The art of architecture

How to build Frank Lloyd Wright's "Fallingwater" while an orchestra plays . . .

Fallingwater from Cristóbal Vila on Vimeo.

How to Build a Song

Reggie Watts builds a song layer by layer, on the spot, with looping technology!


Reggie Watts: Lost in the Options from Jakob Lodwick on Vimeo.

Opera and story

Even though I said I would read Hawthorne's story "Rappaccini's Daughter" before seeing the opera by Daniel Catan, I did it the other way around, and I saw the second act before actually seeing the first. So I experienced this piece in almost the exact reverse order of its conception, which was fascinating to me as someone who's also composing operas. After the Friday performance, Mr. Catan took questions from the audience; immediately the question arose of adaptation. He eloquently summed up the central dilemma: as a composer you are trying to project the arc of the story, but you are also trying to give the singers beautiful words and melodies. He said a composer almost needs two separate writers: a poet and a dramatist. Very rarely do people (like Shakespeare) manage to combine the two. So Catan uses the poetic version of Hawthorne's story by Octavio Paz, and adapts it with the playwright Juan Tovar.

After learning this, then seeing the whole piece on Saturday, I could tell the joins: the drama spins along (with exposition provided by the maid), and then in the garden Giovanni and Beatriz sing awesome poetry. In some ways, opera has always been like this since Monteverdi in the 1600s. Recitative sections with fast singing (a distant ancestor of rap) move the plot along, while singers emote and reflect on their fates in beautiful, florid arias.

Another problem of adaptation is dramatic compression: in the story, Giovanni and Beatrice become gradually over the course of weeks, walking every day in the garden, although they can never touch. In opera, everything has to happen right away: love at first sight. Music can vividly capture that moment, but it's more difficult for music to show a steadily growing companionship. And these are some of the hard choices Catan had to make as he adapted the Hawthorne. But opera will live or die by its music, and here Catan succeeds with a vivid, moving, expressive score.

Opera

Stepping into the beautiful theater I prepared myself for some beautiful voices. I think my favorite kind of music is the kind that comes completely natural from someones body, without any kind of instrument's or object's help.

I felt that the voices were being ruined by the words they had to say in order for people to understand the storyline and plot. I wanted them to sing to me, not talk to me. I got goosebumps whenever they hit a note with full power and held it there, and I waited and hoped for another note to strike me even harder. My heart would melt. Their voices amazed me. How can someone that small make a noise that loud? I also enjoyed their acting, they make me feel what they felt.

I've never seen anything so intricate and gorgeous as the costumes and setting of the garden. The flower girls were so beautiful that I wanted to be them, but then realized how hard it would be to stay still like that for so long. I have no idea how they did that. I caught myself watching one of them for quite some time to see if she would move, not even her eyes moved except for her blinking. Very impressive.

I would've liked it more if I understood them and didn't have to read the subtitles. It took me away from the emotion and actions of the characters. But then I got to thinking if it would be as beautiful and sound as good in english? Maybe they did that on purpose? Maybe not. I'm not sure what the norm is for operas. I would like to know.

The story almost reminded me of Romeo and Juliette. I guess similar to many love stories, but the impossible love that will only work if they run away, and then one mistakenly takes the poison and of course the other can't live without their love and also takes the poison.

Complete drama. Complete love. And I melt for it everytime.

Chamber music

Whenever I attend a classical music concert, I want the various musical pieces to be performed in chronological order.  Maybe it's the writer in me, but I like the "story" of musical change, from the baroque period to the classical, to the romantic era to modern music.  

This rarely happens, though.  One reason, I think, is that performers save the big piece for last, whatever its era.  And they also try to hide less popular music in the middle of a concert program, so that the audience won't clear out before the end.  This happened when the Wolf Quartett performed at Krannert: Alban Berg's Lyric Suite was stuck in the middle, just before the intermission.  Apparently, some music lovers still don't love twelve-tone music, even when it's written by Berg, one of the most "romantic" of the twelve-tone composers.  During the intermission, I overheard more than a few folks complaining about the piece.

Which amazed me, because I thought it was the high point of the concert.  The Haydn quartet beginning the concert was perfectly fine.  It was "chamber music" of a certain sort--elegant and witty, its passion held mostly in check, and I could imagine listeners of the late eighteenth century sitting primly on seats, or wandering quietly about the musicians, tea cups in hand.  All very polite (though other of Haydn's work is more than fiery).  The Schubert quartet, which hails from the early nineteenth century, was brawny, heartfelt, and complex romantic music, straining against the strictures of classical form.  But still chamber music.

