Everything evolves

Some of you may wonder about my life as a pianist—or as a classical pianist. The other day, I was surprised by someone’s question, remembering that at eighteen I applied for a national scholarship competition. At that tender age, my dream was to specialize in Barcelona in Spanish music, guided by the Catalan pianistic tradition.

Five of us reached the finals, and during the final round, certain behaviors revealed a harsh truth: some competitions are decided long before the performance and everything else is just a formality. The young russian finalist had a separate rehearsal room and even a different piano for warm-ups. The rest of us exchanged glances: we knew exactly what was happening.

Fortunately —young readers— the course of life teaches us that dreams evolve, transform, and take unexpected paths. Life offered me far richer experiences than I had imagined, surprising me repeatedly with plot twists that neither I nor my friends could foresee: a style and tradition profoundly rooted in our time and its accelerated Zeitgeist.

Today, having learned Catalan, I can immerse myself autonomously in the codes of musical meaning that remain inaccessible unless you were present to study centuries of correspondences. Life also taught me that even had I won that scholarship, it wouldn’t have answered the questions I truly had. I found my answers elsewhere —with other people, in other circumstances— and within myself. Because not everything you desire is what you need, even if you don’t realize it yet.

And yet, life gave me something far more meaningful: the chance to dedicate my academic research to the music of Mauricio Sotelo —composer and friend— whom I have cherished since meeting him at sixteen. Just when I thought I might leave the piano behind, life reminded me otherwise.

The iconic restaurant Els 4 Gats took an interest in the way I made music—almost by accident. My university students would laugh knowingly and visit in the evenings, aware of my “double life”: a door in front of the piano that always led to unexpected and surprising guests. A double life in a place once frequented by Picasso, Albéniz, and Granados, which helped me understand a new perspective: improvisation.

So I made myself two promises: to improve slowly and steadily, like the finest wines, and to develop my own poetics through drafts and personal texts, already available on platforms and in the booklets of my albums. To enjoy the path ahead, now that I feel ready to walk it through my fingers, pouring into music all I experienced in the years I devoted to other equally—or even more—important pursuits, shaping myself from within.

Now, the piano accompanies me quietly, over a low flame: without competitions, with truth, with my own voice—like all the authors I truly admire.