During the tour, we walked through the spaces in which Mr. Wright enjoyed entertaining guests. I imagined winters here: grand fireplaces roaring, lounging with good company while indulging in the finer things in life. A winter desert retreat. And so, when our guide asked if I wanted to play the pianos we came across (like the one pictured here, nestled in its euphonious nook), I was stunned.
Her offer was tempting. It would certainly be a delightful experience. The acoustics were ripe for music in this fecund soundscape. I do play piano, and I greatly enjoy doing so. However, truth be told, I’m fairly lost without sheet music, despite the fact that I have played some pieces countless times over the years. My muscle memory needs that handicap. And without any formal training, I am self-conscious about how I sound, as if my hands might reveal me as an over-confident amateur.
In hindsight, even playing a few measures of anything would have been satisfying; anything that could transpose this opportunity to a melodic memory.
My personal goal now is to be able to play a song from memory—even if I can only play a minute of it. Because the next time I find myself in a similar situation, I want to be on that piano bench, listening to what I knew I could do all along.