This gravitational tug of form and content is in an entirely different sphere in Berg's Lyric Suite, from the early twentieth century.  The music  seems to ache, so charged with emotion that one would miss the form (which, being a version of twelve-tone music, must be strict).  But what amazed me most was the story behind the music.  Apparently, Berg was having an affair, and he coded into the music itself his initials and that of his lover, and the last movement is even secretly fitted to an apt sonnet by the French poet Baudelaire.  Again, it's the writer in me, but this tormented secret story transformed the music.  This no longer seemed like public "chamber music," but more like music resonating in the chamber of the composer's mind.  No tea drinking when this is playing!  I was also struck that the secret correspondences of the music remained unknown for 50 years, until a musical scholar's analysis (and documentary evidence) brought it all to light.  Even the most elaborate disguise contains the code to its own unravelling.

The Opera

My vision of the art world expanded with Friday night's performance of Rappaccini's Daughter. I went in with no expectations. I wasn't too familiar with the story either. So I went in as a blank slate.
The first thing I noticed was the background on stage. The high platform and use of stairs gave the illusion of multiple rooms, spaces for the performers to use. Even though there was no wall, the metal frame in the bedroom that was opened and closed suggested a window that looked out upon the garden. The garden was a whole different story! The flowers and plants that were actually people dressed in costumes were incredible. I can't imagine holding a pose throughout entire scenes. It did not seem like a comfortable position but definitely a neat perspective as they didn't have to worry as much about singing but rather placement and appearance to the audience. That is something I would like to do, especially in a movie. I want to be there on set, a part of the scene without having a speaking role or major pressure to act. I guess I wouldn't mind being behind the scenes but I would really like to gain that experience and see a movie or performance from an alternate perspective. The preparation towards the production fascinates me as much as the actual show.
The opera itself was at times hard to follow because of the Spanish and then need to look up at the subtitles. I occasionally found myself ignoring the subtitles and just watching the performer's expressions. That was a story in itself.
I did skim over Nathaniel Hawthorne's story and found that I was missing the background and the details from the story. Not everything can translate over to a performance, especially an opera. But I felt as I was watching it that something was missing. The story filled in some blanks and the ending either way--text or opera-- was dramatic. There were scientific, moral and love elements which made the story relatable to various audiences but for me I wish I had a richer understanding of the plot before being thrown into the opera setting.

Graffiti comes alive!

Another example of intriguing combinations that spark art, in this case stop-action film as living graffiti. This video is by Blu (for more info, see http://www.blublu.org/blog/).



MUTO a wall-painted animation by BLU from blu on Vimeo.

Cirque Eloize preview!

Looks pretty good, doesn't it? Should be a great show . . .

Rappaccini's Daughter, by Nathaniel Hawthorne

Rappaccini's Daughter, in a free e-book version from Project Gutenberg, a repository of over 27,000 out-of-copyright books. It's interesting to compare the story with the opera, which I finally saw on Saturday!

NY Times column with Eve Ensler

Here is a very disturbing column by Bob Herbert, on a horrifying war against women and girls in the Congo. He mentions Eve Ensler (Necessary Targets) who is trying to draw attention to this atrocity.

It is as if, in these particular instances, some window to what we think of as our common humanity had been closed. As The Times’s Jeffrey Gettleman, on assignment in Congo, wrote last fall:

“Many of these rapes have been marked by a level of brutality that is shocking even by the twisted standards of a place riven by civil war and haunted by warlords and drug-crazed child soldiers.”

Dr. Mukwege visited me at The Times last week. He was accompanied by the playwright, Eve Ensler, who has been passionate in her efforts to bring attention and assistance to the women of Congo.

Wii across the Alps

One essence of art: to combine what hasn't been combined before. In this case, two German fellows have managed to connect their Wii to Google Earth, so now they can surf the Alps!

Another fabulous video! This one is 6,000 separate paintings, composed over two years that, combined, becomes a heart pounding video.  

 

Khoda from Reza Dolatabadi on Vimeo.

Article on the Opera

I was just reading Buzz magazine that came out today and saw an article about tomorrow's opera performance:
http://the217.com/articles/view/opera_rappaccini_s_daughter_opens_at_kcpa

Thought it might be interesting to read, especially if you can't go to get another perspective!

