My composer friend has become my new gay husband.
Like many relationships, ours has been strengthened by proximity and copious free time.
We met in college. He lived across the hall from me. Now he lives 30 blocks away, which I consider walking distance. Recently his work schedule has contracted -- he is a professor and one of his classes was cut due to budget considerations. More importantly, his boyfriend has chased work to Illinois.
We realized that we now meet about once or twice a week. We do mundane things together. The types of things we did in college, such as watch Bollywood movies on television and make dinner together. These are inexpensive ways to meet, but they are also luxuries at our age when time tends to become more precious.
Although we have known one another for nearly two decades, we have discovered new things about each other. I've learned that he has become a very good cook. He also has pursued an interest in regency-era British female authors. This is a literary interest that I share, and it has been a delight to discuss literature and the manners and history of that era with him.
Our deepening friendship has been an unexpected pleasure during this fallow time.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Monday, May 10, 2010
The Passive Listener
I've been exposed to a lot of new music in the past couple of weeks. My composer friend has kindly taken me to performances of new operas and symphonies.
Tonight we listened to Ensemble ACJW orchestra at Carnegie Hall. It was interesting because John Adams conducted, and the orchestra began by playing a piece he composed: Son of Chamber Symphony.
Basically all I know about classical music I've learned through conversations with my friend and his comrades. He hinted that work in the program was not to everyone's liking, but I enjoyed it. In fact, I thought the John Adams piece was rather mainstream. It resembled a Broadway or film score.
Another interesting composition in the program was Louis Andriessen's De Staat. It is based on Plato's Republic, and includes a performer who sings (in Greek) passages of the text about the danger of musical innovation. I particularly enjoyed the line that in translation means "Any alteration in the modes of music is always followed by alteration in the most fundamental laws of the state." If this sentiment were more widely shared, I imagine anti-incumbent politicians would be enthusiastic supporters of new music.
Prior to the performance there was a disclaimer from the conductor about its volume and dissonance. It seemed odd that those familiar with the music appeared compelled to warn listeners about what they would experience. Although some of the piece was loud and not harmonious, it wasn't unpleasant.
I particularly enjoyed the vocalist. Her voice seemed like an oasis within in a storm. Perhaps the dissonance created a contrast that helped me concentrate on her sweet voice and the sounds accompanying it. The music seemed to mimic the experience of focusing in a chaotic place.
By coincidence my friend and I were seated by one of his colleagues. I met her last week at the Vox Contemporary American Opera Lab where one of her pieces was performed. We marveled that we sat through the first half of the concert without realizing that we were seated side by side.
There were several interesting pieces at the Vox event.
Du Yun's opera Zolle was about a ghost that seeks peace. The opera includes unusual elements, such as singing through walkie talkies. The piece was inspired by black and white abstract landscape photographs by Frank Dituri, which were projected. This background information and the image helped me appreciate the piece. I would have had difficulty reconciling the music and subject matter without the visual cue and story seed.
David Little's Dog Daze is based on a short film about a family trying to survive the ravages of a war in the US. It is both disturbing, funny, and profound. The family are starving. The daughter, who sings about admiring her body now that it is model thin, befriends a man who dresses and acts like a dog. Eventually the men in her family kill the man for food. Although initially disturbed that the man imitated an animal, they later assert his status as an animal as justification for killing him. Little describes his musical influences as a mix of Metallica and Rogers & Hammerstein.
Scott Davenport Richard's A Star Across the Ocean sounded like Broadway. It tells the story of an interracial family that travels to Paris during the 1960s. It was a difficult time for interracial families. Richard uses characters based on Josephine Baker, Paul Robeson and others to explore the hope and disappointment African-Americans expatriates experienced as they tried to escape American racism.
My favorite piece was Missy Mazzoli's Song from the Uproar. It is based on the fascinating story of Isabelle Eberhardt (b. 1877 Switzerland). Her close family perished by the time she was 22. Unencumbered by dissenting relatives, she traveled North Africa dressed as a man, converted to Sufism, and embarked on a writing career. She drowned in a flash flood at age 27.
The performance was accompanied by a film that perfectly complimented the music. It included archival movie footage that appears to date from the 1920s to the 1940s. It includes scenes of a family. Slowly the family members are erased and the young girl remains. Later portions show rolling clouds and slowly blooming flowers. It ends with churning water and a woman in bathing suit and cap slowly diving from a high platform. The film is turned upside down so she appears to fly up toward the water like a superhero. The performer subtly mimicked the dive at the end of the film as it was projected.
