Summer Edition #2: Feet matters

Our feet do a lot of work. Every time we want to get somewhere, the majority of us will use our feet to take us there. Walking, cycling, even standing up on the train or tram (if necessary) all require us to use our feet.

I reckon that one of the ways that you can tell a good piano player from a bad one (among other ways) is to look at their feet. Yes, that's right - both of them. Not just that right one that does that thing where it either sounds rich and sonorous or muddy and confused. In the about one to one and a half inches so that constitute the right pedal are a million different colours - not just default 'on' and 'off' settings. I think this is still one of the many things I'm learning, and looking forward to exploring this year. After seeing the Atos Trio in Melbourne last year, I left abuzz with goals swimming around in my head of what I wanted to work on re. piano technique in the coming year. One was "judicious use of pedals". Yes, I did think of the word "judicious".

Until my first year at university, I had never really used the pedal on the left. On a grand piano, this shifts the keyboard over in a really cool mechanism such that the hammers only hit two of the strings, rather than the usual three. On an upright, which we own at home, this is not quite the dynamic process that the grand offers - why would a young learner be quite so excited about a non-dynamic process that was unseen, and inside the piano? A discussion about pedals arose in one piano class in that first year. The coordinator for piano was taking the class as usual, and one of the things that stuck in my mind was his pointing out the use of this left pedal. What is this pedal, and why was it so important, I wondered. He talked about changing the colours, and how this is an important pedal - one that should not be overlooked at all! And he talked about how our two feet should always be engaged, ready to utilise these metal bits sticking out the bottom of our instrument. Since then, I'm not sure how I ever did without the left one. I'm beginning to suspect I still don't understand how it works - I suppose that falls into the category of "Judicious use of pedals".

My question is this: if the right pedal has a million possibilities because of the millions of 'positions' the pedal can be in (ie. depth), does the left one do too? Thoughts and opinions appreciated.

Anyway, back to feet.

A few years ago on a Sunday, I did this large day of practice, split into several sessions. Afterwards, I painfully endured walking. The large amount of practice obviously entailed a large amount of contact of the round, curvaceous metal of the pedal in the same spots of my feet for hours. Females, you know that pain on the balls of your feet when you have worn your heels for far too long? And the crying out to stop and rest your weary feet? It was like that. And again, self-inflicted and oh-so-satisfying. Except for the pain, obviously.

I admit that I like practicing in bare feet. There's something really organic about the touch of playing the piano. I used to think that I was really a docile child; my friend pointed out several years ago when we were out at lunch that she noticed that I fiddled a lot. After completeing our lunch, our plates cleared, I would often play with the leftover napkin, or the salt and pepper shakers, or the table number. If not, I'm drum my fingers on the table. My hands are restless. I fidget endlessly. Some part of me has to move. I find it hard to stay still - most of the time. Practicing is a tactile thing for me too. The wood of the piano keys under my fingers and the cold (then warm!) metal of the pedals underfoot. In the winter, or in particularly cool rooms, it's with socks. Which brings me to two points.

The first is this: a few years ago (probably on that particular Sunday of great pain), I discovered that the soles of my feet go a grey/green at the point of contact. Does this happen to anybody else? Is this a reaction of my skin (which may or may not be sweaty, eew...sorry!) and the metal?

The second concerns socks. Ah, the humble sock. You know the various suspects lurking in your drawers: the humble white ones, the ones you never have to wear again for school (eg. the knee highs if you went to a boys' school, the foldover white ones if you went to a girls' school), the ones with lots of cushioning, the ones you were given by an aunt/distant great-aunt/random family friend, the ones with the really cool pattern that you'll hang on to even though they've got holes in them (and no, I don't mean the big hole that you fit your foot into). I can't admit to being a big sock wearer. My shoe choices are very limited; in fact, I really dislike shopping for shoes - I'm too picky. Anyway, in the context of playing the piano, the point of contact of foot and pedal is the ball of the foot - wtih sock inbetween. Dear pianist friends, do you find that your socks also wear away at this point at an alarming rate? Do you find that you feel the inside of your shoe when walking about, wondering why this is so - only to find you have little holes at the balls of your feet? And I suppose if you were fastidious that you always wear the same sock on the same foot (if you had a way of identifying how to do so) - would you find that a larger hole eroding its way through the cotton (or whatever material) of your right foot?

While we're at socks, I might as well extrapolate a little. Shoes. Finding the right shoes to play the piano in.
Thin soles. Black (functionality). Comfortable. Presentable. Maybe a little bit showy. Flat used to be a pre-requisite; that is, until 10 June 2010, when I purchased a pair of black Wittner heels to play in a concert the following evening because my black flats were totally wrecked.
So, you get the idea. It's hard. I'm picky.
And usually, they're so comfortable (or at least functional - black!! How many times have you seen me in an outfit that does not include any black?) that I wear them everywhere. Thus, the lifespan of such shoes is severely shortened.

And one could extrapolate even further to the subject of trousers (or pants, whatever you want to call them). A friend once apologised for asking this random question: Do you find that the knees of your pants, or jeans, are seriously displaced?
For the amounts of time spent sitting down to practice, yes, my jeans don't quite keep the shape they're suppose to and yes, the knees of my jeans end up far below where my actual kneecaps actually are. How awkward.

Green soles (that may or may not have indentations). Hanging knees. This job really is full of occupational hazards from the waist down!