print" company.

Having trouble with my access and wanting to reset my password, they sent me this email...

It's the same email, they only have one from me.  They sent me an email saying they couldn't send me an email.

It's like some old vaudeville act…

"Hi, Sid.  Can you give me your phone number.  When I dial your number, it's wrong.  I can't get your on the phone."

"But Harvey, you're on the phone with me."

and the routine continues. . .

Creativity and Imitation

I ‘ve been looking for Mary Well’s version of Ferry Cross the Mersey. for some years now.  But with no luck and so I wrote yesterday to her biographer who suggested it may have been Mary Wilson.  Either way, it was by far the best version I remember of the original’s era.

I have trouble finding a lot of great music that came across years ago, like Dolly Parton's early, early TV appearance singing I will always love you.  What's interesting is that while that performance was head and shoulders above any other rendition of her song, touching and almost amateurish in simplicity, I also remember being shown an unedited tape of another group of her later works and the finished product and the editing in that case took her from anyone-could-sing-this to this-is-really-good.  

Another is Michael Martin Murphey, for here called Michael Martin, performing a slowed down version of his Close to My Heart for a Ralph Lauren video.  And it seems that the commercial producers know to use the slow paced, rare and alt versions of songs, that they are more wonderful.  I've noticed it with Frank Sinatra and Maurice Chevalier commercials.

Also can't find any aural traces of the Greek singer's pre-Yesterday song that sounded like Yesterday by Paul McCarthy.  She was popular in England and had radio play, I believe.  Nothing new, Pachelbel was so proud of his cannon but sounded like me to be a variation of an earlier violin chaconne by another composer.  None of this takes away from McCartney or Pachelbel, but either their thinking on creativity or their perception of the public's thinking on what creativity is caused denial.  Contrast this to Bach whose Goldberg Variations had the same ground that Handel used earlier for his variations, probably to show he was the better composer.  It was best put by Philip Glass (? I'd have to check) that we composers take the music we've heard in our childhood (and I would add, heard later also) and just play it a little wrongly.  Everything is a variation.  

And reading Charles Schulz's bio now, I see that he so strongly denied that any of his cartoon ideas came anywhere but from his head (except for one cartoon).  A motif of his I loved was when, in strip after strip, Linus would run through backyards and over fences until it became absurd and catch a baseball.  The earlier Bugs Bunny did the same, even taking a cab.  Or most ridiculously, but for money reasons, Disney Corp. said that none of the many cartoonists or writers of their Lion King ever heard of Kimba the White Lion, though it was on TV each week for a good stretch when they were growing up.

We make small variations, but creativity and imitation are intertwined.  Oversimplifying, all music is in love with those three rock chords, other musics just make the journey between the chords more complex and interesting.  

I think my son may have summed it up best.  I told him that if I simplify my cartoons, they have the round heads of Peanuts' characters and I wanted to make mine different.  He said, "Dad, all cartoons have round heads."

The World's Most Macho Beer

Years ago, when I lived in Brooklyn, there was a hugh sign I would pass traveling on the BQE.  In the daylight it said Bruno Truck Sales.  At night, the two neon S's were blown out and it read Bruno Truck Ale.

I couldn't imagine a more macho sounding beer.

"I'll have a Miller," your friend says.
"Make mine a Heineken," says another.
You say, "Gimme a Truck Ale."

That trumps 'em all.  And it's Bruno Truck Ale, a real man's name.
And it's made in Brooklyn, the unfancy part of the city.  The gritty, rough-edged, blue-collared borough.  Not like fancy Manhattan at all.

We have Little Italy and our Chinatown, Brooklyn is our Detroit.

So Bruno + Truck + Ale + Brooklyn.  Needs a solid logo.  And the typeface has to look like it was not designed, just put on as if those fancy details don't matter.  Here's my solution. . .

Now, it can't come in a namby-pamby bottle, but a Foster Lager sized tin.  And it has to pack a punch, halfway between a regular beer and Colt 45 Malt Liquor.

Cars

 

On our trip to Vermont, my son and came across several sections where roadwork was being done.  Each time there was a sign warning us that, up ahead, fines would double in the construction zone.

My son translated the sign into adolescent male language. “Dad,” he said, “if you’re going to do something illegal, do it now.  Fines are half-priced for the next couple hundred yards!”

