I would just like to state, for the record, how much I hate hate hate hate hate practicing. I have never liked practicing, even for the brief years when I actually made an effort and practiced four hours a day (it was a long time ago, and yes, I'm glad that I did it). There are moments when I love playing, and it sends me into raptures. But those are few and far between. I suppose that's the difference between "practicing" and "playing" anyway.
The fingertips of my left hand have turned black and sting. And I still can't play the damn cross-string work in the recap of the Brahms, which, because I love so much, I want to play perfectly. And as for the Turina, all I can say is starting a phrase out of thin air on the B two octaves above middle C is just not funny. WhatEVER...
2 comments:
When I used to complain about practicing, my mother used to take all my music and throw it in the trash. Unfortunately, I had not yet honed my stubborness skills, so her ploy always did exactly what she wanted it to... darn her.
Oh the horror!!! I managed not to throw any tantrums, but there were a few very close calls.
I can only imagine your reaction if she tried that on you now...:)
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