Art in different places

I did another round of Chelsea art galleries last week, and also did a MOMA visit.   One of the interesting things about going to art galleries is that what you see is guided by the instincts of the people that run the galleries; instincts that run back and forth between the need to sell art and the need to support artistic quality.  (The name of one gallery I checked out was "Guided By Invoices")   Which means that, unlike a museum, where all the works have received some sort of curatorial stamp of approval (whatever that is worth), visiting galleries can sometimes mean that you are seeing stuff that is really about making money; except that how do you actually really know?  What is the difference between a big name artist like Damien Hirst, who markets to high-end collectors, and someone who sells tacky paintings of flowers to make money?   So it is fun to wander into a space and think about what it is that you are seeing.

At MOMA I did the 1940-1980's galleries, that are organized around the official MOMA approved categories; a room for pop art, a room for abstract expressionists, etc.   I saw the newly installed Rauschenberg combine "Canyon", which includes a stuffed bald eagle sticking out of the canvas.  The eagle makes the work unsellable in America, so the family that recently inherited it was forced to donate it to MOMA.  A crazy, wonderful painting.  (My own family inherited a considerable amount of junkyard taxidermy ((a stuffed ibex, etc.)) from my father, which the IRS valued highly, but which we ended up sending to the junkyard because it could not be sold.)

Another pleasure was a room curated by the artist Trisha Donnelly, where she upends the MOMA curatorial rules.  This room featured a number of exceedingly large diagrams of microprocessor chips in vivid color and detail (donated by Texas Instruments, HP, etc. in the 1990's).  These were juxtaposed with an odd assortment of photographs, a wheelchair from the design department, an art nouveau table, etc.   Made you think...

I also revisited the abstraction show; it has wonderful stuff in it, but still seems to broad for my taste.  Including people like Georgia O'Keefe and Marcel Duchamp as part of inventing abstraction seems spurious to me.  They very well may have made art that was abstract in some sense, but that what not really what either of them was about...

Sofia Gubaidulina

On Saturday night we went to another of the Miller Theater's composer portraits, this one of the Russian composer Sofia Gubaidulina.  I have heard Gubaidulina's music when she came to Vancouver a while ago (back in the days when people played notated contemporary music there).   She was born in 1931, and has lived through tumultuous times in Russian life and music.  My previous impression of her was as a Christian and somewhat mystical composer through works like "Offertorium". This concert, however, showed a more modernistic composer; one work written in the early 1970's, was serial sounding, and full of dissonant sound effects characteristic of the period.   The highlight, though, was a concerto for bassoon, with an orchestra of 4 cellos and 3 basses.   Low strings!   This proved to be extremely original and quirky, often frequently upending conventional notions of the relationship between soloist and ensemble.  Full of striking ensemble effects, it received a wonderful performance from the soloist.  Another piece, for harpsichord and string quintet, was based on a Bach chorale, and was also intriguing to hear.

When we go to these new music concerts, we are also looking carefully at the audience, to see if we find people that we might have known 25 years ago (which involves trying to imagine what they might look like 25 years later...)   We were delighted to find at this concert our old friend Leo Treitler  (who we last saw a year ago..)   So we went for a drink, and caught up.    

The Night Across the Street

Last night, we went to see the last film of one of my favorite directors, the Chilean Raoul Ruiz.  The film, "The Night Across the Street" was the last film he made before he died recently, and has just been released.   It was a snowy and stormy night, this month's "Storm of the Century", and the Mayor told everyone to stay home.   So we went; the subways were practically empty, but running smoothly.  There were two other people in the theater.   Ruiz's films have a unique quality which is almost impossible to describe; a kind of shaggy-dog, poetic surrealism which can be at times breathtakingly beautiful, inscrutable, and bizarrely funny.  "The Night Across the Street" is a non-narrative cinematic poem which centers around an aging poet and his earlier childhood self.   As a child, he freely converses with his heroes, Beethoven and Long John Silver.  At one point, he takes Beethoven to the movies.  The movie floats freely backwards and forwards in time.  The music is truly wonderful; Ruiz's frequent musical collaborator, Jorge Arriada, is a master of orchestral textures and sounds.   While the film has its slow points, I have a strong feeling that it is some kind of cinema/poem/musical masterpiece.

