Terra Incognita: Maps, Anchors, and Why Perception Is Different at the Piano
Just Shopping
Not too long ago, I briefly watched a TV scene that made me think of our beginnings at the keyboard.
Imagine a couple, very much in love, going to a jewelry shop. The shop is high-end, filled with very shiny, very sparkly precious metals and stones, the clerks are knowledgable, and the floors very plush. She looks around, sees an attractive necklace, and asks to try it. The clerk assists her; the couple admires it, and she asks how much it is. The clerk, with practiced nonchalance, says “Just $24 000. It looks great on you!” She is taken aback and repeats incredulously “Just??” The clerk confirms, again with a most agreeable and unsurprised look. The couple is uncomfortable. They both re-orient their gaze towards something smaller than the necklace. She points to a pair of earrings. Tries them on, and again asks for the price. “These,” the clerk says, “are just $4500.” She is still taken aback, but a bit less. Finally, she spots a bracelet, lovely, pink, with just the perfect cut and just the perfect sparkle. She tries it on, looks admiringly at her wrist, and enjoys it. The talk comes back again to price. The clerk yet again answers, “Just $10 500.” She does not react anymore. Eventually, the couple leaves with the bracelet and earrings. She is content; he is too. They spent ‘just’ $15 000 in the shop.
The Anchoring Effect
Our couple has experienced something psychologists call the “anchoring bias” or the” anchoring effect.” Discovered by Tversky and Kahneman and published in 1974, this effect described people’s tendency to estimate and make decisions based on the first piece of information they received. Observed in two stages, the anchoring effect showed that people first make a preliminary judgment, the anchor, which later is adjusted to incorporate more information. However, the adjustment is usually incorrect and depends in large measure on the first informational input.
When confronted with the first price, our couple was shocked since it did not fit with the number they had in mind or their expectation of how high it should be. When presented with additional merchandise which was of lower price, they were willing to purchase not one, but two items of high value. $24 000 was too high but they quickly adjusted their spending limit upward and considered a total of $15 000 a good bargain. The anchoring bias shows that we are more inclined to continuously refer to the first piece of information we have about something, even if subsequent information should propel us to make very different decisions regarding that subject. That first piece of information carries more weight in our decision-making than any others following it. This effect is also long-lasting and really hard to notice. After all, can you see the anchor holding this boat in place?
We hold many anchors
In a musical life, there are many opportunities for experiencing a parallel to this anchoring and (mal) adjusting effect. Think for a moment of the first lessons, first encounters with repertoire and various genres, first recitals, first ensemble playing opportunities, and first high-stakes performances. These are the sources of our initial impressions, the first anchors that inform, consciously or unconsciously even our current professional and personal lives. Of course, we have changed some of the pathways, actions, or reactions to how and what we do when we play, but Tversky and Kahneman’s work suggests that, consciously or unconsciously, we still refer to these initial experiences and make decisions based on them.
Consider, for instance, whether or not your body perceptions change once you are in contact with your instrument. In the last blog, I included an exercise in feeling various parts of the body and concluded with taking stock of how tall and wide you are and how much space your body occupies. I then asked you to consider if this information changes when you approach your instrument. If we set aside the simple kinesthetic change that happens as you touch or hold your instrument, you may have noticed that your body assumes a certain kind of position, with a certain type of muscle mobilization, weight distribution, and engagement of the skeletal system. This beginning posture is so familiar to us (musicians) that we rarely (if ever) question whether or not it is a good or optimal position for playing. However if, when playing, we are uncomfortable, feel as if we are fighting with the instrument, or find ourselves asking ‘I don’t know why I keep doing that,’ considering whether or not we are experiencing an anchoring-effect moment is worthwhile.
Early Education
Instrumental education starts at 5-7 years old, sometimes even younger, at 4. Some students begin even earlier, at 2-3 years old. In the case of the string, brass, percussion, and woodwind instrument families, the instruments are offered in smaller sizes. In the case of the piano, this is not a possibility. Two-or twenty-year-olds will learn on the same piano design, at 100% scale, without any adaptations that would take into account that the younger person’s fingers, arms, and body are not as strong or big as an adult’s. The experience that smaller bodies will have at the keyboard is inevitably that of effort, difficulty, and/or strain. Children will usually use words such as ‘hard’ or ‘press’ and will exhibit extreme tension in their hands, arms, and shoulders. Occasionally even the face and the tongue will be involved or their legs will become rigid. Unless otherwise directed, they will continue to be tense even when their bodies grow enough to make using the instrument significantly easier. Playing is very hard work for them indeed.
Big hands and small hands on the same instrument
Most people do not remember childhood experiences connected to physical proportions, such as how they have been affected by the size of furniture or of the adults in their lives. Not many remember how difficult it was to get to the bathroom sink or sit at a table, but most musicians will remember, consciously or subconsciously, how it felt when they held or touched their instruments when they were young. Even if the details are not very distinct in the mind, the body will continue to hold those patterns because they are constantly referenced through practice.
Patterns
Every time we (pianists) approach our instrument we re-create patterns we learned from a very young age: the assumption about how hard or easy it is to play, how much physical effort is required, the type of motion needed, and occasionally, even the emotional response we have towards our instrument. This may also be the reason why every time we review a previously learned piece, we encounter the same feelings towards success or failure with it, the same patterns of ease or effort, and the same patterns of interpretation. Whenever we “pick repertoire back up,” we tend to reenact the patterns we had during the last time we played it.
