Many years ago in Montana I was in writng workshops with the poet Richard Hugo. Hugo was an unforgettably enigmatic teacher. He was also quite passionate, and specific, about the things he loved. He loved poetry. He loved fishing (this was Montana, home of blue-ribbon trout streams). He loved baseball, Bartok and Mozart.
In regards to Mozart, he talked about how he learned from the composer the importance of silence. All those notes are held together by rapturous moments of silence, Hugo told us, which is a good lesson for writers.
Last night Piotr Anderszewski demonstrated how rich those silent moments in Mozart are. He held them like dark, glistening shadows, viscous, mysterious, before his hands would once again fly over the keys to produce all those precise, perfect notes. I found myself breathless.
When the concerto was over and it was time for intermission, a woman seated next to us remained in her chair as if bereft. "It's over?" she asked plaintively.
If your weekend isn't booked there are performances tonight and tomorrow afternoon. Anderszewski is a rare musician, one who touches the piano and you're immediately aware of something magical.