New Music Ensemble

Seeing more than half the seats empty in the huge theater I felt very small sitting down next to Lauren. 

The whole concert, especially the pieces with instruments, gave me a vivid image of Walt Disney's 'Fantasia'. The first piece very much reminded me of the part in fantasia showing the dinosaurs. It made me think of dinosaurs fighting each other, trying to find food, and to survive in the horrid weather. I was always looking for a melody, and once I expected one to soon come, it ended abruptly. 

The second piece made me jump out of my seat... twice. The lights turned off and I thought it would be just for a second then realized it was the new setting for the next song. The song made me believe I was in a horror movie. I half-expected people to pop out of the walls and attack us. It was a new world. I imagined I was in a spooky old house, with the walls creeking, then outside with crazy insects and monsters running around me. Finally, it stopped, and I was back to the comfort of my seat. 

Another piece used similar background music to the piece I just talked about, except it had a Tuba player playing along with it. I found it amazing how adding one new sound to a song completely changes the vibes I get from it. It sounded vibrant, like the Tuba was the hero in the story, and I followed it through the quest for righteousness. 

All of the songs I heard gave me vivid pictures in my mind and strong feelings. I would probably never want to listen to these songs for my own pleasure, but I did enjoy thinking and feeling things that other sounds and songs haven't done for me. It was a different kind of music and I'm glad I got to experience it. 

New Music Ensemble

I'm unable to attend "Necessary Targets" so I'm anxious to hear about that performance but I did attend the Tuesday night concert, so here's my response:

Earlier this year I sat in the Foellinger Great Hall of Krannert for my roommate's concert band performance. While I sat in the comfortable tan seats again, I felt as though I had graduated to a new level of music. The New Music Ensemble brought the use of instruments and the incorporation of pre-recorded electronic music to my attention. I was particularly frightened at first during the second piece when the lights dimmed and the music began playing through speakers. The volume and change in pitch made me jump out of my seat as it was unexpected. It was like I had just turned the corner at a Haunted House and even though no scream came from my mouth, my body language suggested that I was definitely surprised. I could pretend that I wasn't but Luna was sitting next to me and I think we both had a similar reaction.

Phillip Blume's piano solo was not my favorite of all the pieces. He warned the audience that the piece would be sparse and indeed it was. It just wasn't my type of piano solo. I do give him credit though because it was different and made me think why he was playing the way he was. The striking of a single key at a time was dramatic but didn't engage my attention for very long.

The final piece, which I believe was titled "A San Francisco Night," turned out to be my favorite not only because of the music but the incorporation of multiple musicians. I enjoy watching the musicians throughout the piece to see their reaction and determination to stay focused. It was a bold yet lighter piece that didn't have me jumping out of my seat but caught my attention.

Finally, I liked when the composers stood in the audience after their piece. I felt a stronger connection to the music that was played after seeing the man who wrote it. You could tell that it was an accomplishment to not only hear it but be sitting among an audience who is also sharing in your hard work.

The mind in the dancer's body

I too loved the "White Out" performances.  I've seen a lot of dance companies, and I often find myself doing a funny little ritual at the beginning of each dance.  I count the number of dancers, and note how many are women, how many men.  Eight, I think, or twelve, or six, and then I try to keep track of who's on stage, who's not.  But only if I'm bored, if the choreography doesn't engage me.

At "White Out," I lost track of the dancers and enjoyed the dances, the wild family gathering of "Pass the Goddamn Butter"; the haunting blend of dance and paper art sculptures in "Paper Song," which seemed to me to be about mourning and the afterlife (though the stage imagery is expansive enough to invite numerous interpretations); and the wacky energy of "Getting There," which ran as an anthology of dance styles held together by both sly and broad humor.

My favorite, though, was "Trigger."  I loved how the choreographer's voice spoke about the dance he'd choreographed, how he said he was mainly interested in the minds of the dancers, but when he asked them to speak into a microphone on stage to express their feelings about the dance, he almost immediately cut them off!  Now that's an unreliable narrator . . .

