Shadow
My mother dreamed of nurturing one of the world's best pianists. And she did this in the only way she knew.
That's to say, a strict regime, total dedication in her tutoring of me for eight hours daily with as many private teachers as possible. In this way, at the age of six, I was accepted at one of the most prestigious and competitive music schools in the world, one that provides the best education for professional musicians - the Central Music School of Moscow Tchaikovsky State Conservatory. It was here that I became a pupil of one of the school's most demanding and ambitious teachers, Kira Shashkina. By that time she had already taught several well-known pianists, among them the winner of The International Tchaikovsky Competition, Mikhail Pletnev.
Even though I was studying with world-famous teachers, I lacked the most fundamental element of piano playing - correct tone production. As a result I was taking too much time and experiencing great pressure when learning a new piece. None of my teachers seemed capable of helping me with this, and I felt that I had reached a plateau in my piano technique. The mental and emotional stress that was present in my daily life for the next decade was the result of being pushed to study a much more advanced repertoire than that for which I was prepared.
The combination of annual competitions, large programmes, the constant fear of failure, a sense of guilt for not being good enough and falling behind my classmates triggered tendinitis in both of my hands.
I tried to avoid technically advanced repertoires which included virtuoso pieces such as those by Chopin or Liszt. My main priority in the choice of repertoire was to check how technically challenging any piece might be. If it did not have many fast runs, octaves or large leaps I would feel safe to begin practicing it.
By the age of thirteen I desperately wanted only one thing - to play well. I wanted to be able to express in my playing another realm of which I would often be aware. It was a realm that offered me peace, a sense of belonging, and a place that felt more real to me than the reality in which I lived.
I felt a profound sense of frustration about my failure after so much dedication and effort in my piano practice.
I experienced a deep sense of fear before and after every performance. All of the advice and comments offered by my teachers just didn't seem to help: "Practice more", "Listen to yourself", "Don't play with a harsh tone", "Play faster", or "Understand the music better". Some would say: "Learn pieces faster", "Octaves are the easiest technique", "Release tension while playing", "Don't hold tension in your shoulders", "Shape phrasing", or "Use more arm weight" (whatever that meant). Others would tell me: "Play this more evenly, play this louder, play that softer", "Pay attention to the markings in the score", or "Play in a way that everyone in the last row can hear you". And so it went on.
I was offered so much help but with no clear instructions.
At times I even imagined that behind my teachers' criticism was an attempt to hide their own vulnerability or incompetence. They simply did not know how to help me and preferred to turn a blind eye to the problems of students like me.
I was desperately trying to please my teachers by adopting their ideas about how any piece should be interpreted, even if this only brought more mental, emotional and physical tension to my playing. I felt constantly diminished and even experienced a sense of abuse after my lessons.
I was 13. I didn't want new clothes. I didn't want the freedom to spend more time with friends.
All I wanted was to play piano well.
Light
One sunny day in 1997 I was practicing Bach's Prelude in E♭ minor WTC Book 1. Suddenly I became aware of angels singing the piece in my mind. The feeling was so liberating that I immediately knew that I would find a way to express myself through my playing. The idea of conveying that celestial chorus overwhelmed me with joy. This was the moment of revelation.
From now on I wouldn't just copy the ideas of my teachers but instead would express what was in my heart and mind. At that time I could not know or even imagine just how long my musical journey would be. But this was not important. I had found a way to touch just one note and express the sound of that ethereal, angelic choir in my mind.
I was at the beginning of a 23-year-journey that would entail exploration, ups and downs, as well as tears of both frustration and inspiration. That was the time when I discovered the true passion, joy and contentment in my life that would help me face all the challenges that would come in the future.
But the main source of my inspiration would come after my piano lessons. The advice of my teachers would blossom in my mind, and after careful analysis would transform itself into a clearer and more methodical approach.
While studying at the Moscow Conservatory I was greatly inspired by my professor Pavel Nersessian. As well as attending his classes I would record each of his performances, listening to them at night, trying to understand how he created his amazing singing tone, the smooth lines of his phrasing, the colours and shades of tone with his delicate touch. There were no given answers, there was only sound and my strong passion to decode it, to see what was behind it, and discover the secret of its creation.
I came to realise that all of my new discoveries were interconnected, that they were separate elements but a part of one, ordered system. And, most importantly, they could be applied to every single piece of music. This was not just another practice method or a more efficient way of learning a piece. It was a clear, efficient system where one step would lead to the next, from something so simple as touching a single note with efficient motion to performing confidently on stage, playing with both expression and technique.
At the Moscow Conservatory I had access to an extensive library and was able to read many books about piano technique and teaching methods written by Russian pianists and teachers of the 20th century. This is when I realised that all the problems I confronted when playing had existed for decades. And that every now and then another passionate pianist or teacher would attempt to adopt a new approach. Yet most of these authors would let the reader know that there is still much to be discovered and that there is never just one ultimate answer.
The catalyst behind The PianoWell System was my intuition together with intense, deep research and analysis of each of the lessons I recorded when together with my teachers. New ideas and formulas were flowing through my mind almost every day - while practicing, sleeping, eating, walking, or listening to pianists at concerts. When watching other pianists playing I was trying to see what was behind their light and powerful technique and their freedom of expression. My personal favourite venue was the legendary International Tchaikovsky Competition where every 4 years the best pianists from around the world would come on stage to play long recitals.
