It is the push. Or touch. Flesh of finger-tip unused. Forty years did not seek here joy. Muscular, ” thinking” down from the high point of the shoulder.
The gesture . Marry with the intention. Thus will I push, parry, point, pen and ponder, don´t stop my finger on the cool ivory now. Apparently you fight against Solera Carlos Uno. Reserva. You lose. But the best of piano music is ( seldom ) one-fingered.
How then, two ( or nine ? ) fingers ? Both trained hands press while listening to each other? No grab, not a grasp. Fingers sidle to play which music?
a. to sing my song of my seventies and of my children and ups and downs.
b. to shape for ( great ) Saint Horace the legato line plus arpeggiato chord – to liberate its arching which your ” ODES” wished to formulate ? Our Horace will have nothing of the composer´s biographical boiled egg. Art. Artfulness and artifice and great curved arches and melodic spaces and dense , massed low chords and a lot , or a little action on eighty eight , your present ivories , got it thus , you´d type up Horace thus?
One double-space lower, we´ll have to come to suffering. Here suffice it to recall Horace´s Grandiosity. Construct on GREAT piano-sculptures, with finger-flesh! Tip-toe.
“My” suffering is ” mine ” ? ? Ten fingers now desist. They rejoice in their keys´ polyphony. Very beautiful ( muscle-flab ) artifice.
Marry gesture with intended shoulder push. Sculpt through the not yet quite melodious air its illusions ( ! ) as Horace´s percussive tones are worked as wicker-basket, you see. Melody as a trick.