"The study of difficulties on the fortepiano is neither as daunting and laborious as many believe, nor as superfluous and dispensable as some others claim; for only the most complete mastery of mechanical art makes it possible to apply the beauty of performance and feeling, which belongs to simpler singing, also to those passages which seem to the unappreciative or unpracticed to be only an accumulation of inconveniences, but which under the fingers of the true artist can satisfy the sense of beauty just as well as any simpler melody, and moreover lend far more brilliance and life to every artistic achievement."
Carl Czerny, Preface to School of Virtuosity, Op. 365. (c. 1834)
Each preceding year, it becomes clearer to me that the cultivation and fruition of the mechanics and culture of the piano have left it in a less than desirable place. Looking from the outside in, you catch hints of the form’s most honest exports: systematic abuses of subtlety, overwrought, selfish exhibits of athleticism, the deification of otherwise ordinary men and women (then feeding viral trends in interpretation), and gatekeeping with a side of purism. From the inside, one is outcast as crazy for suggesting that the ordinary practices of the current year deserve real interrogation and debate.
Pianists ought to be bold, excited, unafraid of what their heart speaks regardless of perception. In my view, the job of the modern piano teacher ought to first approach their job with the seemingly impossible goal to forge such exceptional pupils; students equipped with every fundamental tool needed to state their case, and state it clearly.
My philosophy thus follows master Carl Czerny's adage, simply declaring that, “As so the use, so be the gain.”
In my 10 years of teaching, I have mentored all sorts of pupils from many walks of life: young, old, on the spectrum, deaf, months left to live. In that time, especially with distance from my earlier students and meeting them on occasion, I have gained a perspective only time and experience could bring, that my role as a teacher has the power to shape the lives and minds of my pupils for the rest of their lives. For that reason, I strive to be direct, clear, but careful, an authority on my subjects but humble and open, encouraging and understanding but honest. I have exactly one chance to get it right, the consequences echoing through individual lifetimes and generations of people and our culture. I'll admit that these balances gift me a constant state of worrying, but I place above all else that a piano teacher should care about their pupils so deeply.
Yes, a piano teacher ought to possess the full breadth of knowledge necessary to profess their subject. However, at the same time, they must be versatile enough to reframe, adjust, and compliment the specific needs of each pupil, reinforcing their strengths and developing their weaknesses, to properly equip them with skills to use for well-rounded piano playing. Religious adherence to method books (frankly the primary culprits behind the aforementioned decline of piano culture) are not a one-size-fits all solution, if even needed at all! For many, more rote, 19th century constructed progressions of learning will do just fine and, in my experience, yield greater results in a shorter period of time.
The environment of my studio, both online and in person, should offer a suitable environment to help incubate a headspace of learning and cultural curiosity in my pupils. They should understand that the studio is a workshop that they are in fact, an active participant. It should be exciting to come to piano lessons! They should feel open to their creative expression in the studio, and feel free to share ideas and share their curiosities with me. They should see me active in my work, curious as to what I am doing, for exposing them to the many jobs and hobbies within the culture of piano will lead to ever more inspiration to engage further, not only in practice, but in independent study.
I expect my pupils to arrive prepared, punctual, and in the right spirit to study. Consistent practice between lessons is not optional, for it is the very mechanism at the heart of any art. Without it, our time together would almost surely lose its meaning. A piano teacher should devote much time teaching a student how to properly practice. I expect that pupils come with questions, opinions, and a willingness to be challenged and to challenge even me. The most rewarding lessons are conversations, not lectures.
For my younger pupils, I ask that parents remain engaged partners in the process. A child who is encouraged at home will always outpace one who is not, and a parent who understands the work — even just a little — makes all the difference. I welcome parent questions and occasional observation, and ask only that the studio remain, during lesson time, my domain.
I am deeply invested in every pupil I take on, and I ask the same investment in return. Teaching is most powerful when it is a two-way commitment, and I seek students who are genuinely ready for that.
The problems facing piano culture are not unsolvable. They are, at their root, problems of teaching. A culture that prizes authenticity over imitation, curiosity over compliance, and honest expression over hollow virtuosity does not emerge by accident. It is built, one student at a time, in studios like this one. I cannot reshape the concert hall or rewrite the canon, but I can send into the world pianists who think for themselves, speak clearly, and refuse to be diminished by tradition for tradition's sake. That, to me, is where the work begins and where the culture changes.