By TIFFANY KUO

Konstantin Soukhovetski

One is a Russian romantic; the other, a witty American. Konstantin Soukhovetski and Orion Weiss are the two winners of Juilliard's 2003 Gina Bachauer International Piano Competition. They are two unmistakable musicians among the hundred-plus pianists at Juilliard—distinguishable by an individualistic style in appearance, personality, and playing. While Konstantin exudes an aura of the imperial Moscow with an impeccable taste in apparel, Orion communicates in a natural, jocular banter certain to make anyone smile. These interviews reveal the influences of parental upbringing and sibling camaraderie on their pianistic as well as personal temperaments.

Soukhovetski, a master's student of Jerome Lowenthal, received his bachelor's degree from Juilliard last year as the recipient of the Arthur Rubinstein Prize. He was recently awarded third prize in the Cleveland International Piano Competition, performing Tchaikovsky's First Piano Concerto in the finals. He shared his thoughts on being an international student with The Juilliard Journal in the May 2002 issue, and talks here about his love for the arts and New York City.

TK: Konstantin, you were born into a family of artists—can you tell me a bit more?

KS: Both of my parents, my grandmother, and my sister are painters. My grandmother was a ballet dancer first, and became a professional artist after she retired. Piano playing was also an integral part of family life, except that no one had done it professionally. So I had exposure to both visual and performing arts early on. My parents thought that I, their eldest, would take over the painting dynasty—but I always thought of myself as a pianist.

TK: When did you start to take piano playing seriously?

KS: My grandfather is said to have exclaimed that I would be a pianist upon my arrival from the nursery home, because I was attracted to the keyboard. My parents loved the idea of having a musician in the family and encouraged me to be a concert pianist; whatever my sister and I were doing, we were always supposed to be very serious about it. But my father kept jokingly asking me, "Are you sure?" until I won my first piano competition.

By the time I started first grade at the Central Moscow School, I thought of myself as a pianist, but the turning point was before that. I remember attending an artist camp for children with my sister. We did everything arts-related, such as theater, dancing, painting, piano-playing, singing, you name it. Some of the teachers told my mother that I should think about playing piano seriously. They gave her names, and through a chain of reactions, we became aware of a teacher at the Moscow Conservatory who was highly recommended. But at age 6, I was one year shy of the age requirement. Instead, I entered as zero grade at an English school for diplomats. But I didn't understand their schooling—sitting in a classroom rather than practicing. I didn't fit in. The only time I felt comfortable was when I entertained my classmates on the beautiful grand piano in the lobby. I realized then that I could not go to a regular school, one that didn't embrace my artistic inclinations.

In 1987, I played my entrance exam for the Moscow Central School. It was a rigorous exam, consisting of piano playing and interviews. I recall vividly when my mother called the school to find out about the results, and was surprised that I had been "number one." My parents were very excited; I remember champagne bottles opening, and lots of celebrating that night. And from that point onward, the only thing that really mattered was to play the piano well.

TK: Did you stop painting?

KS: I stopped painting around fifth grade. Maybe one day, I'll return to it. I know I have a good eye for selecting ties. I guess I inherited a sense of color from my parents—both of them would always pay attention to visual details, from the small embroidery on the back of a shirt to the color scheme of every room in the house.

TK: What are your favorite activities in New York City?

KS: I love going to the opera! Thanks to the student-priced tickets, I've been able to see my favorite operas several times from very good seats. I also enjoy the social activities in this city with friends outside of and within Juilliard. One of my passions is movies, preferably good ones. I've been spoiled this year with all the wonderful films. I've seen The Hours three times. I draw great inspiration from movies. When I saw The Pianist several days before a concert-packed week in January that included my Weill Recital Hall debut, the charge of energy received from one midnight show on a rainy day kept me going. Since I'm a night person, I get my best practicing done between 9 p.m. and midnight, so I find myself at a lot of midnight showings.

Another passion is going to museums. In Moscow, there isn't a museum that I've visited less than 20 times. I am fascinated by Egyptian art. In New York, I frequent the Met Museum with a fellow art lover who's a member and who keeps me informed of all the new exhibitions. I also love the Frick Collection, the Guggenheim—the "Brazilian Body and Soul" was spectacular last year, and I'm dying to visit the Neue Gallerie. I also enjoy Lincoln Center and Central Park.

My favorite moments are when I step out of a concert or opera, and I slowly walk home rather than getting into a bus, subway, or cab. I get the feeling that I am living within reach of all my favorite things, that I am not a tourist, but a part of the city.

TK: What don't you like about N.Y.C.?