There was another opera, With Blood, With Ink, that featured music that I found less interesting. However, the story on which it was based is intriguing. Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz (1648-1695) was a brilliant woman who entered a Mexican convent to pursue her intellectual and artistic interests. She was a philosopher, poet, writer, and feminist. During the Spanish Inquisition, she was forced to renounce her work and died shortly after doing so.
Although music is not my artistic medium, I enjoy its many forms and deeply appreciate the opportunity to sample new works. More importantly, I am grateful for the exposure to new ideas.
Lately I've been marveling that greater access to information appears to be narrowing my influences. As most of what I select to do reflects my taste (iTunes, Pandora, Netflix) and the number of fixed, curated outlets diminish (such as radio or broadcast television) so do encounters with new art via serendipity. This was a wonderful opportunity to buck that trend!
Tonight we listened to Ensemble ACJW orchestra at Carnegie Hall. It was interesting because John Adams conducted, and the orchestra began by playing a piece he composed: Son of Chamber Symphony.
Basically all I know about classical music I've learned through conversations with my friend and his comrades. He hinted that work in the program was not to everyone's liking, but I enjoyed it. In fact, I thought the John Adams piece was rather mainstream. It resembled a Broadway or film score.
Another interesting composition in the program was Louis Andriessen's De Staat. It is based on Plato's Republic, and includes a performer who sings (in Greek) passages of the text about the danger of musical innovation. I particularly enjoyed the line that in translation means "Any alteration in the modes of music is always followed by alteration in the most fundamental laws of the state." If this sentiment were more widely shared, I imagine anti-incumbent politicians would be enthusiastic supporters of new music.
Prior to the performance there was a disclaimer from the conductor about its volume and dissonance. It seemed odd that those familiar with the music appeared compelled to warn listeners about what they would experience. Although some of the piece was loud and not harmonious, it wasn't unpleasant.
I particularly enjoyed the vocalist. Her voice seemed like an oasis within in a storm. Perhaps the dissonance created a contrast that helped me concentrate on her sweet voice and the sounds accompanying it. The music seemed to mimic the experience of focusing in a chaotic place.
By coincidence my friend and I were seated by one of his colleagues. I met her last week at the Vox Contemporary American Opera Lab where one of her pieces was performed. We marveled that we sat through the first half of the concert without realizing that we were seated side by side.
There were several interesting pieces at the Vox event.
Du Yun's opera Zolle was about a ghost that seeks peace. The opera includes unusual elements, such as singing through walkie talkies. The piece was inspired by black and white abstract landscape photographs by Frank Dituri, which were projected. This background information and the image helped me appreciate the piece. I would have had difficulty reconciling the music and subject matter without the visual cue and story seed.
David Little's Dog Daze is based on a short film about a family trying to survive the ravages of a war in the US. It is both disturbing, funny, and profound. The family are starving. The daughter, who sings about admiring her body now that it is model thin, befriends a man who dresses and acts like a dog. Eventually the men in her family kill the man for food. Although initially disturbed that the man imitated an animal, they later assert his status as an animal as justification for killing him. Little describes his musical influences as a mix of Metallica and Rogers & Hammerstein.
Scott Davenport Richard's A Star Across the Ocean sounded like Broadway. It tells the story of an interracial family that travels to Paris during the 1960s. It was a difficult time for interracial families. Richard uses characters based on Josephine Baker, Paul Robeson and others to explore the hope and disappointment African-Americans expatriates experienced as they tried to escape American racism.
My favorite piece was Missy Mazzoli's Song from the Uproar. It is based on the fascinating story of Isabelle Eberhardt (b. 1877 Switzerland). Her close family perished by the time she was 22. Unencumbered by dissenting relatives, she traveled North Africa dressed as a man, converted to Sufism, and embarked on a writing career. She drowned in a flash flood at age 27.
The performance was accompanied by a film that perfectly complimented the music. It included archival movie footage that appears to date from the 1920s to the 1940s. It includes scenes of a family. Slowly the family members are erased and the young girl remains. Later portions show rolling clouds and slowly blooming flowers. It ends with churning water and a woman in bathing suit and cap slowly diving from a high platform. The film is turned upside down so she appears to fly up toward the water like a superhero. The performer subtly mimicked the dive at the end of the film as it was projected.
