Teaching
Gastón Frydman is a passionate, results-driven educator, committed to guiding pianists toward their highest artistic and technical potential. A Piano Pedagogy graduate, he serves on the faculty of the Bronx School for Music, previously taught at the Cleveland Institute of Music’s Pre-College division, and has led masterclasses for Steinway & Sons. His vibrant private studio has fostered exceptional growth in students ranging from first-time beginners to accomplished professional pianists.
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“Gastón Frydman is a gifted and passionate teacher, committed to the musical and pianistic growth of his students. Having observed him teach, I am confident they will receive expert feedback and artistic guidance that nurtures the whole musician”. Sean Schulze DMA Associate Dean for Academic Partnerships. Piano Faculty Cleveland Institute of Music
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“Studying with Gastón Frydman has profoundly shaped my perspective on music. I learned to recognize the emotions within a piece and to express them effectively — whether through targeted technical exercises, emphasizing specific notes, or using physical force to my advantage. Gastón has left a lasting imprint on both my musicianship and my relationship with the piano”. Myles Temesi Student at the Pre-college program, Cleveland Institute of Music
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Teaching Philosophy
We’ve all heard the infamous phrase: “Those who can, perform. Those who can’t, teach.”
Not only is this offensive—it’s also doubly wrong. Those who cannot perform at a high level will inevitably carry flaws into their teaching. Yet many great performers lack the ability to teach. Take something as basic as reading: most people know how to do it, but explaining how one learned it, and guiding someone else through that process, is something else entirely. Teaching piano is an all-encompassing craft, requiring as much expertise as it does compassion. The difference between a passive teacher—who corrects a few surface mistakes—and an active one—who builds long- and short-term strategies alongside the student—is enormous.
I grew up dreaming of being a performer, without fully understanding what that meant. Teaching was never in the plan. But over the course of my 20-year journey in music, I came to understand its power. I was lucky to develop some artistic skills early on that many brilliant pianists lack, but at the same time, I lacked certain fundamental skills that every young pianist should possess. A few years ago, while studying at a prestigious conservatory, I found myself in a personal and artistic crisis: I was injured and unable to execute some basic mechanical skills, yet some of the musicians I admired most praised my playing as “special.” My classmates—many of whom were technically stronger—often came to me for feedback. I worked, thought, and analyzed relentlessly. And as I learned to become a better teacher to myself, I began teaching children and discovered that this self-directed approach transformed me into a better teacher for others as well.
I’ve learned important things from every teacher I’ve had, especially in matters of interpretation and critical thinking. But just as many lessons came from hardship: I discovered the fundamentals of technique only after attempting the most demanding repertoire. I learned to practice efficiently when faced with impossible deadlines. I learned to build physical strength after injury, and peace of mind after emotional lows. I learned how to prepare for competitions by first experiencing what it means to stand on stage unprepared.
Bruno Gelber once told me: “A teacher needs to teach you from do-re-mi to the Goldberg.”And this is true in the broadest sense. No one is born knowing how to practice, yet we are often left alone in a practice room with no real guidance. How many times have we been told, “go practice” without being told how? How often do students repeat mistakes endlessly, only making their problems more ingrained? Repetition is essential—but only when done purposefully. Practice without intention reinforces failure.
So what should we do? First, abandon magical thinking. Don’t expect memory to arrive on its own, or the metronome to make you faster (I consider it an obsolete and even harmful device). Don’t repeat something unless you know why you’re repeating it. The instrument won’t give you anything you don’t already have inside. Instead, I believe in two foundational elements: interpretation and performance.
Interpretation—the ideas we carry in our minds and imaginations—is the harder of the two to develop. The teacher’s role is to provoke, guide, question, and inspire without ever overshadowing the student. Horowitz reportedly refused to play for his students for fear they’d copy him—because true artistry must remain personal. The performance side—how to physically realize those inner ideas—is more mechanical and learnable. Without it, however, no artistry can be communicated. Performing is not magic: it’s applied knowledge, physical understanding, and clarity of intention.
Yes, one can discover these tools alone—but it will take longer, and they may never arrive. Tchaikovsky once said: “I sit down to the piano regularly at nine o’clock in the morning, and Mesdames les Muses have learned to be on time for that rendezvous.” Results come more from committed, intelligent work than from stargazing.
At a professional level, the ratio of teaching to practice might be 1:40. So it’s the teacher’s responsibility to give students the tools for independent learning. That includes not just musical interpretation and physical technique, but also metacognition: the ability to observe, measure, and direct one’s own progress.
These tools are many: how to learn a piece; how to structure practice; how to communicate an idea through sound; how to shape phrases, choose fingerings, deal with large leaps, use rotation, weight, and articulation; how to develop memory, balance, awareness, narrative; how the joints function; how to build lines. But it also includes how to write a program, network, prepare for competitions, speak to audiences, and plan a career. The larger the toolbox, the more self-sufficient the artist.
There were many times I wished for fewer obstacles and more golden moments. But it’s precisely because of the punches in the face that I was forced to reflect, define, and verbalize the many elements needed to become my best self. I now look forward to sharing these tools—with their balance of questions and answers—with young pianists who, like I once did, dream of becoming performers, not yet knowing what that really means.