Power
Iris Hond: "I stand at a new morning"
Iris Hond (Harderwijk, 1987) climbed onto the piano stool at the age of three. Her technique was honed through a 'bread knife above her hands' and strict Russian teachers. These skills, in combination with her love for piano playing, her discipline and the courage to pursue her dream, have led to international successes. And four albums, the last of which has just been released. “It encompasses my purest musical expression. This is who I am, this is Iris.”
Photography: Rahi Rezvani
Text: Bart-Jan Brouwer
Styling: Pascalle Koldenhof
Make-up: Chantal van 't Hoff
If you were to play the video of your early years, what music would be included?
“Bob Dylan, Rod Stewart, The Beatles… That was the music my parents played. Classical music was played in our home, but the way my parents lived was not classical in any way. That was more rock 'n' roll, outside the lines, free-spirited, very headstrong. I remember when, around the age of eight, I shouted angrily at my mother: 'Why can't you be more civil? Why did you dye your hair like that and wear clothes like that?' We were always left out, we were the odd ones out. You could easily pick out my mother among the waiting parents in the schoolyard: teased hair – red in the front, black at the back –, bright red lipstick and extravagantly dressed. A beautiful woman, with so much charisma. You didn't see them much in Harderwijk and later Nunspeet. I was very proud of her, but on the other hand I was also charmed by the safe, secure atmosphere at my friends' home, where we ate white bread at the table at lunchtime in a bourgeois IKEA-like establishment. With us it was always crazy, always the sweet touch: lots of drinks, parties, artists over. My father had a printing company and was among the top in his field. He worked a lot with artists and would later also start a publishing house in art books. Jan Cremer, Anton Beeke, Fong Leng and Henk Schiffmacher, among others, belonged to my parents' circle of friends. I couldn't get away from them. My brother withdrew to his room, but I always wanted to be there.”
There was a grand piano in your living room, which you started playing at a very young age. What if there had been a drum set there, would you have become a drummer?
“I don't think so, because I have always had a great affinity with playing the piano. I can't imagine anything else. Moreover, I not only play the piano, I also enjoy expressing myself creatively in all kinds of other ways. I paint, write, occasionally make my own clothes, play the accordion... I got that from my parents: creativity was rewarded in our family. If something happens to my fingers – knock! – then I don't think everything stops for me.”
Has your brother also gone in the creative direction?
“At one point when we were little, he also took piano lessons. I remember thinking: shit, he has so much talent, he goes so fast, he will soon surpass me. But Hugo didn't have the passion that I have for piano playing. He eventually found love in cooking and opened a fine dining fish restaurant at the harbor of Harderwijk, Lagom last April. So good! I'm sure it will be a success.”
Where did you spend the holidays?
“We used to go to Greece a lot. Until my parents bought a second house in France and we went there every summer. They even lived there for a while.”
How did your musical journey begin?
“I was three when I first sat down at the piano. Then I nagged for a long time about piano lessons. I didn't like music school, because you had to do an orientation year there first. And I already knew what I wanted. When I was six, a place became available with a private teacher. I went there with a book by Chopin under my arm and said: 'I want to play this.' That teacher, her name is Ingrid Rotgans, was really crazy – but pleasantly crazy. She was so incredibly fun and inspiring! She lived in a very small summer house in a park in Ermelo with a very large grand piano in the middle of the house. She growled and had made a drawing of a large bread knife that she held above my hands: I was not allowed to lift my fingers too high, 'otherwise you will bleed to death'. I once held a bread knife above my hands to really feel that. She made it so visual! I practiced this at home when I went to play with my father at the weekend. Then we made up all kinds of stories about the pieces I was rehearsing. Playing the piano was also a direct line to him, because he was rarely at home due to his busy work.”
You already mentioned Chopin, who else inspired you?
“By who not? I listened to all the great pianists. On my birthday I was always allowed to pick out music at a record store in Arnhem. Then I came home with twenty CDs.”
At the age of twelve you went to the ArtEZ Conservatory in Zwolle, where you were in class with people in their twenties. What was it like to be so serious at such a young age? Didn't you miss a piece of your youth?
“Yes, but I also really enjoyed it. And I was used to it because I often sat among adults at home. I also had friends my age that I saw often. My very best friend Samantha practically lived at home with us, after losing her mother at a very young age.”
“I felt enormously responsible for my piano playing, my talent”
Two years later you went to the Royal Conservatory in The Hague.
“There I was taught by old-school Russian teachers: they were strict. That was really top sport: studying eight hours a day and it was never good enough. But I learned so much there. I was always told that in life you meet one real piano teacher, for me that is Naum Grubert, the main subject teacher of piano at the Royal Conservatory in The Hague.”
Because it was difficult for you to drive back and forth every day, you ended up living with a host family. That's where things went wrong: you were abused, ran away and ended up on the street. Sketch what that life was like.
“I would have more difficulty with it now than at the time, partly because I am more aware of many things. And it's not like I was wandering around like a homeless person either. I spent the weekends at home and during the week I often came up with a trick that allowed me to go home, stayed over somewhere or allowed myself to be locked up in the conservatory after closing time so that I could spend the night and shower there. And there were times when I would pull all-nighters, wander around the city and not sleep. But I never felt very unsafe. Or I made it more beautiful in my head to be able to deal with it. I remember eventually having a room to myself. Then I called my then best friend every night crying because I was so scared. I was more afraid indoors than outside.”
To protect your parents, you didn't tell them what happened to you. And neither does the conservatory. What was it like to walk around with such a secret?
