At school we did music practice in tiny rooms that had once been nuns meditation rooms. There was room for a piano and a person. They weren’t very soundproof and walking down the cloister outside one could hear a cacophony of piano, violin, cello, flute, oboe, etc.
But not from my cell. I used that time to scribble romantic stories -mainly fantasy – in little notebooks and on scrap paper. I never got caught.
That is why I scribble and am not a concert pianist.