When we got out of our dream state experience, there was New York, transformed into a glorious blizzard state, with lights and blowing snow and the distinct quiet that emerges in New York during the snow.

A seance, with Long John Silver on the left, and Beethoven on the right.

A Concert for Ralph

We heard a concert the other night that was dedicated to the memory of the late Ralph Kaminsky, a noted patron of new music.  What was novel about the concert was that it presented a tasting menu of new music groups of New York City; each ensemble played a piece. Strikingly, all the pieces were by European composers (perhaps that reflected his taste).  Highlights were two pieces for chamber orchestra.  One, by Olga Neuwirth, entitled "Hooloomooloo", was a very lively stereophonic piece, featuring two almost identical large ensembles on stage left and right, with a piano in the middle.  Lots of very striking back and forth effects between the two orchestras, and a lot of dissonant energy. The other large piece, "Fantasies" for cello solo and chamber orchestra by Dalbavie, was equally lively, featuring an extremely virtuosic (in the traditional sense) cello solo; lots of scale figures, and a kind of post-Debussy accessible spectralism.  The cello was surrounded by string instruments that acted as a kind of extended version of the soloist.
The concert concluded on a disappointing note with an embarrassingly bad  Arvo Part piece, nothing but scales and three note arpeggios that a child of five could have written  (Groucho would have said, "bring me a child of five")
One thing that struck this veteran of new music concerts who has long been absent from new music in New York was the age of the members of the ensembles.  Virtually all of them appeared to be under the age of thirty; I am so used to seeing the aging new music advocates of my generation on stage.  (Or am I getting so old that everyone looks young???).   Also worth noting was that the place was packed; over 300 people.

Patricia Barber

We heard the Patricia Barber Quartet at the Jazz Standard last Friday.  She is a singer/songwriter/pianist, and played with drummer, guitarist, and bassist.  She is a truly unique artist, and you never know quite what to expect next.  In performance, it is immediately evident that she is totally immersed in what she is doing; there is never anything routine or slick.   (She is notably averse to performing, apparently.) Pieces range from jazz classics to her own compositions.  In one piece, she put a few menus into the piano, and suddenly we were in a Cageian prepared piano mode.  But all grounded in the jazz traditions.  Her original lyrics are both witty and obscure, and she delivers them in a way that seems as if they are coming to her on the spur of the moment.
We have heard her in concert performances before, but never in the more intimate space of a small club like the Jazz Standard, where you can hear her ask for some more (brandy, scotch?) in the middle of the show.  It was a great pleasure to hear.

L'Elisir d'Amore

Last night we went to hear Donizetti's opera "L'Elisir d'Amore", having been invited by my stepmother.   I have to admit that, although I have heard Berg's "Wozzeck" countless times, I have never heard an opera by Donizetti.  Now I have.   What is striking to me is how remarkably efficient Donizetti is at his craft.  The music is extremely effective, and the point is the voices.   There are several wonderful ensemble moments that follow in Mozart's footsteps, and the whole thing is exceedingly entertaining, especially when sung and played by the Met Orchestra and brand-name singers.  Vera has heard and taught many of these operas, and gets annoyed by the boiler-plate music that gets used in every opera; for someone as ignorant as I am, it is all charming.   The production itself was extremely well done, and acted with great energy and evident pleasure by the cast.

