The wind, the wind, the heaven-born wind – you probably recognize that. It’s Hänsel and Gretel’s answer to the witch’s question: “Nibble, nibble, gnaw, who’s nibbling at my little house?” This string quartet is like the wind, or rather it is a whisper murmured into the wind, not meant to stay, meant to be blown away. Is it a lamentation? A silent prayer? A half-audible thought? A drawn-out sob about a sad reminiscence?
Ah, yes… Bartok. That Hungarian enigma. I hesitated for months before presenting one of his pieces as I haven’t studied his works long enough. It took the French pianist Hélène Grimaud to spur me. She was in town yesterday and what should I say? She was fabulous and Bartok’s Piano Concerto No. 3, Sz. 119 was even more fabulous. An unusual piece executed with a lot of passion by Grimaud and the Rotterdam Philharmonic Orchestra led by Yannick Nézet-Seguin.
I like this time of the year. The morning light is very special. I see myself on a Sunday morning sitting in the kitchen. The house is calm. I sit at the table and the first sunbeams are penetrating the morning haze hanging over the vineyards. They plunge the kitchen in a warm, welcoming light. On the right I see the river, on the left I see the leaves of a vine as they turn from green to red – a beautiful red I enjoy every autumn. In a few days all the leaves will be flaming red and hide that old cracked wall that leads to the garden.