What I love most about playing in front of people has something to do with a certain kind of energy exchange. The attention and appreciation of my audience feeds back into my playing. It really seems as if there is a true and equal give and take between performer and listener, making me aware of how much I depend on my audience. And since the audience is different every night, the music being played will differ too. Every space I performed in has its own magic and spirit.

When you realize that everything is staged, then nothing is staged.

I feel like my strong side is not being technically perfect at the piano, but at curating my own work. It's not painful for me. I don't feel sad when I have to leave things out, put them in the safe, and not have them in public. I realize many artists feel sad about this process, but for me that's the most exciting part: By losing the weaker moments you make the strong moments stronger.

There's a narrow bit which is still possible, which is left from all of the ones you can't do right now, and then you make the best out of that. You wouldn't have done that by yourself at any other moment of time.

The music I do in live performances is made for a specific situation. I know that people are sitting down and shutting up and they're with me for 90 minutes. They're totally with me. Whatever I do, I know they have my attention and they follow my pace.

Why does the world need a Piano Day? For many reasons. But mostly, because it doesn't hurt to celebrate the piano and everything around it: performers, composers, piano builders, tuners, movers and most important, the listener.

I would be doomed if I didn't invent humor in my life. When I was young, I had all these punk and performance-art bands, dressed in costumes and painting the room and getting kicked out by police. Now when I perform I still feel the stage is more than just where you put your instruments. It's where you can do whatever you feel like.