He plays ragtime, that difficult stride style. His left pinkie must hit a bass note far down the keys, and then his fingers must fly to the right for a good distance and at the correct altitude. They will have to strike a chord, so mid air they must assume the proper formation in order to land on three or four keys all at exactly the exact right moment.

        At their destination, they will not be allowed to rest. They must leap leftward again, the rhythm, that benevolent dictator demanding that they move on. They are again airborne guided by a complex system of mind, muscle, and bone. The pinkie must now find a new target nestled among its many black and white look-alikes. The landing is successful. A deep bass note resounds while her fingers soar back over the keys and strike another chord with new landing places.

        But all that has transpired is less than half of the matter. All the while this is going on, the fingers of his right hand must do something quite different. They play the all-important melody which she sings through them. At the same time, her conscious mind will express her emotions through ever-so-slight variations of their touch.

        The melody commands everyone's attention, and every piano player's continued affections. Whenever his consciousness is occupied with melody, his subconscious takes over the playing. It is like driving a car while thinking about something else. The subconscious does the driving. In the case of songs he's played for years, his subconscious can take the controls almost entirely. But Melody will not let him stray. His conscious mind must return to the myriad of musical matters at hand.

        All of the preceding is certainly enough for one mind, yet he must do even more. There is the problem of the pedals. When he wants the piano strings to ring louder and longer for a forte passage, he presses the pedal on the right. The left pedal dampens them for quiet pianissimo. And taking his foot off the pedal is yet another demanding matter for the end of every note is as important as its beginning.

        Let us stop the music for a moment and look at the facts of his musical life. When he is not playing, he is learning. His musical education will never end. He must continue to learn difficult pieces not only for his musical development, but also because he knows that easier beauties will not satisfy him in the long run. He will not spend time with one unless it is exceptionally pretty and challenging to command—though not too much so.

        Then there's the matter of practice. His fingers gain mastery only by constant repetition. That is why they take so long to learn how to play. Once they learn, however, they never forget.

        We wonder what drives him to continue practicing and learning. The answer lies in a remarkable fact of musical life. The better his playing, the more he will enjoy it. As time goes by, the feelings grow ever greater, his playing ever more pleasurable to him. And to his audience.

        To know him better, we must understand the importance of his inner world. He cannot resist the joys and sensations that music creates within him. He enjoys playing alone, such as when his wife goes shopping. On the other hand, he often plays in public and knows the effect a crowd has on his playing. But even there, he is in her inner world.

        We must leave the piano player to his music now. But before we go, we discover the force that has been driving him for all these years, namely, there is even more reward in playing music than in listening to it. That is because playing includes deep listening. The combination doubles or triples the joy. 

        We again look at the photograph of the piano player. It shows nothing of which we have spoken.