The Philosophy of Practising

by Kristin Thielemann (04.03.2025)
Translation by Marina Kreutzer

Practising is just mechanical repetition of the same difficult passages, isn’t it? Have you ever thought about what practising really means for you? Music educator Kristin Thielemann delves into the deeper meaning of practising in this article, and along the way, she shares effective practising methods based on her own learnings while playing music.

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How old were you when you started playing your instrument? I must have been five or six when my mother thought it would be a great idea for me to learn the piano. Although I preferred to play the trumpet – but apparently, that was only for the boys. After some negotiations, I finally accepted my "piano fate", with the prospect of being allowed to learn the trumpet in a year's time. However, I didn’t realise until my first lesson that playing the piano would also require regular practice – neither my parents nor the piano teacher had prepared me for that…

Soon enough, I understood from school that homework meant completing a page in the maths book, putting the book back in my bag, and handing in the finished tasks in the next maths lesson to my beloved first-grade teacher, who would usually draw a star next to my completed tasks if I – quite contrary to my nature – had tried to write my calculations in beautiful handwriting. Proudly, we first graders compared the stars and diligently did our homework.

In piano lessons, I was very soon faced with homework too. So I did the same as I would do for maths: I played through my new piece once after the lesson, then put the sheet music back in my music school bag and waited for the next piano lesson. However, my piano teacher wasn’t impressed, and after a detailed conversation about how exactly I was practising, it became clear that she first had to teach me what the term “practice” really meant.

“Playing through once doesn’t count! Not even two or three times!” I reported to my mother, relatively stunned. I would have to to play every day to become really good. But did I even want to become really good? I didn’t know. I simply had no idea what “really good” piano playing should sound like and what I could do with it. After all, I enjoyed the small and easy pieces, and at first I didn’t feel the urge to change the difficulty level. But, as things often go, I gradually became a more diligent piano student who – motivated by my mother (or “mum-tivated”) – and just as instructed, played the piano for 10 minutes every day. And I did so with the egg timer, which would ring after exactly 10 minutes: whether in the middle of a scale or in the most beautiful bars of the music, I slammed the piano lid down as soon as the timer went off. That way, at least, I made some progress. A small flaw: since I didn’t know any practising techniques at that time, my practice consisted simply of playing through my homework. The mistakes I made, of course, I ingrained in this way by rushing over them, or I used the “Stop and Go” technique: where it worked, I pressed on the tempo, and where it got stuck, I temporarily stopped and carefully – though error-prone – worked through the difficult passage. The unfortunate thing was that this way, the good parts became really good, and I didn’t make much progress on my (as I would now say to my students) “construction sites”. Some of my childhood piano pieces probably had familiar permanent construction sites, a bit like the long-term renovation of the A7 motorway, you may be accustomed to.

But then something happened that boosted my motivation and transformed me from an ignorant piano plunker into an enthusiastic piano student: I left the stage of practice literature – those pieces presented to me in the mid-1980s, primarily designed for educational purposes, probably didn’t only have a musically rather unfruitful and annoying effect on me. And so, I discovered alongside the great classics, Scott Joplin’s rags, rock pieces by Jürgen Moser, jazz standards, and film music. I was fascinated by small preludes by Johann Sebastian Bach, tried works by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and Ludwig van Beethoven – and one day, I put the annoying egg timer back in my mother’s kitchen. It was disturbing with its ringing and ticking while I practised!

Practising in Front of an Imaginary Audience Works Better

I had got into the flow of playing the piano. The content of the music had grabbed me, it was relevant to me, quite challenging but not impossible to achieve, and while practising, I dreamt of performing this beautiful music for my friends. Practising was now far more for me than just repetition. I practised playing the music for my Playmobil figures and stuffed animals: I cheered up sad figures with my music, while trying to rock the constantly tired teddy to sleep. I played my favourite pieces at breakneck speed for my Matchbox cars to excite them. By chance – perhaps even intuitively – I had stumbled upon something I now advise people who practise out of boredom: imagine a person watching you as you practise! How does this person feel, and could you enchant their mood with your music?

