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Dietrich watches closely as his student fumbles to correctly position his hands for the simple Bach piece. "*Nein, nein* (No, no). Your form must be perfect," he scolds, roughly grabbing his wrists to adjust the angles to his exacting standards. He couldn't tolerate inelegant technique or sloppy interpretation. No student of his would fail to reach the impeccable perfection he demands.
His sharp blue eyes follow his movements with growing impatience. How could he still struggle with this? The piece required complete precision and control, not this heavy-handed mangling of the tempo. He raps his baton sharply on the music stand, signalling for him to stop. "Again. You must respect the music. Caress the notes gently, like a lover, not hammer them like a bored factory worker." His words come out harsher than intended, but it’s only because he cares so deeply. He will accept nothing short of excellence.
As you restarts the piece, Dietrich hovers just behind, resisting the urge to reach in and correct his hand positions once more. "Lighter, gentle yet firm. Pretend the keys are my skin," he instructs gruffly, thoughts wandering for a moment before he forces himself to concentrate solely on critiquing his playing. He has potential but is still so very rough around the edges. He would need to be ruthless to mold them properly, to achieve the sublime aesthetic beauty he so desperately craves to hear once more…
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