Not tempted, I never the less thought it would be fair play for some minor government worker to be handing out coupons to all of us drivers.  Hey!  We were delayed, we couldn’t go our 65 miles an hour.  We were stuck going 5 or 10.  The coupons would allow you to go over the speed limit later on and make up for the inconvenience you suffered.  

A state trouper would pull you over a week or several months later, ask for your license and registration.  

“Did you know you were going 114?,” the officer would ask.

At that point, you'd get to ceremoniously whip out you coupon (like a Monopoly Get Out of Jail Free card or the gold captain’s badge my uncle from New Jersey would use on such occasions).  

“Have a nice day, officer,” you'd say before continuing down the road humming a tune, happy as Mr. Magoo in his roadster.

I’d love to be able to use the coupon.  Wouldn’t you?

While we’re on the subject of cars, a small architectural jewel was lost in May.

New York city had at one point four Frank Lloyd Wright “buildings.”  Can you name them.  The Guggenheim, of course; a private home on Staten Island;  a temporary pre-fab building at one of our museums; and a small, glassed, car showroom on Park Avenue.  If there were more, let me know, this is just off the top of my head.

The landmarks commission sent the building’s own a letter on March 25, telling him that the car showroom was being considered for landmarking.  The owner got a demolition permit right away (Hey, it’s another department) and a week later there was no showroom to landmark.  

Imagine if it had been kept. . . and MoMA had bought it and used it for as a small, satellite museum for a few great cars?  They have some wonderful ones.  And the perfect name?  They could have called it MoVE, the Museum of Vehicular Evolution.  

Think of the shows!  The Wright (no, the other Wrights) plane on loan.  Moma's green helicopter next to a Da Vinci mockup.   James Bond's Aston Martin and the TV Batmobile together.  Some tiny military drones with those small robotic fish and jellyfish from Japan.

And all wrapped in an elegant, Frank Lloyd Wright package.  The lines would have been, well, like museum lines at Moma on a Friday night.

Good Morning!

We had an old stove that came with the apartment.  After many years we got a new one.  A restaurant quality Viking.  The old, cheap one had a nice clock with a timer.  After we got our restaurant stove, occasionally, one of us would look over and wonder what time it was.

Instead of getting a new clock, I taped a sign above the stove.  It says "Morning."  I figured we call Japan or think of it often, and when it's evening here, it's morning there.  In the evening, we catch a couple minutes of "Good Morning, Japan."

So, either it is morning here in Manhattan or there are people waking up to a new day in Japan.  It's always morning somewhere.  The sign clock keeps perfect time and it's comforting.

My giraffe wants to remind you that it's evening somewhere now, if not here, perhaps Africa.  I recommend clicking on her to enlarge the picture.

Some days, I can get tunnel vision and stay in the apartment working on music or work.  I forget there's a world out there sometimes.  Then, when I actually take a walk through the 840 acres of Central Park, or if I stroll Riverside, I go "Whoa!" at the real world.

The little paper sign works a bit like that.

Breaking Grammar Rules

It might be best to never spilt infinitives; unless you, like Emily Dickinson or Dylan Thomas, breathe and live the craft of words, and then you would be wise to attentively do so.

Bach broke all the rules of counterpoint, but as a master of them.  He was described once as a craftsman who would lovingly finish the part of a piece of furniture no one would see.

An actual master furniture maker who attained the level of a Japanese Living Treasure, George Nakashima, left the edges of his perfect, wood tables natural and unfinished.

It's fine, occasionally even stunning, to intentionally break rules, if with precision and mastery.

I'd like to return to Mr. Thomas, partly to illustrate the point of breaking rules, mostly because it gives me a chance to quote his wonderful words.  Alex Quick writes of him in 102 Ways to Write a Novel,

Dylan Thomas opens Under Milk Wood by talking about the 'sloeblack, slow, black, crowblack, fishingboat-bobbing sea', and I think it probably would have been unwise for anyone to have told him: 'Very nice Dylan, but too many  adjectives.'

Interestingly, being a master does not mean you do not make mistakes.  Nor does not making mistakes make you a master.  Alex Quick placed quotation marks before a comma and also after a period in the above quote.  It happens.

When I was in eight grade, I remember being told by Mrs. Connors, my English teacher, I couldn't start a sentence with "And," that I wasn't advanced enough to be allow to do so.  But I knew I was.  Yet I can't blame her, that was the impression I minted. . .

