There is something admirable, profoundly human, in the one who—despite pain, despite adversity, despite the unexpected—chooses to fulfill their destiny. Not out of duty, nor by imposition, but out of fidelity to an inner vocation, to a craft quietly chosen for life.
On Friday, October 17, in Madrid, within the program of the Andrés Segovia International Festival, we witnessed one of those moments that the world may overlook, that time may consign to silence, yet which contain more truth than many great tours. The Polish guitarist Marcin Dylla, having suffered an injury the night before at the airport, walked onto the stage with his guitar and, his face drawn by pain, offered half a recital.
Half a recital… and a whole lesson
It is quickly told: upon arriving in Madrid, just after landing, he was accidentally struck by another person. The blow must have been strong—strong enough to compromise his left arm, which, during the concert the following day, appeared visibly swollen. Each note, each measure, each musical phrase bore the imprint of effort.
The opening work by Manuel Ponce did not sound with his usual fluency, nor did Joan Manén’s Fantasía-Sonata, Op. 22. Yet Dylla knows the language of the guitar as one knows their mother tongue. What emerged was an unrepeatable moment—intimate, fragile, and profoundly moving. Those of us who were there that evening will not remember it for the perfection of his fingering, but for something far deeper: for having witnessed how, even at the threshold of endurance, a true artist can transcend adversity.
And that is precisely what Dylla did that night—he affirmed a devotion to the guitar that is rare in our time. Despite the mounting pain, increasingly visible in his gestures, he brought the recital to an end by performing and seamlessly fusing two works: Kitab I, by José María Sánchez-Verdú, and Invocation and Dance, by Joaquín Rodrigo. Two disparate pieces that Dylla not only wove together with his characteristic musicality, but rendered with a technical precision that, given the circumstances, was nothing short of astonishing.
It was an act of loyalty to art itself
Marcin Dylla could have canceled the concert that evening. No one would have blamed him. Yet he did not. He chose to play. And that choice, which might appear a simple act of professionalism, was something else entirely—it was an act of loyalty to art itself, a silent declaration of faith in music as vocation.
And if Dylla showed determination that Friday, no less touching was the gesture of friendship and artistry from Raphaella Smits, who, having just arrived in the city, graciously stepped in—at the organization’s request—to offer a superb repertoire on her exquisite romantic guitar, completing the evening with grace and generosity.
There is no doubt that this year, the Andrés Segovia International Festival has not only presented a distinguished program, but also gathered artists who carry the guitar to realms of emotion that extend the very frontiers of art.
Cristina Ramírez and Gonzalo Montero