Twilight
Sometimes it would take almost a year of experimentation and analysis to master a new piece. This gave my teachers the impression that I was a lazy student. I would have to skip lessons, exams and concerts by pretending to be ill.
In the midst of my studies at the conservatory, at the age of twenty four, the pressure from my research together with the humiliation of not achieving top grades, and other anxieties in my personal life, triggered a strange and hitherto unknown sensation in both of my hands. I felt tingling, electric-like spasms in my elbow, on the underside of my wrist and in my little finger. This caused my 4th and 5th fingers to curl inwards and lose their movement whilst I also lost control of my thumb.
When these sensations of discomfort appeared in the underside of my forearm and wrist, I at first thought I was suffering from the tendinitis that I had already experienced in the past. But after weeks of applying creams and massaging my arms there was no improvement. More over, I was unable to write, type or use the mouse on my laptop. I couldn't even type a number on my cell phone. I had to learn how to do all these things by holding a pencil between my toes or in my mouth.
This was when my passion to become a pianist, to play well and to continue my research came to an end. I had to take a sabbatical year. It was so terrifying for me to acknowledge that my hands could no longer play or type that I did not even wish to investigate exactly what was the cause of my pain. Instead I chose to ignore it. I was in denial.
After some months of not using my computer and piano keyboards my symptoms seemed to lessen. A year later, when I returned to the conservatory to sit my graduation exams, I knew that I should delay playing the piano for as long as possible. This gave me plenty of time to study and practice my program, but only in my mind. I had skipped all of the lessons with my professor and only appeared at class a few days before my exam performance in order to agree on the tempo in which we would play the first movement of Rachmaninoff's Second Concerto.
On the day of the exam I had to play a forty five minute program after only a couple of days of physical practice. I was given ten minutes to warm up before going on stage, during which time I allowed myself to play parts of the program in the original, fast tempo for the first time. The next thing I knew I was on stage playing Bach, Beethoven, and finally Rachmaninoff. I played the last c-minor chord, took a bow and left the stage.
I had done it! I never stopped during my performance, never failed in any technical parts, nor suffered from any memory slips. After twenty years of study I had finally graduated! On my way home I felt a wonderful feeling of achievement for the first time in years and the smile on my face was so radiant that it could have lit up the streets of the whole of Moscow. I had no pain in my hands and I knew that my system of learning a piece mindfully, with well-calculated hand motion, really did work!
Dawn
Five years later I was still struggling with the same condition in my hands, unable to play piano or use a laptop. After taking two painful tests with different doctors which involved placing needles into my spinal column and forearms, it was confirmed that I had developed focal hand dystonia. Focal dystonia is a common neurological disorder that some pianists experience after practicing under stress for long periods. The only advice I was given by my doctors was to eliminate any possible sources of stress from my life. I was told there was no known cure for focal hand dystonia.
In spite of what my doctors told me I could never fully accept their verdict. Something inside me refused to give up. I did what I could at the time, that's to say that instead of focusing purely on my piano playing, I turned to God. Now living in Singapore, I found a community of kind people, sang beautiful hymns and shared my traumas with them, praying for one another. They gave me overwhelming support, understanding, compassion, love and care.
It took another year before I felt that I could return to my piano playing without fear. I would now touch the keys more gently and with love. Yet still, when I began to play classical pieces, my "old enemy" would appear once again.
This all changed when I decided to put my classical repertoire aside. Instead I began to play a completely different style of music, one which didn't trigger my former traumas. I played beautiful, simple music that had been written to praise God. This was my true salvation. I could play for fifteen minutes with no tingling sensations in my hands. Before and after playing I thanked God for making this possible. Joy, peace and confidence became part of my life once again.
After seven years of living with hand dystonia and five years without touching a piano, in 2014 I launched a YouTube channel "The Art of Piano Technique" and posted my first video. A month later I returned to playing a classical repertoire. Every month I would complete two new pieces and never came back to my past repertoire so as not to trigger past sensations in my brain. I recorded technique exercises - scales, arpeggios, chords, and octaves - and one of the most difficult of Chopin's Etudes, no.1, in just thirty days from scratch and in a faster tempo than I could ever have played before. I completely rebuilt my repertoire and learned over one hundred new pieces, most of them in just ten days.
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As for now, focal hand dystonia is still partly present in my life but has ceased to affect my piano playing. I still experience mild symptoms after long periods of typing on my laptop or using a mouse. But I no longer feel threatened by this because I have understood its cause and can deal with the symptoms. I simply take a break from typing, focus on something else and meet with friends.
I started sharing my knowledge with students online. This helped me to master my teaching method, developing a "scaffolding" approach - that's to say breaking up the learning into chunks and providing a structure within each of them, moving students progressively towards greater understanding and independence in the learning process.
My ultimate passion in life is to share my knowledge and to help as many pianists as possible.
I truly believe that this book - when every step and video is diligently followed - will help anyone in need.
You might also consider joining me at my residential winter piano courses in Andalucía in southern Spain.
It would be a great joy for me to connect with you and help you if you have experienced a similar struggle to my own.