January in New York

It has been very cold in New York this week, which has its advantages and disadvantages.   Because I am now walking Maggie all the time, that means going out to Riverside Park at midnight, when the temperature is 15 degrees F., and the wind is blowing at 30 mph off the Hudson River, and I am trying to pick up poop while juggling the leash, my gloves, etc.   You could say the the wind at that temperature is certainly invigorating, but even Maggie hustles home at high speed to retreat to our warm apartment.
Speaking of poop, I bought some doggie poop bags at a local pet store, and when I looked at them more carefully when I got home discovered that they were "scented".  For someone who is allergic to perfume, this is doubly appalling.   (For those in need of confirmation of the Decline of Western Civilization, a visit to your local pet store is all that is needed.   I think I saw dog nail polish the other day.)

I experienced the advantages of January in New York today when I went to the Metropolitan Museum.   It was relatively empty (18 degrees temperature and snow in the forecast!), and I got involved in all the 19th century French galleries, the back rooms of which I had never explored before.
Here is the main Cezanne room, which I had all to myself for a long time (except for Madame Cezanne).  I have never seen it this empty.

Degas is also a highlight, including this rather strange pastel, which up close has an extraordinary variety of textures and colors.

I also saw an exhibit of the American painter George Bellows, who is known mostly for his paintings of boxing, especially this one, which is always reproduced when someone is talking about American painting of that period.

It was an interesting show, since I knew nothing about him.  Most exciting were the paintings of New York at that period, including one of Riverside Park at night  (see above!).  Bellows was talented, and his career followed a number of promising trajectories, but I didn't come away thinking I had seen the works of a great painter.  Interesting, though,  in that he was around at a time of great ferment (he was involved in the famous Armory show of 1913), and that a lot of his work reflected the tendencies in art at the time.

Home?

We arrived back in New York this week after a 3 week vacation in Vancouver, seeing friends and spending time with Ada and Andrew.   Which means everything is reversed.  Normally, we might go to New York for a vacation, and then return to work in Vancouver.  Now it's the opposite.  So now that time in January when you settle back into normal working life is happening in New York.   So where is home, exactly?

When we arrived in Vancouver after being away so long, everything felt strange.  All the automatic things you do in a home as a matter of reflex had been forgotten.   I couldn't remember where things were.  (Where are the sharp knives?)  In some cases, though, Ada had moved them as she readjusted the family home to suit her routines.  But very quickly everything becomes normal again.

The biggest change in New York now for us is that we have brought our dog, Maggie.  She couldn't fly with us because of Air Canada's byzantine sets of regulations, so she flew on her own on Cathay Pacific.   I went to JFK airport at 6 AM this morning to pick her up.  I needed to rent a car, because the process involved going back and forth between several destinations in JFK's enormous cargo area, which looks like the kind of place where bodies can be disposed of.   I encountered very slow and laconic paper pushers in the cargo office, but the highlight was an extended conversation with a US Customs official who had received extensive training in the the Kafka and Monty Python divisions of bureaucratic studies.   I wish I could reproduce the exactly sequence of bizarre and insinuating questions and comments that ensued (between long pauses while computer screens were contemplated and documents stamped).  When I told him that we were bringing Maggie here for 2 and a half months, and then she would go back to Vancouver, he said "Do you really expect me to believe that?"  It may have been a joke, or maybe not. He also said that my dog would never be the same again and that he didn't know that they let mixed breeds into the country (I think that was a joke).   Even the process of getting to see someone was bizarre.  I was told by a friendly bystander to stand at a specific spot in the middle of a large room, and wait until some arrived to help me.

But at last, I got Maggie, and we drove off to the Upper West Side.   Maggie seems very excited to be here, and did her first big poop on Broadway.  So now we are dog owners in New York, and have reason to go to some of the infinite number of pet stores on the Upper West Side.

Culture awaits!