That dance reminded me of my own past with dance.  In the way, way back, when I was a sophomore in college, my then girlfriend, a sophisticated daughter of a diplomat, took me to my first dance performance, an interpretation of Stravinsky's "The Rite of Spring" by the Béjart dance company from France.  The event stunned me, and I decided I wanted to write about it, so the following year I took dance classes, and a music class as well as my usual writing workshop, and tried to write a long story about a dance performance, from the perspective of the dancers and the musicians.  The less said about that little project the better.

But strangely enough, my future writing ended up being deeply influenced by taking dance.  As a "mind in a body" being ordered about on stage by choreographers, I felt myself as a participant in a three-dimensional story, moving about the other characters.  This taught me a lot about how to create scenes in fiction, which have their own choreography.  Learning how to move "in time" with music helped me begin to develop a sense of rhythm in my written sentences.  And learning about the structure of music taught me much about how important structure is in works of fiction.  Eventually, my studies of the structure of Bartok's 4th string quartet influenced the way I put together my second book, The Art of the Knock: Stories.

So, I'm delighted to read the students' posts, how so many different art forms you're being introduced to excite you.  Their influences may make their way into your future in unexpected ways!

A Week of Firsts

I enjoyed White Out because it was my first true modern dance experience. At some points, I was antsy because I didn't know what was coming or how long each dance would be. By the second or third dance, I was more relaxed and willing to get engaged in the story that was being danced before my eyes.

I have to agree with Bryan's post though as we did see the performance a week ago, so it is not as fresh in mind as I would like which is also why I'm going to focus on the Chinese Acrobats.

This class has been a "first" for me in many ways as I have experienced performances and discussions that I have had nowhere else. Tuesday night, the Chinese Acrobat performance was no exception. The contorting bodies, choreographed movements and colorful costumes amazed me. While I would be in severe pain after completing many of the acts, the performers appeared happy or at least they had a smile on their face. Obviously, they have trained, prepared, rehearsed and so on but I still think I would be a little bent out of shape (no pun intended) after a performance of this nature.

The audience "ooohh"ed and "ahh"ed in sync as the performers did a variety of stunts. As I looked around, there were a variety of ages in the audience, which attests to the universality of art. This performance was art in my mind because of the talent and the performer's intent to convey a type of story through the music and costumes that usually corresponded with gender. Steve pointed out that the women performed during more "flowery" songs while the men were like warriors with a stronger beat.

My favorite act was the women on the bicycles. I imagined an invisible circular track that the thin metal bicycles fit on as more and more performers hopped on the bike. It was incredible and nerve racking because the last thing I wanted was for someone to fall off! But I think that is part of the experience. The majority of the audience can't do what each of those performers did and yet we still think there is a chance of failure but are suddenly surprised when everything goes smoothly making us gasp even louder.

White Out

Walking into a new theater, I realized I was also walking into a new world, one I've never been in before.

The first piece, 'pass the goddam butter' was ravishing. I greatly enjoyed the hectic atmosphere of many people in a small space, with everyone trying to be unique in their own quirky way. It made me think about my family gatherings. With the youngest being 4 and the oldest being 70, 20 people and a dog running around the house trying to make themselves know. It is the most chaotic time of year, but also the most fun. In the piece I saw people creating new dance moves, and others copying moves. Exactly like my family, everyone meshing together, just a mess. The table was my favorite part of the whole show. The way they made intense rhythms with their utensils, cups, and plates made my heart throb to he beat. The surprising screams, falls, and jumps from randoms at the table kept me at the edge of my seat. I was sad when I realized it was over.

My second favorite piece was 'getting there' with my favorite part being when the giant strawberry fell out of the sky. It was surprising, beautiful, intense, and outright hilarious. Again, this piece made me think of kids going crazy. The girl picked up the strawberry like it was her long lost baby doll and protected it from the boy, who only wanted it because she had it. This story went in and out of the main plot and made me laugh out loud every time. I love watching each character with their own unique personalities.

I'm glad I stepped into that world.

Bryan Anderson: White Out

Although I have seen many brief dance performances in events such as musicals and movies, I have never seen a performance devoted spcifically to dance. I therefore was very excited to see White Out at the Krannert Center. 

I rushed there, slightly late, hoping to see the silent performance in the lobby area. Unofrtunately, I didn't leave myself enough time. Slightly irked, I proceded into the main performing area. I had never been in this particular venue, and, I must say, it was rather unexpected and amazing in its size. 