There was another opera, With Blood, With Ink, that featured music that I found less interesting. However, the story on which it was based is intriguing. Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz (1648-1695) was a brilliant woman who entered a Mexican convent to pursue her intellectual and artistic interests. She was a philosopher, poet, writer, and feminist. During the Spanish Inquisition, she was forced to renounce her work and died shortly after doing so.
Although music is not my artistic medium, I enjoy its many forms and deeply appreciate the opportunity to sample new works. More importantly, I am grateful for the exposure to new ideas.
Lately I've been marveling that greater access to information appears to be narrowing my influences. As most of what I select to do reflects my taste (iTunes, Pandora, Netflix) and the number of fixed, curated outlets diminish (such as radio or broadcast television) so do encounters with new art via serendipity. This was a wonderful opportunity to buck that trend!
Friday, April 30, 2010
Impact
Since being laid off I've had nine interviews without landing a job. In the past I always got a job within three interviews. More often I was hired after one interview.
Today I took three trains and walked three-quarters of a mile to go to an interview. It took an hour and a half to get to the office. If I get the job, the commute will cost me $3,000 a year.
I saved myself $2.25 by walking from Grand Central to my home. It is a nice walk.
As I walked down a side street I noticed a ragged man waving a construction flag. He stood outside of a parking garage. It was unclear whether he worked for the garage or not.
When I passed, he peered into my face and said, "You look sharp."
The day is salvaged. At least I made a good impression on someone.
Today I took three trains and walked three-quarters of a mile to go to an interview. It took an hour and a half to get to the office. If I get the job, the commute will cost me $3,000 a year.
I saved myself $2.25 by walking from Grand Central to my home. It is a nice walk.
As I walked down a side street I noticed a ragged man waving a construction flag. He stood outside of a parking garage. It was unclear whether he worked for the garage or not.
When I passed, he peered into my face and said, "You look sharp."
The day is salvaged. At least I made a good impression on someone.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Biennial
The Whitney Biennial is going on. I am always curious to see what the curators choose. There was a lot in the 2010 show that I really liked, and most of the pieces I enjoyed were by artists unfamiliar to me.
Kerry Tribe's film "H.M" is one of the best art films I've seen. It explores memory, veracity, and subjectivity. These are subjects I ponder, and what little reading I've done about philosophy of mind and cognitive science already introduced me to H.M. Tribe's treatment of the topic is multi-layered and ingenious.
I also really liked Lesley Vance's abstract oil paintings, Curtis Mann's distressed photos, Marianne Vitale's "Patron" video, and drawings by Roland Flexner, Storm Tharp, Aurel Schmidt, and Dawn Clements.
It struck me that much of the work that appealed to me was about salvaging and process. There were a lot of pieces of art that employed techniques dependent on chemical reactions and accident. Often accident-based processes are combined with highly controlled renderings in a piece.
Vance's paintings depend upon an old master palette. The source of her color choices was apparent immediately. She salvaged the somber spectrum of the late 1500s. Its impact surprised me. She does something completely removed from representational painting, but by resourcing those colors she creates a strong connection to that body of work.
Curtis Mann uses a type of masking (similar to tie-dye or batik) technique to highlight portions of photographs. The part he masks remains intact while the rest of the photograph is faded. The fading results in interesting patterns. He uses the masking to keep whole elements within a photo (such as a car) or to make a new mark (such as the partial outline of a person where no person appeared in the original photograph).
Roland Flexer manipulates a paper marbleizing technique to make sumi ink drawings. There is little traditional drawing in the process. He tilts, blots, or blows on the wet paper to move the ink. The result resembles a distressed, detailed drawing.
Storm Tharp also utilizes random patterns made by wet ink, but he embellishes this accidental foundation with carefully controlled, highly representational drawing. The contrast is striking.
Both Aurel Schmidt and Dawn Clements make large format, highly detailed drawings. Schmidt creates fantastic creatures composed of everyday materials such as hair, beer cans, cigarette stubs, and cob webs. Clements depicts domestic interiors that are pieced together from life or films. Her work resembles a map of a memory. The pages of drawings are fastened together in a quilt-like pattern in which pieces of the scene make almost a whole image.
