I Was Skeptical About Online Piano Lessons. Then I Tried Teaching Them.

In 2020, the world shut down and I had a choice: stop teaching or figure out how to do it through a screen. I chose the screen. I expected it to be a temporary compromise. I was wrong.

Four thousand lessons later, I don't just tolerate online teaching — I prefer it for most students. That sentence would have made the 2019 version of me laugh. But the evidence is overwhelming, and I've had to update my beliefs.

The camera doesn't lie

When I sit next to a student at a physical piano, I see their hands from the side. It's the angle every teacher knows. But online, with the camera positioned above the keyboard, I see something better: the exact view the student sees. Every finger, every angle of the wrist, every tiny collapse of a knuckle.

I catch technical problems online that I might miss in person. That's not a theory — it happened. Students I'd been teaching in person for months had issues I only spotted once we moved to video. The overhead camera angle is simply superior for hand observation.

The comfort factor

Something unexpected happens when a student learns at their own piano, in their own home. They relax. The slight tension that comes from sitting at an unfamiliar instrument in someone else's studio — it vanishes. They play more naturally. They take more risks. They ask more questions.

Adult students especially benefit from this. Many of them already feel vulnerable learning something new. Removing the commute, the unfamiliar environment, the performance pressure of being in a studio — it lets them focus on what matters: the music.

What I thought I'd lose

I was convinced that online lessons would mean sacrificing sound quality. That I wouldn't be able to hear the subtleties of touch, the pedaling, the voicing between hands. And in the early days, with poor microphones and bad connections, that was partly true.

But technology caught up quickly. With a decent microphone and a stable connection, I can hear everything I need to hear. Not perfectly — I won't pretend it's the same as being in the room. But close enough that the trade-offs are worth it. And I developed a method around it: I focus more on demonstration, on singing phrases, on explaining the “why” behind musical decisions. My teaching actually got better because I had to communicate more clearly.

The reach changed everything

Before 2020, my students lived within driving distance of my studio. Now I teach people across Europe, in the US, in Asia. A marketing executive in London. A retired doctor in Toronto. A software engineer in Tokyo who wakes up early for his Saturday lesson.

These people would never have found a conservatory-trained teacher locally. Not because good teachers don't exist everywhere, but because the specific match — the right teacher for the right student — is rare. Online teaching removes geography from the equation. The best possible match can happen regardless of where either person lives.

What I still miss

I'd be dishonest if I said online is better in every way. I miss being able to physically guide a student's hand into the right position. I miss the shared experience of sitting at a beautiful grand piano together. I miss the spontaneous moments — the student who stays after the lesson to play something they've been working on secretly.

For advanced students preparing for competitions or auditions, occasional in-person sessions are valuable. The energy of being in the same room matters when you're polishing a performance. But for the vast majority of adult learners — people who want to play well, play beautifully, and enjoy the process — online lessons are not just adequate. They're excellent.

The numbers speak

Over four thousand online lessons. Hundreds of students. I've seen adults go from absolute beginners to playing Chopin, Debussy, Beethoven. Not simplified versions — the real thing. I've watched people discover that they're capable of far more than they believed.

The method works. The technology works. The only thing that was ever really in the way was my own skepticism — and I'm glad I got over it.