When I was invited to perform solo piano concerts, I’d often offer to do outreach work in the local community, like playing in a hospital or a school. One day that led me to what I believed to be a prison farm in Lebanon, Ohio. Well, it was not a farm. I didn’t see any cows and chickens. All I saw was turrets and guns and lights. I then realized why the name Lebanon was familiar. It was a maximum security penitentiary. It took me an hour just to sign all the forms and the waivers. The forms said, essentially, that if there was a riot, I was on my own. I was led to a chapel where eighty men were awaiting my arrival. When everyone was settled in their seats, I was introduced, and then I sat down and started playing—but I was feeling very, very distracted. You know, I was just wondering how long they were going to sit there and, you know, maybe Johnny Cash could do this but this was not really for me. I had only been playing for about five minutes and a great big fellow with tattoos down both arms who was sitting in a front pew stood up and walked out. You know, by now my mind was on overdrive. At this point I was just waiting to see how many others were going to follow. I was booked to be there for about two hours, and I didn’t think I was going to last fifteen minutes.

Then the same man who had just walked out re-entered the chapel and walked very, very slowly up the center aisle. He came all the way up to the piano and put a glass of water down on the piano ledge. He waited another moment or so, just watching, and then he returned to his seat. In that moment the feeling in the room changed. I turned to the men and heard their stories and shared some of my own. I was reminded how powerful a simple act of welcome and hospitality from a stranger can be in transforming moments of fear and isolation into forgiveness and love.

One of my inspirations at the piano has been the music of Frederic Chopin. Chopin would often say, “Suppleness before everything.” What he wanted was flexibility in the hands to shape and mold the notes with a “velvet” hand rather than striking or forcing or—in Chopin’s language—bashing them. This was the worst of all offenses in his mind. He recognized that cultivating the art of touch at the piano could not be achieved without ease. This was his trademark prescription, “facilement!” He would say easily… easily. Ease was at the core of his philosophy of piano technique. With ease a pianist could convey the impression of playing with four hands, not just two. Furthermore, when the sound originated from this sense of relaxation and ease, then it could unfold freshly and naturally. Then each could play according to their own need. This has been the value I bring to the piano and in life as well.