The four performances presented were all unique and interesting. The first performance, Pass The Goddam Butter, was by far my favorite. The "family" presented was extremely entertaining in that they were all rhythmically connected but at the same time each maintained an idividual personality. My favorite member was the drunk girl, who periodically would stand on something and laugh maniacally. I sort of wish I knew someone like that to make life a bit more entertaining. 

Paper Song was also very entertaining. The dancers themselves were were elegant, their movements very much reminding me of water. Their use of paper was also extroidinary. I recall that when the dozens of paper cranes descended from the ceiling, I did not even realize they were there until they had nearly completed to descent. It was subtle to the point of having an illusory feel that effectively enhanced the performance of the dancers. The use of hundreds of paper airplanes was also quite memorable. The scene reminded me of how I have always longed to throw a bunch of the planes off of a high roof and stare as I guess which direction the wind wil take them next.

My least favorite of the four performances was the experimental Trigger. Although I would not say that I did not enjoy it, it's strange narration style coupled with the partial breaking of the fourth wall was not exactly working for me. I think this feeling comes from a preconception that a dance performance should be minimally vocal in order to maximize effectiveness. 

I am writing this a week later, which is proving to be a problem. I cannnot all remember Getting There! I remember liking it. I wish I knew why. 

David Bowie - Andy Warhol

Warhol at KAM

I knew nothing of Warhol coming into the exhibit at KAM, so I was not entirely sure what to expect. When I first walked though the exhibit, the first thing I noticed was that there were not 157 (or whatever the number was) photos. I looked back at the description of the exhibit and found that I had misread the advertisement. The exhibit was a sampling, not the entire collection. Slightly miffed that I had set aside way more time than was needed, I still set off looking forward to what I was going to see.

As I examined many of the photos, the thing that struck me the most were the close ups of the various people. There seemed to be a lot of subtle but still intense emotion behind all of them. The most stricking photos had the subject appear extremely white and perhaps even somewhat undead. Sometimes this effect, at first glance, appeared to be a camera setting, make-up, or a mix of both. Other times the effect seemed very natural, further increasing the intense and mildly creepy feeling that I perceived from the photo. One photo in particular (possibly with the subject's name being Pia Miller?) vaguely reminded me of a young Stevie Nicks. This made me think of my mom, as I wondered if she would agree with me. 

The photo that struck me the most was the one of Santa Claus. What I noticed first about the subject was that the facial expression did not give off a feeling of warmth at all. Instead, Santa seemed, to me at least, tired, sickly, and seemingly almost in a state of mild pain. Any sense of "jolliness" was absent. I suppose this rather negative perception is likely influenced by my less-than-approving attitude of what a modern American Christmas represents. I hold the increasingy mainstream view (but, apparently, not mainstream enough to change any mass habits) that Christmas has boiled down from a time of religion and family to one of flashy consumerism and fleeting generosity. The photo of the tired and sickly Santa seemed to personify this problem for me. 

Warhol Exhibit

The Andy Warhol exhibit at KAM opened my eyes to a new side of Andy Warhol. When I think of his work, I imagine bright colors, icons revealing a face or image that has been modified from the original. However in this exhibit, the use of Polaroids and silver gelatin prints are raw. I felt that the subjects in the photos were exposed. As printed in the Warhol booklet, “everybody becomes a celebrity” through the method of capturing portraits with a Polaroid camera. To be honest, I didn’t recognize many of the “identified” people at first because of their makeup and natural facial expressions. When I went through the exhibit, a woman near me said how frightening she thought some of the celebrity women looked. We are accustomed to seeing smiling, airbrushed faces. Yet Warhol captures moments that aren’t the most glamorous. I would argue though that there is a natural beauty and unique human nature quality that shines through.

I was especially attracted to the “unidentified people” because I felt that those people represented the average man or woman in their element. The black and white image of the unidentified man with a camera around his neck caught my eye. The man is looking away from the camera with his hands in his pockets as if just taking a moment to himself. I think it’s difficult to capture everyday moments. Further this selection of photos no doubt allows more people to relate to the celebrities or unidentified people but definitely to those that are not known. This photographer or man with a camera has a background story that doesn’t necessarily come through the image. I think the audience can decide who he is or where he is going. Maybe that isn’t even his camera…he may be holding it for a friend, looking off into the distance wondering when he will return.

Andy Warhol’s Polaroids and Portraits was not was I expected but I think I needed to see this side of his work to gain a greater understanding of how he became such a famous artist.