Vladimir Spivakov was in town with his Moscow Virtuosi chamber orchestra. I had to interview him for my newspaper. I was waiting for him to finish the concert behind the scene, listening the last piece from that privileged place, peering through the curtains to see the artists performing.
The concert was a big success with the audience in standing ovation asking for more. He was going in and out the scene. The Virtuosi performed two more pieces. Spivakov was exhausted, but always smiling.
At the end he decided to play a violin solo by Schubert. But when he began, he turned a little and looked at us, the theater workers and me, and played for us! The music flowed like magic: powerful and at the same time delicate, beautiful. It was like a private concert for the few of us by a master like him. When he finished he smiled at us in complicity before turning to receive another standing ovation from the audience. I knew it wasn’t because of me but because of the theater workers, but I was there and I was moved to tears.
PS: This wasn’t the last time I was moved to tears by something beautiful there were a lot more after.
Pages: 1 2