Tonight’s music was written with such sentiment it was like each note was a snowflake individually hand cut and sprinkled on Earth, by God himself.

From the balance contained in its measures, it was obvious that he labored, flake-by-flake, to sew the notes together in long strands of careful rhythm and sentimental scales. Then, for it to properly flourish, he studied all the mediums available, relentlessly, as was his style. God easily choose the goodwill of music, to deliver his flurry of sounds, knowing that this symphony would grow well under the wintry season of snow he had planned for New York City. He titled it: “God has Written.”

But who, on Earth, could harvest the piece with enough perception of sound and understanding of a hardened audience?

Known to his friends at the artists retreat in SoHo as Todd Kidd – the kid wonder – God chose him, finally. He was not much more than skinny, shaggy looking, perpetually with a raw carrot in his left hand, and the only real talent he brought to his cutting table was a slick skill with scissors. God saw this in him and together they sat through tedious times cutting the snowflakes and placing them, in scales, just right. And they were acknowledged for their efforts. Todd Kidd won the opportunity to have the New York City Symphony perform this composition as part of the Annual Celebrating Carnegie Soloists for 2008. Quite an honor for a young man, and his God, as many in the world competed for the opportunity.

The Carnegie Hall Soloist competition is a celebration of talented musicians, it’s supposed to be festive, as they advertise it, but it’s not. It’s a struggle and competitive. One winner is chosen in five different categories: composer, conductor, instrument soloist, vocalist and master chorale. Over 500 people compete for the chance to perform at Carnegie Hall and only five see the dream come true. You must be at the peak of your game. I remember so well, when Todd Kidd first heard God has written played, in full, at the orchestra dress rehearsal – he and many others, including myself, wept – that great; that peak.

Although this reaction may seem childish, Todd Kidd had other reasons to digress into infancy, as did I. And I admit that I was a part of Todd’s unraveling. I am, Shannon Reed, a cellist with the symphony and one of many musicians who were present the night God has written premiered and showcased the onset of the celebration. I sat with a steady bow and followed the unsteady lead of a seasoned conductor – also known by the NYC Globe as, “…the owner of a penchant for his own personal interpretation…akin to the mournful sounds of an ox in labor,,,who was hell bent on driving muddy tire tracks all over Todd’s downy masterpiece.

Later the resounding applause of the unsuspecting audience, tears streaming down their faces, included calls to meet the talented composer. Lucky for Todd many in the audience owned untrained eyes and tone-deaf ears. Still, the appreciative audience ovated his efforts and called out, “bravos” for the flurry turned blizzard symphony. Strangely, the conductor and orchestra answered the curtain call bewildered and alone as Todd Kidd – could not be found.