Olga Neuwirth

We heard a concert of the music of the Austrian composer Olga Neuwirth at Columbia's Miller Theater, as part of their composer portrait series.  Neuwirth is an interesting composer, known for her opera "Lost Highway", based on the David Lynch film, and her recent "American Lulu" in which she re-orchestrated the first two acts Berg's opera for jazz ensemble, and wrote a new third act.   Which is to say that she does not lack for audacity.    The concert itself featured two contrasting works.  The first, a sort of piano concerto, was very rhythmic, but with a sonic palette that resembles a beefed up Lachenmann, including an electric piano tuned a quarter tone apart from the regular piano.  In seven relatively short and fast moving movements, it was intriguing.  The second piece was more problematic; an hour long piece for recorded spoken voice (with texts and voice of Paul Auster), live electronics, live ensemble, and several recorded Weill-like vocal  numbers.  The spoken text is not dramatic, and as a result, it it simply existed as another element in the fabric.  Neuwirth warned us that it was not an easy piece to listen to.  It simply drifts from one thing to another, as we shift our listening gears to follow.  There was the requisite intellectual underpinnings to go along with it (required of every European composer), but the end experience was not that interesting.

Inventing Abstraction

I saw a big new show at MOMA entitled "Inventing Abstraction", which covers the eponymous activities of artists in the period 1910-1925.   Being a big fan of abstract art, I was pleased to see this.   The exhibition covers a lot of ground and is organized by country.  Thus we get the Constructivists, the Futurists, the Vorticists, the French (Delaunays, etc), Mondrian and the Dutch, the Americans, etc. (and even Polish in one corner..)  On the one hand, this is interesting, to see the extent to which the movement towards abstraction quickly spread internationally, and to see how each different school evolved.  On the other hand, this makes for a very diffuse exhibit, with a room or two for each country, and lacks interesting and more focused detail on any one of these countries, each which could be an exhibit in itself.   There are also token nods towards parallel movements in music and dance; the exhibit opens with some early Kandinsky, and some Schoenberg manuscripts.  Though I am not sure I buy the parallel between the move towards atonality and the move towards abstraction in painting, despite Kandinsky's excitement.  There is also a listening room with very poor sound at the end of the exhibit, playing a loop of predictable choices of music from the period.


Guess who did this drawing..

Nijinsky, the dancer....

An abstraction from Popova:

A very large work by Morgan Russell:

My Grandparents

When I was growing up, my family eventually moved out of New York and into the suburbs.   I used to visit my maternal grandparents in New York; I would stay for the weekend, and my grandmother would take me to the NY Philharmonic.  They lived in an apartment at 9 East 10th Street, just north of Washington Square.   They were party types.  There are rarely any pictures of them without a drink in their hands; I think they lived a life of partying and going to the theater, and they had a whole circle of eccentric friends.  My grandfather was a Yale educated lawyer and worked for the family law firm in Brooklyn, and my grandmother was a great beauty who had lived in Paris before WWI, and who most likely had numerous affairs.

Here they are:

(No, I have no idea what the hookah is about, I think they were just goofing around..)

A number of years ago, I started to read the great novels of the American writer Dawn Powell, who wrote in the 1930's and 40's.  One of the things I enjoyed about the novels was that most of them take place in the Greenwich Village milieu, featuring characters that could (I imagine) have been found in my grandparent's living room.   What later astonished me was that I later found out that Dawn Powell had actually lived in my grandparent's building, which was not a large one.  I don't know if they actually overlapped in time, but it is an amazing coincidence.

The building itself is still there, and has a remarkable facade, with decorations in carved  teak.  The neighboring building, built by a teak dealer, has an even more elaborate facade.


Pictures:

The neighboring window:

Seeing unexpected architectural flourishes like the above window is one of the things I love about walking around New York; you never know what you might see.

Les Troyens

This week we went to hear Berlioz's opera, "Les Troyens" at the Met.   This is a truly extraordinary opera, in a grand style, lasting five and a half hours, with intermissions.  The Met production was superb, both visually stunning, and with many scenes of large choral groups on stage, and even 24 dancers.  The choreography, by Doug Varone, involves not only the specified ballet numbers, but some of the major crowd scenes as well.  Berlioz's music is magnificently strange; it really seems to originate from Planet Berlioz, and nowhere else.   The music moves harmonically in totally unpredictable directions, and there are sonorities both beautiful and strange.   There are far fewer solo vocal parts than normal; the chorus has a huge role, and there are important dramatic moments where there is no singing at all, and the orchestra conveys the entire narrative.