Without some type of pedagogical intervention, adult musicians will approach the instrument based on an approximate progression of their conscious or subconscious body image from when they were little, from the anchor created in childhood. Because of it, they may exhibit an effort in playing that is much closer to a smaller body, not to a fully grown one. The perception of whether or not they can do something easily or with greater ease will depend on how much their body image is still anchored in the smaller size of the child.
In light of this cognitive process, the crucial question then becomes, “How can the anchoring effect be counteracted?”
Awareness and Observation
Looking back to the jewelry shoppers, psychologists would tell us that we should just refuse to approximate. We should gather data so that we are not easily swayed by a false price drop in the form of advertised sales or an erroneous progression of false value anchors, but instead, have a more accurate image of the average price for something. “Gather data and keep it real” would sum up their advice.
Tai Chi solves anchoring by emphasizing constant internal awareness and external observation.
Each Moment
In the previous blog, I mentioned that one of the fundamental principles in Tai Chi is that ‘one part moves, all parts move.’ In The Mental Elucidation of the Thirteen Postures, the full phrase states
‘Carve this, each moment, into your mind/heart; remember closely: when one part moves, there is no part that does not move.’ (Translated by Louis Swaim. Italics mine)
“Carve this, each moment, into your mind/heart” refers to the employment of awareness as a continuous tool for self-regulation.
Inside and Outside
Much has been written about awareness and its relevance to a whole range of experiences, from daily life to meditative and spiritual pursuits. At its core, awareness is the ability of the mind to pay attention to its inner processes. For instance, right now, I know I am thinking about what my next words will be. Awareness is attention that can be focused 1) internally, in which case I am aware of my thoughts, feelings, and how my body feels (e.g. currently my neck is slightly tense after spending the past several hours at the computer); or it can be focused 2) externally, as it registers stimuli from the environment and my interactions with it.
Observation is also a mental process through which I notice how I am and how I interact with the environment, as well as how objects within the environment interact with each other, but this observation places the self somewhere outside the field that is being observed. From an experiential point of view, awareness is more internally focused, and observation is more external.
When practicing solo Tai Chi, the student seeks to enter and maintain a state of awareness in which both the inside and the outside stimuli are registered and adjusted to. When one does partner work or is in a martial situation, the process of observation is added but awareness is never abandoned. One can see with one’s eyes what the opponent is about to do; but in order to be effective, one has to be aware of one’s body, the physicality of the opponent, as well as their intent.
Unique
Within the practice of Tai Chi (or Qigong, or mediation), there is no implicit or explicit focus on the re-creation of a moment or an experience of previous practice, as it happens in the majority of music making. Instead, the emphasis is on uniqueness. First through standing and then through moving, the student learns very quickly that each session is different, and that whatever felt like “that” yesterday will feel like “this” today. Within this training, the childhood anchor of how a body works, how big it is, together with a variety of other images one might hold about how a body works are constantly investigated, assessed, and modified so that the student is working with the most current sensory information possible. In standing or form work, the attention is on how things are now and how they can be changed in the next moment. Anything that pulls attention out of it is considered an image, a mental projection that will create awareness gaps.
Adjustment
At the physical level, the moment-to-moment feeling of the body and the adjustments that reach for its optimal positioning are the fundamental aspects of the practice. That is one of the main reasons to move slowly when training — keeping track of the body at high speeds does require superior skill, just as in music.
Maps
As adult musicians at the keyboard, we remember
a pre-formed map of the body,
a pre-formed map of its relationship with the instrument,
a pre-formed map of our own emotional response to the instrument,
a pre-formed map of what the music requires of us,
and a pre-formed map of how it should sound, among many other patterns we employ.
During developmental years, we use these pre-formed patterns to accumulate repertoire and deliver performances. In our professional lives, we rely on them to make up for a shortage of practice time.
If we were lucky enough to meet with pedagogues who took the time to point out consistently that our bodies have changed and that we can use less effort and be more efficient in our movements, the accurate patterns we have developed will constitute the bedrock for our entire (healthy and productive) career. However, if no one addressed our bodies and patterns in a consistent and, at the time, logical and experientially compelling way, perhaps the Tai Chi method of frequent (if not constant) investigation, assessment, and modification will be useful.
If you would like to give it a try
If you wish to implement this strategy, the first thing to do is to notice how your body feels when it moves comfortably in daily life, away from your instrument; contrast that with how it feels while you are playing.
1) If there is a difference, use observation to asses the objective attributes of the instrument.
For instance:
How much effort is really needed to move a piano key and to keep it down? What about releasing it?
How far is one key from the next? How much physical stretch does it truly require?
How big, really, are the intervals up to a tenth, in your hands?
How much do you really have to exert yourself to play something fortissimo?
2) Then use awareness to determine where the change from a comfortable non-musical physical motion to a musical one begins.
Which muscles are involved?
What are the sensations?
Are the changes from non-musical movement to musical one necessary or are they based on an assumption?
Why do you use this particular movement pattern?
What does it do for the music and, very importantly, what does it do to your body?
Is this comfortable? Easy? Why/Why not?
These are just some of the avenues open for exploration. Please take them only as a starting place and use your own curiosity to fuel your investigations.