¿Estás estudiando menos?

Everyone who knew Radovan knows that this question, far from what it might seem, holds a great lesson within it. In the three years I studied with him in Madrid, I must have heard it countless times, but back then, both I and my classmates were far from able to decode the wisdom held in such a simple question — even less so given the context and the way he asked it.

In fact, our first reaction was always disbelief, followed by suppressed laughter and knowing looks, each of us wondering who would be the first to crack up. The context was always the same: a student would play something, it would sound spectacular — which, there, was our daily bread — and the first thing Radovan would say was:

"Oh, fantástico, suena muy bien, ¿estás estudiando menos?" ("Oh, fantastic, that sounds great — are you practising less?")

In our loop of competing students, it was deeply incongruous that something could sound so good while practising less. "Fantastic!" and "practising less" never belonged in the same sentence. Our level of performance was, to us, directly proportional to our hours of practice, which is exactly why we found it so funny.

Over time, and with experience, I came to realise the great truth and lesson that simple question held: how important it is to rest and, above all, not to practise to the point of exhaustion. Practising with a clear mind, less time but in an organised way, knowing what we're looking for with each exercise instead of doing it simply because it exists.

Feeling rested, both mentally and physically, is a fundamental part of a successful performance. That's why, for some years now, I've followed a series of self-imposed guidelines to ensure I get proper rest and find myself, as far as possible, in the best condition. Especially for demanding concerts, but also, more generally, as a way of life.

My seven pieces of advice

1. Don't practise to the point of exhaustion.

I never practise until I can't play anymore. Reaching that point doesn't mean we're making better use of our time — often, it means quite the opposite.

2. Rest at least one day a week.

A full day of rest, with zero contact with the instrument.

3. Recover after a demanding day.

After an especially demanding day, I do a 10-15 minute session of pedal notes and low-register playing.

4. Take care of your lips when they need it.

I turn to cold or heat therapy if I notice my lip is swollen or bruised, always looking for whichever option helps me recover best.

5. Holidays are for resting.

In summer, I put the instrument down for a month. Rest is also part of the work.

6. Know when not to take on more workload.

If I have a heavy workload with the orchestra, I turn down freelance work and use my days off to rest.

7. Prepare difficult programmes well in advance.

I start working on demanding, difficult programmes months in advance and avoid last-minute cramming in the weeks beforehand. Gradual preparation lets me arrive at concerts with more confidence and, above all, less wear and tear.

I've spent a long time learning to apply this idea, even if I don't always manage it. Sometimes I still make the same mistake: practising more than necessary, pushing to the limit, and then discovering, once it's time to play, that my body is tired or my muscles are overloaded.

And perhaps that's the real lesson held in that question that made us laugh so many times. It's not about practising more, but about knowing when to practise, how to practise and, above all, when to stop.

That's why, whenever I catch myself falling back into that pattern, there it is again, in my head, the echo of Radovan's voice:

«¿Estás estudiando menos?» ("Are you practising less?")