Many artists make a habit of complaining about the Biennial. In some ways I feel like a Pollyanna admitting that I really enjoyed this one. I wasn't enthusiastic about everything in the exhibit, but I don't expect to like everything in the show. In fact, I was pleasantly surprised to learn that the large-format floral ink drawings featured in one room were by an artist I have not admired in the past: Charles Ray.
The show introduced a lot of good art to me, and that is its purpose. Well done.
Kerry Tribe's film "H.M" is one of the best art films I've seen. It explores memory, veracity, and subjectivity. These are subjects I ponder, and what little reading I've done about philosophy of mind and cognitive science already introduced me to H.M. Tribe's treatment of the topic is multi-layered and ingenious.
I also really liked Lesley Vance's abstract oil paintings, Curtis Mann's distressed photos, Marianne Vitale's "Patron" video, and drawings by Roland Flexner, Storm Tharp, Aurel Schmidt, and Dawn Clements.
It struck me that much of the work that appealed to me was about salvaging and process. There were a lot of pieces of art that employed techniques dependent on chemical reactions and accident. Often accident-based processes are combined with highly controlled renderings in a piece.
Vance's paintings depend upon an old master palette. The source of her color choices was apparent immediately. She salvaged the somber spectrum of the late 1500s. Its impact surprised me. She does something completely removed from representational painting, but by resourcing those colors she creates a strong connection to that body of work.
Curtis Mann uses a type of masking (similar to tie-dye or batik) technique to highlight portions of photographs. The part he masks remains intact while the rest of the photograph is faded. The fading results in interesting patterns. He uses the masking to keep whole elements within a photo (such as a car) or to make a new mark (such as the partial outline of a person where no person appeared in the original photograph).
Roland Flexer manipulates a paper marbleizing technique to make sumi ink drawings. There is little traditional drawing in the process. He tilts, blots, or blows on the wet paper to move the ink. The result resembles a distressed, detailed drawing.
Storm Tharp also utilizes random patterns made by wet ink, but he embellishes this accidental foundation with carefully controlled, highly representational drawing. The contrast is striking.
Both Aurel Schmidt and Dawn Clements make large format, highly detailed drawings. Schmidt creates fantastic creatures composed of everyday materials such as hair, beer cans, cigarette stubs, and cob webs. Clements depicts domestic interiors that are pieced together from life or films. Her work resembles a map of a memory. The pages of drawings are fastened together in a quilt-like pattern in which pieces of the scene make almost a whole image.
Many artists make a habit of complaining about the Biennial. In some ways I feel like a Pollyanna admitting that I really enjoyed this one. I wasn't enthusiastic about everything in the exhibit, but I don't expect to like everything in the show. In fact, I was pleasantly surprised to learn that the large-format floral ink drawings featured in one room were by an artist I have not admired in the past: Charles Ray.
The show introduced a lot of good art to me, and that is its purpose. Well done.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Jolly
On Earth Day I heard from a friend on Facebook that Origins was giving away free cleanser in exchange for empty cosmetic bottles. I am running low on cleanser and can't afford to replace what I have. So, I pulled an empty bottle of toner out of the recycling bin, and walked over to the Flatiron store.
It was a nice spring day and the door was open. There were about 15 unhappy women in the tiny space. The store just ran out of cleanser.
I was headed to the Upper East Side, so I inquired about stores uptown. A helpful employee gave me the number to the Upper West Side store. A few minutes later I was on a subway car rocketing to 72nd Street.
There was a line at the 85th Street store, but I managed to get one of the last bottles of cleanser. It smells great. I'm looking forward to trying it -- especially after the effort it took to get it.
I felt pleased to have accomplished my little mission and was enjoying my walk over to the east side. Around 84th and Columbus I passed a group of boys sitting outside of a school. One of them looked like an African-American version of Seth Rogen.
"Miss, you look jolly today!" he said with a smile.
It was unclear to me whether he was simply a friendly kid, a cheeky guy perfecting a pick up line, or a student trying to use vocabulary word jolly in a sentence. Regardless, I had to smile as I walked past.
This is my favorite time of year. Chartreuse is one of my favorite colors and it is the top note on nature's palette right now. Everything looks tender and lush.
This year, almost all of the flowering plants are blooming at once. Central Park looks like a film set. One would think a prop department planted blooming hyacinth, tulips, iris, pansies, blue bonnets, lilacs, and wisteria over night. Everywhere my eye fell, there was a touch of floral color.
