In the middle of a hot July afternoon, I became a thief of some sort—a thief of music. For the first time, I created a(n) 1 piano arrangement of one of my favorite songs. Using only my ears and iPad, I 2 a mix of sounds and melodies into the tones of a single instrument; I created complex harmonies and voices into something I could 3 with only two hands. No help, no guide—I did it 4 .
I've been a pianist since my hands grew big enough to touch the 5 . For many years, my musical identity was 6 by the notes that others had written in the past centuries. I valued classical music, but I felt such performances were shallow (肤浅的). I had nothing of my own to 7 the great compositions (乐曲) of Bach. This was why, when I put the finishing touches to my piano version of a modern song, my 8 was glorious: this arrangement was mine. What I'd done seemed magical: an ability to take what had already existed—to "steal" a song from my favorite band—and to change it into something 9 all on my own.
In music, as in other aspects of life, I believe that true originality 10 exists. Almost everything has been done before. The most passionate romance novel may be a slightly 11 version of a play written by Shakespeare, which in turn was 12 from the writers of Ancient Gréece.
The gift of 13 is just like what I did on the piano: to find out something beautiful, to analyze and change it and 14 yourself in the mystery of its composition, and then to make it new. Such an act is not copying; it is finding 15 and use it as fuel for your own masterpiece.
