Three times a year I like to take Fridays off from work to attend afternoon concerts at the New York Philharmonic. I buy the least expensive solo ticket available, so high up in Avery Fisher Hall at Lincoln Center that during one performance it threatened to snow. I’ve been doing this for many years and I’ve heard some incredible performances by this exacting and fabulous ensemble. But the last time I’d attended, I bolted during intermission, unable to endure the eighteenth century music as I could only imagine courtiers in wigs dipping their donuts in their coffee in time to it. The program for Friday, February 11, 2011 seemed more my speed, with a Beethoven piano concerto and a Shostakovich symphony as the only two compositions to be performed.

I started the morning at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Since it was early in the day, the small exhibition featuring a study of Cezanne’s Card Players was fairly empty and I was able to take in the paintings and drawings from all kinds of vantage points. Cezanne was a brilliant turn of the twentieth century artist who bridged Impressionism and Cubism. His cool-toned colors and strong line are deeply appealing. One study of a figure was only half finished, and the soul depicted seemed to emerge from a passage and gateway through time. While at the Met, I also viewed a large ancient Roman-period floor mosaic laid out in the antiquities gallery. Brought in from Lod, Israel, it was a stunning display. I’ve read many pages on the symbolic, spiritual, and mystical meanings of the animals, fruit, and the ships depicted on such mosaics and was disappointed that the placards gave no mention of that kind of analysis. It’s rare to see such a work, and I was glad to have been given the opportunity.

I headed over to Lincoln Center and found my seat in the third tier, which was next to a very lovely woman from Queens who, prior to the show, advised against listening to the music with my eyes shut lest my mind should wander to “La La Land.” Actually, having worked at the Philharmonic many years ago, I once attended a practice press conference for Maestro Kurt Masur where he strongly advised letting the mind roam free while listening to live classical music.

Though I do attend these concerts, I’m not extremely schooled in classical music, so I wasn’t quite sure if I’d ever heard Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 3. The performing pianist was the 31-year-old Jonathan Biss and the guest conductor was Andris Nelsons. From the very first note, the music was rich, finely textured and crafted, and during the masterful rendition there were many highs and deep moments of an almost luxurious beauty. Biss’s playing was powerful and precise. During the fantastic performance I took Masur’s advice and my mind wandered where it might (often with my eyes shut). I was glad that the rest of the audience was as pleased as I was, and the final ringing notes were met with thunderous applause. The second piece, Shostakovich’s Fifth Symphony, was a complete shift of gears. Composed during the 1930s, one could actually feel the weight of Stalinist Russia and sense the oppressive history of the Russian people. The orchestra had added additional players and the stage was filled to the brim with two harps, a piano, and many percussion stations in addition to extra violinists, horn players, etc. The range of tempos of the music and the subsequent emotions that followed in their wakes was astonishing. This piece was met with a great ovation as well and as I departed the Hall, I was walking on air.

I decided to finish the day at the Museum of Modern Art. I’d read there was a new exhibition centering around Picasso’s Cubist works on the subject of the guitar. When I reached the exhibit’s entrance, there was a sign stating that there was a museum “member’s only” preview. I asked the attendant if Rockefeller’s corporate membership would count for entry and to my relief I was ushered inside. I wandered around as if in a dream, taking in collages, drawings, and wonderful paintings by the Master.

When the Shostakovich symphony had finished and we headed for the exit, the nice woman I’d sat next to laughed and said, “Now back to our lives.” Back to our lives indeed, so much the more enriched by music and art.