Wonderful holiday weekend so far, far from the crowded malls. Friday night we had a Philharmonic concert and although we approached the day with some trepidations, fearing that the train station would be parked to the gills, we were pleasantly thrilled to find the parking lots far less than full and the trains not very crowded, despite the admonitions of the conductor of the “hundreds of passengers” still to board the train. We miscalculated the train schedule, not thinking that Friday was a holiday, and had to take a later train than planned. We still managed to get to Avery Fisher in time for a quick cup of coffee before the performance.
The first work, a contemporary piece by Colin Matthews, Berceuse for Dresden, was moderately interesting. I thought I might like it if I heard it again. George however was underwhelmed, as was most of the audience, judging by the applause. After hearing the remainder of the concert, I am not sure if it stands a chance.
The Schumann Cello concerto was lovely, as is all Schumann. Although it was beautiful I was not moved. But I suspect I rarely am by Schumann. I think the music is beautiful but it does not seem to affect me in the same way as it does my beloved. Well, I suppose we cannot agree on absolutely everything and a few differences certainly add interest and spark on occasion.
The concert certainly built up from a slow start with the Matthews to a resounding finish with Dvorak’s 9th Symphony (New World) which was absolutely stunningly performed. George’s initial response to the program had been that he could leave early, something of the “I’ve heard The New World Symphony so many times I could take or leave it” attitude. I however make no bones about loving it. I adore so many of the old warhorses and am not ashamed to admit it. I was on the edge of my seat from the beginning. And the performance was spectacular. Powerful, moving, rousing, achingly beautiful in the slow parts. A wonderful evening.
Today we went back to Vassar to see the Danish Art exhibit that I had seen in October. George had not seen it yet and I had no problem seeing it again. I still feel it is lovely and peaceful. Some of the paintings are just beautifully evocative, even when purely stylistically they are not completely effective, such as one harsh winter scene with the sharp lines, badly placed buildings but beautiful scenery and curving road that just draws you down it, deeper into the picture. Perhaps it was just that it is winter here now and the light in that painting is so obviously the sharp cold icy light of late winter, when things are starting to get brighter but have not yet warmed. It has an interesting effect of being both distant and isolated yet also welcoming. It has remained in our minds. Neither one of us remembers the name of the painter.
There was no docent and no opportunity to purchase a catalog. I will have to stop by during the week.
