As a young, rebellious girl I was often upset at always having to cut my nails short in order to play the piano. My darling russian concert-pianist teacher was, contrary to stereotype, a wonderfully warm and supporting, gentle soul. However, she did have a point when highlighting that neither Chopin nor Mozart had intended their compositions to be accompanied by my talons click-clacking on ivory keys. Least of all at a public concert in central London venues where you can hear a pin drop.
Personally, I get the primal desire to dislocate everything from the shoulders down of audience members at music recitals if I hear so much as a rustling sleeve or the horrific crackling of a sweetie wrapper unravelling. In slow motion. In any case, because of my dedication to piano, my manicures were always a humble affair until I stopped playing and was able to finally indulge. The novelty has worn off, not least because of the sheer boredom of not being able to use my hands for what seems inordinate amounts of time.
The term 'nail-art' usually summons images of teenage mothers touting luridly painted long fakies whilst bottle-feeding their infants coca-cola. Yet, in another world, admittedly mainly far east asia, there are those that have dedicated themselves to elevating the painting of nails to an intricate art. Asia is possibly the only place left where the patience necessary for making miniaturised masterpieces remains. Many of these nail creations are of such intricacy that one wonders if a medical-strength microscope was required. There are even huge exhibitions regaling this high art for dead skin, in Japan. No mere avant-garde nail colour here, instead micro 3D sculpting with pastes comparable to heavy-body paint medium, sprinkled with diamante, mini objects, toys or anything small enough to fit. Fantastical rolling paysages, mythical scenes or abstract compositions play out across all ten digits.
The diligent patience of their creators only makes me think of the diligent boredom with which the human being attached to the nails may have endured. In any case they are a feat to marvel at. What happens when you chip a nail or need to do something, or finally, when the inevitable time comes to remove it all? I cannot help wondering that, had I nurtured such intense focus on the piano, I may indeed have continued playing to an even bigger audience. Or simply ended up with an ornately decorated and useless Steinway.
"Jetset Violet"
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