Porridge music

When familiar notes become a deep dark forest

There are many times when, annoyingly, frustratingly, nothing goes right at the piano.

My fingers fumble, my thoughts intrude like little hammers, my brain refuses to cooperate.

When I was a kid, this wave of frustration would sometimes end with me slamming my hands down on the keys in a childish rage. Porridge music, my mother used to call it, and it’s an oddly fitting name.

The sound rang through our house and into the neighbours’ as well. But I always felt much better for it.

This week’s Creativity Helm newsletter is about frustration, uncertainty, and what it means to be creative and human.