It was a great privilege to hear this performed live by Met Orchestra in such an elaborate production.

A few pictures:

The above background appears as a reference to Italy, i.e. the Pantheon...

Beware of Greeks bearing gifts!

Chelsea Redux, Sort Of

I went for a gallery trawl in Chelsea last week, my first visit since the area was flooded during Hurricane Sandy.  While most galleries are back in business, there are still a number closed for restoration, those that were on the ground floor.  The others show signs of restoration, with new dry wall, etc.   They must be happy that concrete floors are trendy...
I saw a very exciting exhibit of paintings by Mark Bradford, an American working out of L.A.  These are large scale abstract works, painted but also with layers of different types of material peeking out underneath the painting.  Some of the paintings resemble large scale maps that might have been painted over.  Some illustrations give a general idea, but don't convey the three dimensional quality of the collaged material.

Adès in Your Neighborhood

We went to a concert in our neighborhood tonight, a performance by the Calder String Quartet.  It was a free concert, in a church a few blocks away.  The chief attraction was Thomas Adès's string quartet, "The Four Quarters", written last year.  It was absolutely engaging;  Adès has genuine musical ideas that build on tradition and yet sound new and fresh.  The music strikes me as more succinct and clear than his earlier works.  I can't think of any other contemporary composer whose work I look more forward to hearing.  The quartet performance was excellent, (they have worked closely with Adès)   The Adès was preceded by Stravinky's "Three Pieces for String Quartet", which sounded Webernian in their brevity, and followed by a sensuous performance of Ravel's String Quartet.   A beautifully balanced program.   (The Calder Quartet played in last September in Vancouver.)

Manhattan Bridge

As Manhattan begins to be overwhelmed by shoppers, it was time to retreat for another walk on a bridge, this time the Manhattan Bridge, which is very close to the Brooklyn Bridge.   It is more or less ugly;  the bridge is undistinguished, and you are mostly surrounded by fences and so forth.  In addition, the pedestrian path runs right next to the subway tracks, which makes for considerable noise and shaking.  That said, it was still a wonderful and interesting walk, starting from the mostly high rise modern section of downtown Brooklyn, and ending up in the heart of Chinatown.

I took lots of pictures...

Some detail on the bridge:

A view of a beach and weddings in the new Brooklyn Bridge park:

Walking next to the subways:

 A very peculiar building, with Manhattan towers in the background:

More rooftop grafitti and towers

I never knew that rooftops were a good place for grafitti:

Grafitti on the bridge:

Subway tracks:

Geri Allen

Last night we heard the jazz pianist Geri Allen in a quartet at a club called the Jazz Standard.  The quartet was the pianist Allen, a bassist, a drummer, and a tap dancer, Maurice Chestnut.   The tap dancer was there as an instrumentalist, and functioned as a musician in the quartet.  While this sounded very odd at first, with the sound of the taps jarring with the very traditional sound of a piano trio, I gradually became used to it, and by the end, with a vigorous duet between the drummer and the tap dance, I was enjoying the combination.  Allen is a wonderful pianist, mostly in the mainstream, but with a delightful quirkiness and sometimes a very delicate touch.   At a certain point, I was listening to one of the numbers, and realized it had evolved into  "It Came Upon the Midnight Clear" .   You haven't lived until you have heard "It Came Upon the Midnight Clear" performed by a jazz piano trio and tap dancer.  Perhaps my only Christmas concert of the year...

The Romanian Film Festival

The other night, we went to the opening night of the Romanian Film Festival, mostly to see the film, and partially to see what the crowd was like.   The film, "Of Men and Snails", was a kind of Romanian version of "The Full Monty";  set in 1992, it chronicles the attempt of some workers to save their factory from being shut down.  They propose to raise money to buy the factory by donating sperm to a sperm bank (Romanian humor!).  The French buyers pretend to propose to turn the factory into a snail canning facility.   It was entertaining, but didn't really have the pitch black humor that we enjoy in contemporary Romanian films.  But not coming to a theater near you.   And we got to see Romanian film stars and directors.

