No man is an island, as John Donne said – but for the lone pianist on stage in the concert hall, it can sometimes feel that way. Think of him marooned on his remote outpost with its 88 keys, and surrounded by the great sea of an audience that is forever changing and unknowable.
Piotr Anderszewski, the Polish-Hungarian pianist, says one of the great challenges of the solo recital is constantly having to adapt to changing circumstances.
‘I never know how I adapt – that’s part of the problem,’ he says. ‘If you knew how to adapt, you would set some rules. The problem is that you adapt constantly to different conditions – different piano, different acoustic – and, of course, I am different, and the public is different. You have to somehow go with the flow. It’s instinct, I guess – some kind of instinct of survival.’
An instinct, of course, is not something that can always be learned from others. Anderszewski – who also performs concertos and chamber music, as well as solo recitals – says he has few mentors among other concert pianists.
‘You know, in the world of pianists, we are very isolated,’ he says. ‘I do have some friends, but at the end of the day, every pianist is an island. It’s not something we talk about, from my experience at least.’
'Every pianist is an island'
Anderszewski, 56, is speaking on a Zoom call from Edinburgh, where he has just given a recital at the Edinburgh International Festival. A large part of his current repertoire is the late piano works of Brahms, whose Intermezzi he performed in Edinburgh. Many of the Brahms pieces, written in 1892-93, have an introspective cast, and Anderszewski says they seem to reflect the composer’s state of mind and disappointments in life.
‘They are the last things he wrote for the piano – a kind of farewell,’ he says. ‘It’s cruel to think like this, but it’s very sad – (the pieces are) sort of the testimony of a failed life.
‘You know his motto: Frei aber einsam – free but lonely. He was someone who had recognition, who was respected, who led a comfortable life, didn’t struggle to survive, who had good friends – a fantastic composer – and yet something failed. I don’t know – this is what I feel in this music. It makes me very sad to play it.'
Anderszewski is making only his third tour of Australia, having first appeared with the Australian Chamber Orchestra in 2001 and then at the Australian Festival of Chamber Music in 2015. He is renowned for his supremely refined and controlled performances, but absences from the stage also have punctuated his career.
He earned a certain notoriety – perhaps more accurately, respect – at the Leeds International Piano Competition in 1990 when, unhappy with his performance, he simply walked off the stage. Within a year he was making his debut at Wigmore Hall.
Piotr Anderszewski at piano. Credit: Robert Workman
More recently he has taken time away from performing and indeed from the piano. His longest sabbatical was for about 18 months in 2011-12.
‘Basically it’s to avoid routine,’ he says of his breaks from performing. ‘To avoid it becoming systematic and some kind of machine that pushes you to do things, and you don’t know any more why you do them.
‘It’s time for reflection. Where am I to go next? It’s time to read, to see friends, and at least a few months without the guilt of not practising.’
The intention is to come back to the piano refreshed, but he says the absence only makes it harder to begin again. It’s difficult emotionally and psychologically, even though the technique and physicality of playing quickly bounces back.
‘To learn a new piece and present it to the public for the first time is difficult,’ he says. ‘Why would I spend a day (rehearsing) one page? It’s crazy, it’s an extreme sport, but I can’t do it differently. Finding the strength to search, to look for solutions, to immerse yourself in the music so deeply – it’s not natural.’
'It’s an extreme sport, but I can’t do it differently'
By contrast, Bach partitas have been under his fingers for years. Does he think his interpretations change?
‘Funnily enough, not that much,’ he says. ‘I guess I have become more flexible. I was much more dogmatic when I was younger, much more precise – not necessarily in a good way. I would say more free and less dogmatic, letting more happen in the moment – with ornamentation, also with dynamics.
‘When I learn a piece, even today, I have to know in every single detail what I want from every note and every silence. With time, when you have played the piece many times, these things soften, the angles get rounder. I don’t know if it’s better.’
Anderszewski has found other outlets for his creativity when he’s not at the keyboard. In 2016 he directed a short film, Warsaw is my Name, about the city of his birth. And he is writing a memoir which he says will be like a diary of a concert pianist.
‘We dress up, we play, and that’s it,’ he says. ‘I think it would be interesting to share a little bit more with the public – what happens before, what happens after.’
‘We dress up, we play, and that’s it’
People may be surprised by some of the contradictions of the concert-pianist’s life. It’s a paradox, Anderszewski says, that he can give some of his most compelling performances when he feels almost detached from the music.
‘What I mean is that the emotion is so integrated that it just happens, without me almost participating in it,’ he explains.
‘I could think of other things – I could think of what I will have for dinner after the concert.’
If you happen to find a message in a bottle from this astonishing pianist, far away on his desert island, read it carefully. It could be the dinner menu.
Piotr Anderszewski performs in Sydney, Adelaide, Perth, Brisbane, Melbourne, Canberra and Newcastle. Tickets from $65 | Under 40s $49 | Student Rush $20 (available 48 hours prior)