Breaking a Piece Into Sections

For those enthusiastic about the digital world, I recommend the app TONIC. Here, you can practise on a virtual stage in front of an audience: other users from all around the world can listen to you and comment on your practice – provided you have a stable internet connection. Teenagers and adult students who had practised with this app came back with many important questions about their practise: “How do I structure my piece so that others can see I really have a plan when practising?” My tip here: use the existing musical sections and break them down into useful sub-sections. The more challenging the piece, the finer the division should be. But the true art is not to get lost in it and to keep a good overview. Because despite all the sense in making a good division, the transitions between sections also need to be well practised. After all, many a musician has managed to master their difficult and meticulously practised section well but failed in the subsequent easy part during a concert…

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Creating Variety

Recently, an 18-year-old student came to me after listening to peers practising via TONIC: "Some just play through their pieces over and over without realising that it sounds just as awful – or even worse each time!" True – because when we practise in a varied way, we help our brain to maintain concentration and attention, whereas mindless repetition leads to boredom and careless mistakes are usually not long in coming.

So, how do we practise with variety? I usually introduce my students quite quickly to the "Traffic System" practice method, which I described in “'Voll motiviert – Erfolgsrezepte für Ihren Unterricht'”. In the meantime, method cards to help students remember and apply this method more easily. This keeps practice more engaging by incorporating many gamification elements. Gamification elements are what keep you hooked in board or video games – for example, time constraints (… maybe your mum’s egg timer!), obstacles to overcome, a new level, lucky moments, event cards, collecting tokens or coins, and visualising success.

In this way, the music to be practised is given the flexibility it needs to be performed safely in a playful manner and to possess the necessary spontaneity and musical creativity.

Some method cards

The Core of Practice

And this way, my students and I quickly find ourselves in the middle of an exciting practice journey. This is where repetitions become enjoyable, and we have fun working on a piece together. After all, the German word "Übung" ("practice") originally comes from the Old High German "uobunga", which referred to agriculture, the cultivation of fields, and also meant "zeal" or "diligence" (Etymological Dictionary of German). Over time, this evolved into today's common definition of practice as "repeating something often [following certain rules] in order to learn it" (Duden). Our linguistic heritage reminds us that practice has always been something that has achieved the best results with diligence, perseverance, and dedication.

Practice as Personal Development

Diligence, perseverance, and dedication are also qualities that every musician develops through practice: patience, endurance, resilience – and sometimes recognising one's own limits! Learning an instrument teaches us a lot about ourselves: How patient are we? What creative solutions can we come up with for tricky passages? Ultimately, practising is also about our motivation: How long can we keep working on something that doesn’t yet succeed as we’d like? And what is our goal? Do we take mistakes as opportunities for growth, or do we see them as something bad to be eradicated? Do we want to play the piece like the soloist we recently watched on YouTube, or do we want to create something entirely our own? How much do we want to follow the given musical instructions, and to what extent do we value traditions enough to adopt them into our interpretation? And how do we handle criticism or feedback? Accepting constructive criticism, processing it well, and using it to grow rather than crumble requires strength. Practising an instrument is also a form of character development, as qualities like persistence, perseverance, and the ability to handle setbacks are trained and, at best, strengthened. We also constantly engage with musical traditions and expectations.

A Never-Ending Journey

For me, one of the most beautiful aspects of music is that no external reward is needed: The true reward is the music itself that becomes more refined and beautiful through steady practice! I understand that people who are not yet used to the deeper aspects of practice might initially just work against the clock – in my case, with an egg timer. I don’t think it’s necessarily wrong to set a specific time frame for practice – I still do that today. But I now see this time as quality time for myself, knowing that I will not only improve certain aspects of my trumpet playing but also grow as a person, develop patience with myself, and deepen my connection to music and my inner self. It is a journey that shapes not just my playing but also my character. For me, practising always has something special and sublime about it. I like to take a wonderfully fragrant cup of tea or coffee into my music studio, make myself comfortable there and celebrate this special time.
I also keep a small notebook or a practice app where I jot down all important thoughts, insights, and progress. This allows me to track my learning process and I often rediscover valuable practice tips that might otherwise be forgotten. Moreover, it motivates me to see the progress I’ve made.

With all these thoughts in mind, I would definitely say that practice has a philosophical dimension. It is a journey that never truly ends – like the infinity symbol, an eternal balance to be maintained, an ongoing cycle of highs and lows, with many important milestones but no ultimate destination. Practising is a lifelong process of learning, growing, and discovering, relevant in early lessons as much as for professionals. Regardless of our level or goal, my advice is to see practice time as a gift to yourself – an opportunity for growth on many levels. Most importantly, it allows us to better understand ourselves and become the best version of who we are, both musically and personally. We may never reach a final destination, but that’s precisely the beauty of it: the continuous development, the discovery of new facets, and the maturation of the process. It is the journey that shapes us, not the destination, and every practice session is another step on this infinite path.