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.

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.

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.

Confusion is the only state of mind we have where we are really out of our patterns and what we expect. Because of that, you're open to new experiences. The irritation in concert performances is really important. When people get really irritated, they listen on the front of their stool and ask, "What's going on?" If I deliver what they expect - sad, soft piano music - then people would just shut down.

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.

The only thing I try to watch carefully is that I never lose the love for the instrument. That's also why I decided against a professional piano career when I was younger.