“I felt really alone, very lost. I was a lost girl. But for me there was no other option at the time. Retrospectively I think: a lot has happened! Of course that leaves traces. But at the time I wasn't really concerned with that. I felt enormously responsible for my piano playing, my talent. Didn't have time to get lost in what had happened to me. Without my ambitions I could have succumbed to abuse; now I had something to go for. I never started drinking or using drugs. I always had in mind: tomorrow I want to be able to study. And I remembered the stories about the rough rock 'n' roll life that Jan Cremer told when he visited us: the pain, the misery – it's part of it. When something bad happened, my father always said: it will make you play better. Playing the piano is a way for me to express my feelings. Without that I would have bottled up a lot of emotions.”
You once visited that man.
“He was now old and sick, and I wanted to confront him before he died. Strangely enough, I mainly felt pity, I thought he was a pathetic man. I told him what I thought of him. That felt good.”
During that time when you had no place to live, you created a bond with homeless people. How did that come about?
“One evening I was approached by a homeless man who asked me for money. His name was Martin. When I told him that I didn't even have money to buy food myself, he told me to wait a while. He walked away and returned a few hours later with handfuls of coins. For me. To buy food. Normally you keep your distance from homeless people, they are often labeled. Because Martin expressed so much care and concern for me, he became very close to me and a bond was formed. Through him I met other people who lived on the streets, including many free spirits and musicians. From that moment on, I started looking at homeless people differently. I wasn't running away from them, but rather towards them. They are very disarming and I feel completely at ease with them. Martin and I remained friends until he passed away in 2016.”
You played the piano for Martin and his fellow sufferers.
“There was a very small Italian restaurant in the center of The Hague, it could fit no more than thirty people. The owner looked like my father; di papa I called him. It was cozy there, with always nice guests. There was a piano there that I often played in the evenings. Because the homeless people gave me such a safe feeling, I wanted to play for them sometime. Then I invited some of them there and played for them. That was very special and was a turning point in my musical life. There was a lot of pressure at the conservatory, a lot of competition, it was all about performance. That disappeared when I played for those homeless people. I did feel very vulnerable. Not like on stage or the conservatory, where I felt vulnerable in the performance, in the assessment. I knew that they were not going to pay attention to my technique, but would sense whether I had something to say. I saw what happened to them, I made contact through my piano playing, and that touched me very deeply. They were able to let go of everything for a moment and felt seen.”
Was this ultimately the reason for the establishment of the Iris Hond Foundation in 2018?
“The drive to not only pursue one's own dream, but to be able to give something to other people, comes 100 percent from that time. In my teenage years I took the initiative to organize a Christmas dinner at my home in The Hague for a number of homeless people who were otherwise alone. That was so beautiful and fun that I made it a tradition. However, it became so big that I could no longer organize it at home. Nowadays we do it in the Grote Kerk in The Hague for almost seven hundred homeless people and, in addition to delicious food, they also receive new clothing and there are musical performances and gifts for the children.”
Besides the annual Christmas dinner, what else do you do with the foundation?
“I also give concerts at shelter locations and I also wanted to do something that would benefit homeless people for longer than a musical injection: every week we give music workshops at a number of permanent shelter locations. To this end, we recently established an instrument fund within the foundation. They make music together in a very accessible way, which creates connection. Those who wish can be part of the band that plays during the Christmas dinner. Above all, the intention is to initiate or accelerate recovery processes with these workshops.”
Is there a demonstrable relationship between music and mental health?
“I have often asked professor of neuropsychology Erik Scherder, who is affiliated with the foundation, about this. When you let children play music in unsafe situations, certain connections in the brain are restored, causing them to experience fewer traumas. So music also has a therapeutic effect.”
Because you wanted to be able to play anywhere, you used a flying wing. Tell.
“I was jealous of street musicians, who could take out their instruments anywhere to play, while I was always tied to a huge grand piano between four walls. I told this to Henk Schiffmacher, who advised me to contact Terts Brinkhoff, the creator of De Parade. It had a 'flying grand piano', a piano on wheels that was pulled by a car, a design by artist Joep van Lieshout. I took it for a spin at De Parade and was immediately sold. I've traveled halfway around the world with it. For example, I played on Wall Street for a while, every morning at half past six, when the business people went to work. We even played in violent ghettos there. I found it a bit scary myself, but people responded very openly and enthusiastically. Terts and I enjoyed playing late at night in very unexpected places, so that it was a gift for passers-by, a magical moment. At one point it became a gimmick, then we stopped using it. If I ever start again, I would prefer to take the flying wing to places where people have little or no exposure to music.”
MASTERS Magazine
Curious about the rest of the interview? Every success starts with a dream. That is the leitmotif of the summer edition of MASTERS. As a little girl, Iris Hond dreamed of becoming a concert pianist. She had the talent, the discipline, the love for piano playing and the courage to pursue her dream. Even adversity did not deter her from her path. “Then I remembered the stories about the rough rock 'n' roll life that Jan Cremer told when he visited us: the pain, the misery – it's part of it”, she says in the major interview, with unique photography by Rahi Rezvani. Entrepreneur Harald Swinkels was also guided by a dream: first earn a lot of money, then make films. And so he sold his energy company and took the exit to Hollywood. Real estate entrepreneur Max Vorst uses his fortune to collect art. MASTERS received a private tour of the Beelden aan Zee museum, where part of his collection is currently on display. Dream trips are also being realized more and more often. “The need to invest in 'building memories together' is increasing," says Avila Reizen founder Tim van der Wel in an article about the future of travel. If only I had? If only I could? “I dream that I paint and then I paint what I dream,” said Vincent van Gogh. So, while leafing through the new magazine, dream of the Range Rover Sport SV, the Mulder ThirtySix or access to Ferrari's exclusive elite club Corse Clienti. MASTERS 58: a song to dream away to.