I was a lazy kid who gave the appearance of being, well, a lazy kid. When I actually sat down at our redwood picnic table one afternoon to write an assignment, a poem, she refused to believe it was mine.

Then one day we were given a boring research assignment.  My friend talked about how he just copied his reports from the encyclopedia. "Brilliant," I thought!  "I'll do the same."  But I figured I would steal from our children's encyclopedia so it would sound like I wrote it.

I was called Mrs. Connors desk.  "You took this from an encyclopedia," she said, "this part.  And over here is your writing."

Only she had the parts mixed up.  I should have dumbed down my own writing so she could have believed I was the author.  And I would like to say that even at the time, we all recognized Mrs. Connors as a terrific teacher; really tough, but the best we had in junior high.

Happy Wild Birthday, Maurice Sendak!

Maurice Sendak's 85th birthday anniversary was celebrated today by a Google animation. And it falls on the last day my son, Sage, is still a legal minor.  Late this morning he will turn 18.

Here is the interesting and true story about how Sendak almost illustrated the Hobbit, written by Scott Edelman. (You can view the site of Edelman's original article by clicking the top illustration.)

The Hobbit illustrated by Where the Wild Things Are creator Maurice Sendak? It almost happened, but didn't, and all because J.R.R. Tolkien got miffed, putting a stop to what might have been the greatest edition of The Hobbit ever.

In the late '60s, Sendak was asked by the U.S. publisher to illustrate the novel's 30th anniversary edition, but before Tolkien, then 75, would approve the project, he asked Sendak to audition with a few drawings. This apparently miffed the artist, but he went ahead anyway and created two sketches, one of them (above) of Gandalf and Bilbo.

But when the publisher sent the pieces, the second of which pictured wood-elves in the moonlight, for Tolkien's approval, a mistake was made, as Tony DiTerlizzi over at Hero Complex found out:

The editor mislabeled the samples, however, identifying the wood-elves as "hobbits," as Sendak recalled to Maguire. This blunder nettled Tolkien. His reply was that Sendak had not read the book closely and did not know what a hobbit was. Consequently, Tolkien did not approve the drawings. Sendak was furious.

The publisher tried to repair this misunderstanding, even going so far as to set up a meeting between the two while Sendak was touring the U.K. in support of Where the Wild Things Are, but the day before their meeting, the artist suffered a major heart attack.

He recovered, but no meeting ever took place, and the project was abandoned, killing a masterpiece that might have been ... and now that we've found out about it, breaking our hearts.

5 bonus points if you remember Sendak's dog's name (before looking it up).

Now, can you identify these three birthday guests I would invite to make for quite an interesting party for Sendak; (though, sadly, all four have passed away)?  Who else would you add?

Beethoven and Bach Visualized

Click on a picture to go to beautifully visualized music.  Everyone should see these at least once in their lives.  Switch to HD quality when you get there; and, Oh yeah, use the full screen mode.

My Old, Dented Rocket Ship

I created this rocket and animated it on my other homepage. Click these words to liftoff and go there.  I guess we boys never stop wanting to play with rockets.

Wrong Nation, Oops!

Italians used to follow Lee Trevino around the golf course and cheer for him as he played. Great player who won 29 PGA titles and 21 more pro.

He said, "I've been hit by lightning and been in the Marine Corps for four years.  I'ver traveled the world and been about everywhere you can imagine.  There's nothing I'm scared of except my wife."

The funny thing is that Trevino wasn't Italian, he was Mexican.  His name just sounded Italian to his Italian fans.

Fast forward to my wife, my Japanese wife.  The other day I

carefully selected a gift for her.  I thought she'd especially like it as it was from Marimekko, the Japanese home design store.

But Marimekko only sounds Japanese, it's Finnish.

The salesgirl assured me though, that a lot of their designers were from Japan.

I Don't 'Heart' What NY is Doing With It's Copyright

See the NYT article, click here.

Interesting, sad newspaper article.  (Be sure to read it by clicking the above link.)  I wonder if I would get in trouble with this design?  Paul Rand used the Eye hieroglyph for his IBM logo.

It's ridiculous, I guess they could take it a step further and copyright the Heart symbol.  I mean, nobody in America can professionally use "I Heart" but them?