KS: The subway. It's the worst place in the world. It's so loud that it shocks your eardrums. And it's ugly. Not to be nostalgic or patriotic, but the subways in Moscow are a million times better. First, trains come frequently. Second, they're less noisy. And most importantly, the subway stations are architecturally spectacular—grand like cathedrals, with chandeliers, stained glass windows, and marbled statues on the platform. It's an underground palace.

TK: If you were to live in any other city, where would it be?

KS: One of my favorite cities is Paris. There is beauty everywhere. Nevertheless, I don't feel at home there—New York is home. I've always wanted to live here. I wake up and I think that I'm the happiest person alive, because I'm in my dream., I'm living in the place I've always wanted to be. But I love Paris for its aesthetics—the parks, buildings, the river. The ambience of the city allows me to be transported to another time. I sense a closeness to Chopin, Hugo, Matisse, Sisley and all the artists who once lived there. I enjoy the vintage qualities of the city, and I cannot help but be submerged in a romantic haze, as if I were on a movie set. In the Musèe d'Orsay museum, I came across Isle of the Dead, a painting by Arnold Böcklin, with whom I was unfamiliar. It captured my attention right away. It's a surrealist painting, with fantastic and mysterious elements in dark, romantic shades. There's an ancient ruin on an island, and a boatman delivering the dark figures to the isle—the souls the dead. I mentioned this work to many of my friends, and I was told that Böcklin was Rachmaninoff's favorite painter. This painting was the inspiration for Rachmaninoff's great orchestral poem, Isle of the Dead. This discovery excited me tremendously. I believe in experiencing a variety of art and culture, because they are the inspirations for my piano playing.

Orion Weiss

Two-time Bachauer winner Orion Weiss—a student of Emanuel Ax and recipient of a 2002 Avery Fisher Career Grant—changed his summer plans for the first time in years by going to Tanglewood in the Berkshires this summer, rather than Pianofest in the Hamptons. Last season he became a member of the Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center's Chamber Music Society Two. Interviewed at length for the October 2002 issue of The Juilliard Journal, Weiss shares a more personal side of his life with us as he relays a few anecdotes about his family.

TK: Orion, what are your first memories of playing the piano?

OW: It feels so long ago. I have an image of myself: slightly shorter, and very young. Sitting on the piano bench is a scary position for anyone under three feet tall—too high above the floor, and too far below the keyboard. I doubt that I was taken seriously, though I'm pretty sure that I played better then than I do now. My mother was my first disciplinarian. Therefore, some of my earliest memories have more to do with the parent-child power struggle than with music. Being a pianist is such a strange, spontaneous, and wondrously dizzying lifestyle that I frequently feel as if I am just beginning to learn piano-playing for the first time!

TK: Unlike Konstantin, you were not born into a family of artists. You have a younger brother at Columbia University, and both of your parents are physicians.

OW: My brother is about to begin his second year at Columbia, with no major or minor declarations. I like to tell others that he's majoring in Cheese Appreciation, because he's the first lactose-tolerant human in my family for multiple generations. I'm very close with my brother; I like to call him "Brother Bear." He has a distinct taste in apparel—red shirts with blue pants—and unconditional love like pure honey. In addition, he's a modern renaissance man who acts, writes, and loves words. All these characteristics make me the luckiest brother in the world; he's my best friend. My parents are both busy doctors, but still find the time to precipitate multiple standing ovations at my concerts; sometimes even between movements. They're very supportive, and are always traveling to hear my playing.

Gina Bachauer International Piano Competition Winners' Concert Paul Hall Wednesday, Oct. 1, 9 p.m. For ticket information, please see the calendar.

TK: Now that you've lived in New York City for three years, including one year off campus, how have you adjusted or changed?

OW: Actually, I feel more like the city adjusted to me than I did to it. I could be wrong. I like being immersed in the sweating mass, except during the summer. My daily routine consists of walking the same seven blocks to school every morning, and seeing thousands of faces flash before my eyes during those short 10 minutes. I assume that I see the same faces every day, but how does one know? Is my persona just too large of a constant to deem recognizable? Perhaps I am just a minor variable in the equation to chaos theory? These thoughts plague my mind before, during, and after my practicing.

TK: What are some of your favorite activities in this city?

OW: I love movies. I also love eating in restaurants. My latest hobby is throwing a frisbee, which I have found to be one of the cheaper fun activities that prevents the drying up of cash flow. Others include taking taxis, ice-skating at Rockefeller Center, checking e-mail in the Juilliard lobby, interdisciplinary arm-wrestling, Yankee games, microwaving my socks (rather than spending a buck-fifty and a half-hour in the laundry), standing under trees, giving blood (only recommended twice a year)—and, of course, practicing piano in my apartment.

Tiffany Kuo earned her master's degree in piano at Juilliard. She was a publicist in the Communications Office before going off to N.Y.U., where she is now pursuing a doctorate in musicology.