In this introduction, Faliks begins by reflecting on how Schumann’s intimate and heartfelt music always seems to be written for you and you alone, and continues by contextualizing the work in Schumann’s life. She discusses just what makes these etudes-slash-variations so symphonic, and outlines the structure of the whole piece. Finally, she addresses how Schumann’s alter egos Florestan and Eusebius are useful analogues to understand the dichotomous character of the piece, and how to creatively insert the dreamy posthumous variations alongside the intensely dramatic etudes.

In this lesson, Faliks dives deeply into the tragic theme and first three etudes. She offers insights about bringing weightiness to the theme without becoming ponderous, creating smoothness using finger substitution despite its verticality, and ensuring subtly rolled chords. In the strict and march-like first etude, Faliks calls for “electrified” fingertips that still maintain the melodic contour. The second etude is as much a study for the ear and feet as for the fingers, requiring careful listening and pedaling to keep the melody soaring and evoking orchestral instruments. The third etude is the trickiest so far, featuring violin-like virtuosity, but Faliks paves the way to a crisp and shaped execution with her remarks on discipline, positioning, and how best to split your focus between the hands.

In this lesson Faliks turns her attention to the first two Posthumous Variations. They clearly represent the contrasting side of Schumann’s personality: the first variation is a passionate statement by Florestan, while the second is a discursive, dreamlike vision by Eusebius. Her advice for the first variation (which is easier than it sounds!) includes shaping, sforzandos, and whether or not to repeat. The second variation is of such fleeting and delicate character that it almost defies description, but Faliks still has clear advice about using the arm and wrist to craft the varied inflections necessary for an eloquent statement.

This lesson pairs an implacable etude with a tearful posthumous variation. Faliks views etude 8 as both a French overture and a funeral march, and its unremitting quality is reminiscent of the funeral march from Chopin’s Second Sonata. She suggests a dynamic arch similar to the one Rachmaninoff used in his recording of the Chopin sonata, one which recedes into the distance like a funeral procession. By occasionally disregarding the composer’s markings, strong ideas can bring forth an arresting vision of the whole piece. The fourth posthumous etude fits here as a highly vulnerable response to the severity of etude 8. It requires a deep search for your own most exquisite and tender colors.

Etude 9 is perhaps the most fiendish of the set and requires highly disciplined and varied practice methods. Faliks provides a wide array of options: middle voices, rhythms, slow while following the melody, incremental tempi, different groupings, as well as proper execution of the grace notes. She also gives practical advice about the repeat: some days it’s worth it, and some days it’s not! Etude 10 is a more dramatic counterpart to the previous etude: Faliks has tips for grabbing the chords, articulating the rests, and maintaining shape based on the most emotionally intense harmonies. Etude 11 is a challenge both technically and emotionally; Faliks offers solutions for conveying the most intense grief despite widely-spaced counterpoint in the right hand and executing the awkward, turbid figuration in the left hand. Voicing and balance require special care here. The transition to the fifth and final posthumous variation is perfect: a starry, floating variation which requires lilting motion of the arms and makes a remarkably smooth connection to the grand finale.

The grandiose and lengthy finale counterbalances the all the variety and tragedy that came before. Faliks offers strategies to keep the repetitive rondo form sounding fresh, how to save your energy for the most intense climaxes, and how to maintain the youthful good humor and joy throughout. Enjoy Faliks’ close look at Schumann’s beloved dotted rhythms, surprises of harmony and inner voices, rolling impossible chords, and celebrating the conclusion of this unforgettable journey from darkness to light.

Female composers in every era have experienced setbacks just because of their gender. This beautiful sonata by Clara Schumann is a case in point: although it was written in 1842, it wasn't published until 1991. Join acclaimed pianist and professor Inna Faliks for an exploration of what we've been missing.

This video features the songful slow movement. Learn how varied voicing and deft pedaling will bring the string-quartet-like texture to life, and how to make the melody soar with apt fingerings, rhythmic subdivision, and singing it aloud. There is also a complete performance for you to hear how Faliks' ideas work together harmoniously.

III. Scherzo

Female composers in every era have experienced setbacks just because of their gender. This beautiful sonata by Clara Schumann is a case in point: although it was written in 1842, it wasn't published until 1991. Join acclaimed pianist and professor Inna Faliks for an exploration of what we've been missing.

This video features the scampering scherzo movement. Learn how to practice with "electric fingertips" for crisp staccati – and how to keep things sonorous by also practicing with a more sustained touch. Hear how slight differences of phrasing bring out the high spirits of passages that sound like laughter and even giggling. See how decisions about tempo and inflection for new and repeated sections help to keep the whole form supple. There is also a complete performance for you to hear how Faliks' ideas work together harmoniously.