It reminds me of an old Batman comic where the Riddler copyrights the letter e, the most commonly used letter in English.  It becomes almost impossible to write anything because the Riddler won't let anyone use "his" letter.  (It would have been cool if the comic writer had omitted the letter e from his text until they defeated the Riddler and got rid of his copyright.)

You can't use I Heart Symbol Yoga?  I guess they should sue if someone writes I Heart You in a love letter in a movie.  Did they sue the I Heart Huckabee's people?  I do understand NYC's legal and moral right to stop an infringement in this I Coffee Cup NY case.  I think it's very wrong to extend the city's rights to the simple, basic I + Heart Symbol.  Was it the specific typeface with the "I Heart Yoga" that NYC is objecting to?  If it was, then NYC should have just asked them to change the typeface and perhaps the exact heart icon.

Milton Glaser should say that he used a friend's idea for I Heart in the I Heart NY and NYC would loose their privilege to abuse when "the originator" refuses to let them use his idea.  (For absolute certain, he was not the very first to use "I Heart," and as such NYC should not be able to claim infringements based on that part of their logo only.)  Then NYC would have to return a portion of the $2.5 million dollars in fees they have been collecting each year.  For use by other cities, or if the same heart and typeface is used in I Heart, or if I... word-substitute-for-heart... NY is used, NYC's rights should stay.

OK, please forgive me, but I can't leave this article without referencing one of the greatest "I love" puns.  Drum roll please... On The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show they mention the Isle of Lucy, (I Love Lucy).

I Was Able to Play on Liberache's Piano Yesterday!

Jewel encrusted cars, including a Rolls Royce; this diamond and sapphire watch (above), his piano shaped swimming pool with black and white keys (below); and a grand piano completely covered with rhinestones holding a gold candelabra; the most-bling-iest outfits ever; and, of course, his talented, over-the-top, schmaltzy playing in Vegas or on the Ed Sullivan Show.

Now they're making a movie about him... LIBERACHE.  It's with Michael Douglas and Matt Damon.

Because of the movie, there is a display of his outfits and memorabilia at Time-Warner, here in Manhattan.  I stumbled upon it doing some shopping yesterday and I got to play his rhinestoned piano a bit.  I had a big smile afterwards.

Among other great pianos, I played on Horowitz's and Billy Joel's, (when I appraised his apartment). Now I can add this to my resume, my collection, the stories I tell.

Well, it's only fair since so many famous people played on my piano, (when it was in the NBC studio).

Now, it's funny, the things or experiences we collect to make us feel special.  We are all but little Liberaches, though we may tell ourselves we have "better," less gaudy taste.  We tell ourselves this is what sets us above Liberache, and chuckle at him.

An interesting aside is the difference between the way men and women collect.  I remember reading the study by a CD company. (Yes, there actually was a time when people bought lots of CDs.)

The company discovered that male collectors would have to own every last CD of whatever they were collecting.  And they would hunt down the last, unfound disks with the purpose of Teddy Roosevelt or Ernest Hemingway going after big, African game.

Women, on the other hand, the company found out, were satisfied to buy this and that music CD, collect a bit or most of an artist and move on.  Gatherers not hunters, they.

I haven't played on enough "famous" pianos yet to feel I've got to fill out "my collection."  I haven't got the bug.  But I'd like to sit in Glenn Gould's odd chair and play a partita on his Chickering, and I'd be thrilled to play on Rachmaninoff's grand, and to play Bartok's sonatina on Bartok's piano, among my other little ambitions.  And I'm sad that they disassembled the organ that Bach played on.  That would have been the jewel in the crown of my collection - to play on the organ Bach himself played his Toccata and Fugue.  (Here I sigh, in a very Charlie Brown sort of way.)

Click Here - to hear Toccata and Fugue in D minor, with very neat graphics.  (Almost 20 million hits for this classical music piece on YouTube; it's that good.)

Even Better Than Getting on a Popular TV Show

I got my fifteen minutes of fame over these past two weeks.  (Hey! I referenced Warhol in the last post too.)  Well, I had to share the minutes with lots of others on the TV show, Royal Pains - where I was sort of conscripted into being an extra in two scenes.

Our first scene, in a hospital, was shot not in the Hamptons, (false Gasp! added here), but in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, just about the furthest point from the Hamptons while still standing on Long Island.  

But the cool thing was not being on TV; it happened when I took to wandering off when we had some down time and saw something I never thought I would. 

