PERSPECTIVES ON A PIANO

It’s February 2021. We’re in the third lockdown of the COVID pandemic.

There’s a phenomenon that if you say a word often enough, it begins to lose all meaning; they call it semantic satiation. With spending most of my time recently inside the house, I realised that I had become over familiar with the piano that was taking up space in my study. For years, I’d been using it as a piece of furniture, a shelf for books and ornaments. The piano had lost its meaning for me. I decided that it deserved more than this.

The piano was a presence in my parents’ house even before I was. My mother was an accomplished player and teacher and played it most days while I did my homework and dad read the paper or investigated his latest camera purchase. I took piano lessons and later violin lessons, but I never really became very skilled with either of the instruments. The pieces that I loved, I played over and over; the pieces I didn’t like, I moved on as quickly as I could.

The piano came with me when I had a house with large, empty rooms that needed filling with furniture. It stood in the dining room, next to the old leaded windows. I covered it with a lace tablecloth as it looked so dark against the wood panelled walls. Mum used to play it when she called round.

Now it lives in my study.

I’ve seen it nearly every day of my life. It was time to look at it with new eyes.

I occasionally do still play the piano, playing pieces that I learned in childhood. I’ve recently joined an online choir and the piano has been useful to help me learn my part. But it’s still basically a rather unwieldy piece of furniture.

So, as a start to investigate a new perspective on the instrument, I climbed on top of it and began to take photos, and to remember Mum and my childhood and how she loved the piano.

And in my reminiscences I found solace, and a rediscovered playfulness in my photography.