Wanderings in the Metropolitan Museum

I went to the Metropolitan Museum the other day to see a  small exhibit of Klee paintings.   (The Met has quite a large collection of them.)   They are wonderful to see in person, because the texture and character never really come across in reproductions.  It is surprising to me how delightfully messy Klee's work is.  In one painting, the canvas is nailed to the frame, and the nails are not painted over.  There are sometimes little punctures, leftover globs of paint, and the painting board itself may be warped.  And the lines, of course, are never straight.

I took a quick look at the new Matisse show, which received rave reviews in the NY Times, but there were so many people there that one could barely see the paintings.

Then I wandered, and saw a small exhibit about the interaction of American artists and African art in the early 20th century; different from the European story that we know, because African art also became an inspiration for African-American artists.

Then I saw this Mayan 8th century painted limestone, which made me think of Klee in its color palette and texture.

Then, an icon painting, which turns out to be from 17th century Ethiopia.  I never would have guessed.

I can never get tired of wandering in the Met.

The Barnes Collection

Over Thanksgiving, we were in Philadelphia, which gave us an opportunity to visit the Barnes Collection in its new home in Philadelphia.  This collection, established by the eccentric American art collector Albert Barnes, was for a long time in its specially built home in suburban Philadelphia, existing under the terms of Barnes's will, which specified that basically nothing could ever be changed, or lent, etc.  After much legal wrangling, the collection was moved to a newly built museum, where the architects were charged with the task of recreating the original installation, a recipe for failure if there ever was one.  Astonishingly, it is a great success; the highly eccentric arrangements of art and objects have been recreated in a beautifully lit reconstructions of the original rooms. The art includes about 70 Cezannes, a seemingly infinite number of Renoirs, and major works by Matisse, Seurat, and others.

What is still problematic is Barnes's penchant for symmetrical arrangements of paintings.  While I like the juxtaposition of art from different periods, the idea of arranging paintings in symmetrical pairings seems to detract from the from the works themsleves and call attention to Barnes's ideas instead.

Some examples:

(Pictures not by me; forbidden)
Also note the various items of hardware interspersed between the paintings.
In some cases, like Seurat's "Models", the work is hung above another painting, so that is is barely visible.   I don't think that  because a person acquired great works of art in his lifetime he is able to dictate for posterity the way in which we are able to view them.  Hopefully, at some point, the Barnes Collection will countenance a gradual rearrangement.

Wozzeck

Last night we heard Berg's opera "Wozzeck" in a concert performance with the Philharmonia Orchestra and Esa-Pekka Salonen conducting.  It was yet another astonishing rendition from this ensemble, and a truly memorable performance.  Berg's opera emerged as truly expressionist in this performance; a virtual nightmare from beginning to end that left us exhausted.  Though it was a concert performance, all the singers sang from memory and acted their roles convincingly, even dressed in their concert attire.   Because this is  a "symphonic opera", the increased presence of an on stage orchestra made it even more symphonic.  The famous crescendo on the note "B" was about the loudest thing I have ever heard from an orchestra.  I did miss some of the effects of a staged version; for instance, the "snoring" chorus strikes you unexpectedly when you are not in the visual realm of a darkened barracks.  And Berg's onstage orchestra effects were meaningless in this context.

Some pictures:

(From Lincoln Center, I didn't take them)

Another thing that struck me in this performance is the extent to which Berg uses so many traditional elements in this opera;  ranging from folk songs and marches to fugues. All these are transformed through his expressionist vision, but remain a musically grounding focus during what is an hour and a half of extremely dense and nightmarish music.    I remain in awe of how Berg was ever able to create and realize this vision.

After 5 concerts in 7 days, I am ready for a break!