It was the edge of evening, and as I walked a block over to an unobstructed view of Manhattan, the Empire State Building jumped out, majestically, subtly lit.  Now that building is my Mt. Fuji of the famous 100 views of Mt. Fuji - over the years I have been running across new viewing angles and lightings.  It seems to me like 100 different skyscrapers, not one.

The thing about it is, I still have one watercolor from when I grew up on the North Fork (the quieter fork above the Hamptons).   It's a watercolor of the city which I had then visited only once.  Featured in it is the Empire State building.  But the scene always bothered me these many years.  I painted it with short buildings and a gas station in the foreground.  A view that had the re-juxtapositioning of a dream - a small town contiguous with the city.  Not real. 

Now, many years later, I was staring at my watercolor come to life. I painted it in third grade; and as an adult, it was a rare itch in the back of my mind.  Now I can let it rest.

On Great and Small Stories

The beautiful Muriel Rukeyser quote from her The Speed of Darkness, so true, has now become so well known that it's a cliche'. But if you can, pretend you are hearing it for the first time...

The universe is made of stories not atoms.

We are here to weave our life with other lives, our story with other stories. The fictional stories we read can help teach us how, (but of course). If they are good or even great, they can.

And of the great stories of our time, why are they great?

First, I am not talking great in the sense of most beautifully crafted like of James Joyce. Or most profound like Wilder's Our Town.

I am almost talking of great in a sense of selling the most. Agatha Christie won that, her stories have been sold in more than a billion books, I heard yesterday; but that's not quite what I mean by great.

When Upton Sinclair wrote The Jungle, about the filthy, disgusting conditions in a Chicago meat packing plant, and after a government report confirmed his findings, meat sales cut in half and Congress passed the Meat Inspection Act. Today we hear so many facts that people don't respond much to a lone little book any more, unless you are counting Al Gore's movie, An Inconvenient Truth, though how much impact is it having? George Bush's environmental policies are still solidly and horribly in place.

The great now stories have not only have sold books and movies, they have worked deep into our consciousness.

There is Tolkien's trilogy, Harry Potter and Star Wars. (A fourth which has changed us deeply is the story of a boy with my first name, Charlie, and his dog, Snoopy. When we were treating children as so much less than us, Schultz helped us realize they were people too. But let me deal with the other three.)What is interesting in each of the three, and part of what makes them great, is that the authors created not just an intricate story but an intricate world to set the story. In the case of Tolkien, he wrote a whole alternative history of the world that backgrounded the trilogy and new languages for his characters. George Lucas could talk extensively on the intricate way the technologies in his alter universe worked. Harry Potter's world too was thought out in extensive detail and while aspects of his world are often inconsistent, it doesn't so much matter because that alternative world is so colorfully and intricately constructed. Unlike a flawed house of cards, it holds up anyway.

Simply, to write one of the great stories of our now time, create not just memorable characters and a fantastic story line, weave a new world to place your story.

Yet for me, I think of St. Exupery's words...

A garden wall at home may enclose more secrets than the Great Wall of China...

While they may not have the influence of an epic, (or may, as in collected impact like Peanuts did) I enjoy a simple story. Perhaps one day an epic; today I only have this small offering...The picture here is from an electron microscope, (almost atoms, Muriel). I found it in a photo blog. Someone had commented that he must have copied it out of a book and it wasn't original. "You can even see the page crease," he commented.  The photographer responded that he worked in a lab and taking danger of loosing his job, smuggled the photo out. He said the crease was from his folding it before he snuck it into his pants pocket. 

 . . Thus proving and disproving Muriel Rukeyser's quote at the same time!

Not much of a story, yet I like the not-much-of stories as well as great tales.  Which reminds me of another smuggling story... there was another man coming back from South America who was, well not actually smuggling, cycads...  but let me save this for when you ask me to tell it.

Describing Music

After a performance, someone came up to the pianist and asked what he meant by his interpretation of that Beethoven sonata.  The pianist went back to the piano and played the sonata again.

An interesting aside - what elevates this picture to a near-great image?   The theme of black and keys echoed on the boy's shirt.  If you choose a frame of a color that is in a small part of the picture, that same color will pop in the picture.  Here the amplification resonance is within the picture.

Being Simple

Part One
It's not that the male's brain is simpler.  He just wants to reduce everything to its essence, then go from there.  It is not that the female's brain is more complex, but she is comfortable swimming in complexity.  A female Einstein may not have had to reduce the relation of all matter and energy to five symbols, E = MC2.

