Paris Competition Again? Why Not?

Two years ago, I toyed with the idea of entering the International Amateur Piano Competition in France. In fact, I thought about it for years. When I told my aunt about it, she looked at me straight in the eye and without missing a beat said "Il faut que tu joue!" (You must play!)

Rewind.

A few months earlier, my Mom fell gravely ill. And her recovery was long and hard for everyone. Naturally, she was down and struggling. It was a dark time. Trying to cheer her up, one afternoon, I played some variations from Schumann's Symphonic Etudes - and with tears in her eyes and my face smushed between her two loving hands - said - "this makes me want to get well. This makes me want to live."

The next day, I entered.

9 months later, with my mom, daughter, husband, my BF's and many relatives in tow, I competed in the competition. And it was a triumph on many levels. First of all, I hate performing. I shouldn't say hate, but rather, something that I wrestle with - or better put, something that I find rather terrifying and is terribly uncomfortable.

But with my entourage buoying me up, and a return to Paris, the very city that 70 some odd years earlier during the war, hunted my family down for simply being Jewish, for simply existing - the need to come to Paris - to show that the next generation is here, proving our survival and celebrating by playing the piano, celebrating the strength and survival of my amazing family, I needed to get past my own fears. And so I did.

I made it past the preliminaries, which was a triumph on so many levels. Playing at this competition was in essence, my debut after coming back to the (piano) bench after a 12 year break, a return to the piano after working through debilitating tendonitis and other repetitive strain injuries (more on that later) and revamping my entire piano technique (being on a 20+ year journey, with the work of Dorothy Taubman).

So, even though I wiped out in the 1/4 finals (damn you performance nerves!), the true trophy from that experience was the French gentleman who came up to me after the preliminaries after performing two pieces by Rachmaninoff'(you can see video HERE) - and said in a very thick French accent...

"Ze only sing you need to do next ze time you play Rachmaninoff pieces is give ze audience some tissues."

How sweet I thought. But then the kicker...

"You see, Rachmaninoff was my grand Uncle."

Yeah. I pretty much died right then and there.

So, when my friends that I met last year in Paris asked me if I'd do it again this year, it was a no brainer.

So, back to the bench, so I can get further this year than 1/4 finals!

A few months earlier, my mom fell gravely ill. It was touch and go there for a while