I have a history of destroying pianos.
(With only the greatest respect, mind you.)
(With only the greatest respect, mind you.)
My life has been framed by the piano since I can remember. As a professional pianist with two degrees in classical piano performance, I spent decades studying the ways of this titan of instruments, with the piano itself as an institution (in my imagination and esteem) firmly ensconced upon an almost unreachably tall ivory pillar. I'm not sure exactly when that relationship started to evolve, ever so slowly, into something more like Doc Brown and his DeLorean in 'Back To The Future'...but one thing is for sure:
like Doc said, where we're going, there are no roads.
I'm not talking about pointless destruction. Every piano that I have dismantled was at the end of its intended life. It was my intention to take them apart to learn about them in an intimate fashion not otherwise possible, to gain maintenance and repair skills, to expand my own frontiers as an artist, and to explore what further fabulous uses the parts of these fantastically-engineered machines could inhabit.
Here is a dossier of some of the Skeleton Piano's predecessors and assorted Unexpected Piano Relations:
Caravan
I turned the harp and keybed frame pieces of an upright into a (very heavy) rolling sound sculpture entitled "Caravan".
Adorned with hand-felted rattles and "chimes" made from its extracted tuning pins, it could be played with hands and mallets. I have since dismantled it and placed it in my garden, where a hop plant happily grows on it.
like Doc said, where we're going, there are no roads.
I'm not talking about pointless destruction. Every piano that I have dismantled was at the end of its intended life. It was my intention to take them apart to learn about them in an intimate fashion not otherwise possible, to gain maintenance and repair skills, to expand my own frontiers as an artist, and to explore what further fabulous uses the parts of these fantastically-engineered machines could inhabit.
Here is a dossier of some of the Skeleton Piano's predecessors and assorted Unexpected Piano Relations:
Caravan
I turned the harp and keybed frame pieces of an upright into a (very heavy) rolling sound sculpture entitled "Caravan".
Adorned with hand-felted rattles and "chimes" made from its extracted tuning pins, it could be played with hands and mallets. I have since dismantled it and placed it in my garden, where a hop plant happily grows on it.
Caravan making an appearance at my concert "Piano Bizarro" (2014).
Student Sound Sculpture Project
I led a workshop with my piano students wherein we dismantled an entire upright piano and they scavenged their favorite parts to make sound-capable sculptures of their own design. This project culminated in a warehouse concert with multiple rooms (including a small basement 'dungeon') activated by sculptures. For the grand finale, all 30 students performed on their sculptures simultaneously while the audience wandered from space to space.
My students wait patiently for me to free the parts of the action they want.
The final performance at the PLACE Studio warehouse in Portland
Frankie
Frankie was my first grand piano: a 1923 Franklin short grand with a lovely mahogany case with six fluted legs, floral carvings, gorgeous ivory keys, and a light, delicate sound. Since he was in neglected shape when I bought him, he provided my first education in piano repair. After a certain point, however, he wasn't up for virtuosic playing anymore, and no one wanted to buy him. If I could have started the piano museum I've always dreamed about, he would have taken pride of place. Instead, I eventually and reluctantly realized that he would be the first grand I ever dismantled.
Frankie was my first grand piano: a 1923 Franklin short grand with a lovely mahogany case with six fluted legs, floral carvings, gorgeous ivory keys, and a light, delicate sound. Since he was in neglected shape when I bought him, he provided my first education in piano repair. After a certain point, however, he wasn't up for virtuosic playing anymore, and no one wanted to buy him. If I could have started the piano museum I've always dreamed about, he would have taken pride of place. Instead, I eventually and reluctantly realized that he would be the first grand I ever dismantled.
It's clear that Frankie's makers never intended him to come apart. Fair enough!
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A view of Frankie's player mechanism from underneath.
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However, Frankie was not just a grand; he had been outfitted with an Ampico player mechanism, a miraculous invention possessed of a remarkable steampunk beauty. Amazingly, the electrics still worked, but the ancient rubber tubing had mostly crumbled away. Like a car mechanic, I spent many hours on my back underneath Frankie' belly, pulling out piece after handcrafted piece of the airtight mechanism (and getting a split lip for my trouble). Let it be known that Frankie did not go down without a solid fight.
Now, various parts of Frankie's beautiful bones decorate my home and his case rests in my garden, awaiting further orders.
Skeleton Piano Mini
I found a Tom Thumb-style mini piano on the street and convinced my husband to help me lug it home so I could take it apart. It has yet to be used for a performance, although I sometimes use its open strings for background ambience when I make sound recordings. At some point in its life it seems to have been half-submerged in water.
I found a Tom Thumb-style mini piano on the street and convinced my husband to help me lug it home so I could take it apart. It has yet to be used for a performance, although I sometimes use its open strings for background ambience when I make sound recordings. At some point in its life it seems to have been half-submerged in water.
If only this little guy could talk.
The No Disrespect Piano
In 2018 I co-produced an outdoor performance called "Caldera" with Cascadia Composers in the natural amphitheater of the volcanic caldera in Mt. Tabor Park, Portland. One of my compositions, entitled "No Disrespect", featured two intrepid modern dancers (Conrad Kaczor and Kiel Moton) who covered a Harrington upright piano with spray paint graffiti while I played.
After the show, we let the kids in the audience finish the job.
When modern art music requires respirators.
I have nothing but respect for these dudes.
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Best way to end a concert, ever.
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After the performance, No Disrespect Piano found a home in an empty lot across the street from my house, where it has responded to the elements in interesting ways and provides a canvas for locals to play with...just not 'playing' in the traditional sense.
No Disrespect Piano: ain't gonna play no mo'
Mini Player
As a reward for a job well done when they reach an important milestone in their piano studies, I give my students the treat of a whole lesson wherein they get to do whatever they want - as long as it has something to do with music. The idea is to go with the craziest and most inventive idea you can dream up. My students Liam and Elias decided - don't ask me where they ever would have come up with an idea like this, ahem - that they wanted to take a piano apart! God love 'em, right after my own heart.
We found an utterly fantastic mini player piano on the street (Portland sometimes does seem to be awash in miraculous sidewalk treasures) and spent an entire, incredibly fun Saturday seeing what it was made of.
You can find a lot more info about many of these projects at my sister website, jenniferwrightpianostudio.com!