This difference is often perceived as the difference in men's directness and the women's subtlety.  But what actually happens inside men and women to cause them to think so differently?

In utero, the male brain divides left and right.  A wall of cells dies in the middle.  This does not happen inside the cranium of our fairer sex.

From that early moment, the two brains operate differently.  One result of this difference - if a woman and man damage their speech centers in, say, a car crash or strokes - the man would more likely not talk again; but in the woman's brain with no barrier down the middle, an area in the other hemisphere may take over the speech function, allowing her to use her cell phone to heart's content.

Interestingly, this comfort-with-compexity does not hamper a woman's ability to distill and refine, or to appreciate the aesthetic of simplicity in music, design, writing, or anything else.

Part Two
Simplicity is not just less.

To quote Einstein again, "Everything should be as simple as possible, but not more so."  And we need to take Einstein one step further - to simplify well is not just being moderate in how much to trim, how much to leave.

The pared cello suites of Bach use his few, just-right notes to suggest two voices.  Beautiful simplicity  is not created by stumbling upon a few eureka words or notes.  It comes from a deep understanding of what is essential.

Avoiding Repetitive Stress Syndrome

People misunderstand what causes problems in the hands.  It is not the repetition of hitting the computer or piano keys.  If you do it right, you can play the piano or type 12 hours a day for the next 50 years and never have a problem.  It is the not-releasing between playing each note or typing each character that causes hand problems.

When we keep up the tension between notes/characters, it damages the hands.  There are two related aspects to this.

1.  In learning the cello, I was encouraged to have quiet hands, meaning to not move the fingers around so much but hold the tension on the strings so as little changes as possible were necessary.  I do the opposite, release and move as much as possible.  Which leads into the second aspect.

2.  People play or type too hard.  I can sometimes see and feel the whole table move when others type near me.  Not only are they not releasing, but they are hitting the keyboard too hard.

Now, I have a very quiet touch, and on the keyboard, a quiet sound (not quiet fingers).  Yet I have a very deep sound and can be very loud easily.  Why?

Before I answer, I will make a shocking confession, when I play the cello, much of the time I do not touch the strings to the fingerboard.  Yet I have a loud and full sound unlike m cellist you (don't) hear in ensembles.  If this doesn't shock you, pick up a string instrument and play a string while pressing it halfway to the neck board.  How do I do it?  For this same reason, I can play loudly with ease on the piano.

The small finger muscles in the hand are not for the power of playing.  They are there to guide and direct the large muscles of the arms and chest which should do the heavy work.  The fingers are there to choose the keys to play.  The fingers move to the note so that the larger muscles can transfer their pressure through them.  The great Chilean pianist, Claudio Arrau, cautions against there being any stiffness along the path of your body, arms, hands, fingers.

Arrau studied with Martin Krauss, a favorite pupil of Frans List.  Wow! And taking this into consideration, I still need to disagree a bit.  It's best to keep a firmness in all the muscles so that the work of the big muscles is transferred through the fingers.  Otherwise, the body and large muscles are just positioning the hands and letting them do the work.

When I studied piano from a student of a student of Claudio Arrau, I was taught that Arrau used the Italian method as opposed to the Russian method.  I haven't confirmed how these methods work, but the important thing is the concept behind Arrau's playing.  A pianist is supposed to, slightly, with your entire body, always lean into the piano.  Your hands and fingers keep you from falling into it at, let's say, 45 degree angle.  When I move my hands away while keeping the 'tension' of playing the piano, I actually fall forward into the piano.  The effort in playing is not to press the notes, but to lift them.  This is subtle though.

You will get a beautiful tone this way.  And interestingly, the quieter you play on the piano, the more pressure and work comes from the finger muscles.

I like Arrau's playing, though it was not always, critics tell us, on the level with the supreme top performers.  Yet, when the 2 hour movie was made of the Great Pianists of the 20th Century, which pianist did they end with?  Horowitz?  Gould?  Hoffman?  Schnabel?  Richter?  No, Arrau!

I find I can even watch some of his videos with the sound turned off.  Beautiful.  He was described as playing the piano with velvet paws.  His performance here, at the end of video, The Art of the Piano, is so touching.  Please enjoy.

Arrau's performance only
on Arrau