Although it was a bit off of my path, I went through Shakespeare's Garden, Belvedere Castle, and a some of the Ramble before skirting the Lake.
In addition to the abundant flowers, I saw several robins and noticed a man pushing a medium-sized dog in a wheel chair intended for humans. The shivering animal curled up in the seat looked very sick.
As I walked across the park the sky darkened. I love the contrast between delicate spring green plants bursting with optimism and a menacing stormy sky. The rain fell steadily as I walked around the Lake. I paused under a wisteria covered arbor and watched the drops form designs on the Lake's surface. It seemed like a gift to be in this place at this time.
When the rain eased, I pulled out my umbrella and continued walking until I got to the Whitney Museum. I felt really happy and it must have showed. A man ducking the rain at a construction site around the corner from the museum looked at me quizzically and said, "I'm glad somebody's happy!"
Me too. There have been far too many sad days lately. On this day it was my turn to be happy.
It was a nice spring day and the door was open. There were about 15 unhappy women in the tiny space. The store just ran out of cleanser.
I was headed to the Upper East Side, so I inquired about stores uptown. A helpful employee gave me the number to the Upper West Side store. A few minutes later I was on a subway car rocketing to 72nd Street.
There was a line at the 85th Street store, but I managed to get one of the last bottles of cleanser. It smells great. I'm looking forward to trying it -- especially after the effort it took to get it.
I felt pleased to have accomplished my little mission and was enjoying my walk over to the east side. Around 84th and Columbus I passed a group of boys sitting outside of a school. One of them looked like an African-American version of Seth Rogen.
"Miss, you look jolly today!" he said with a smile.
It was unclear to me whether he was simply a friendly kid, a cheeky guy perfecting a pick up line, or a student trying to use vocabulary word jolly in a sentence. Regardless, I had to smile as I walked past.
This is my favorite time of year. Chartreuse is one of my favorite colors and it is the top note on nature's palette right now. Everything looks tender and lush.
This year, almost all of the flowering plants are blooming at once. Central Park looks like a film set. One would think a prop department planted blooming hyacinth, tulips, iris, pansies, blue bonnets, lilacs, and wisteria over night. Everywhere my eye fell, there was a touch of floral color.
Although it was a bit off of my path, I went through Shakespeare's Garden, Belvedere Castle, and a some of the Ramble before skirting the Lake.
In addition to the abundant flowers, I saw several robins and noticed a man pushing a medium-sized dog in a wheel chair intended for humans. The shivering animal curled up in the seat looked very sick.
As I walked across the park the sky darkened. I love the contrast between delicate spring green plants bursting with optimism and a menacing stormy sky. The rain fell steadily as I walked around the Lake. I paused under a wisteria covered arbor and watched the drops form designs on the Lake's surface. It seemed like a gift to be in this place at this time.
When the rain eased, I pulled out my umbrella and continued walking until I got to the Whitney Museum. I felt really happy and it must have showed. A man ducking the rain at a construction site around the corner from the museum looked at me quizzically and said, "I'm glad somebody's happy!"
Me too. There have been far too many sad days lately. On this day it was my turn to be happy.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
The Perplexing Male Mind
Years ago a woman who did pro-bono work in a prison told me the inmates would routinely ask her out on dates.
It is unclear what a date within a prison would entail. Oddly, I imagine something similar to a junior high date: the couple talks and kisses while the cell mate on the top bunk pretends to read. It isn't an enticing prospect.
This woman is a smart attorney with a beautiful figure and face. The men seeking her company are incarcerated for life.
It is phenomenal that these men thought a woman who encapsulates Destiny's Child's "Independent Woman" would date them.
These were not intellectual political prisoners such as Vaclav Havel or Nelson Mandela. They are hard criminals who hurt people. Did they really think her dating prospects were so weak that she would consider accepting an invitation to spend time with a dangerous high school drop out confined to a jail cell?
Or did these men over-value themselves to an absurd degree? They are incarcerated for life yet arrogant. Perhaps confinement has warped their self-conception.
Generally, women and men with similar attributes (levels of income, attractiveness, intelligence, etc.) find each other and form relationships. Yet, I've often observed men with modest attributes approach far more accomplished women.
A college friend was a model, and I recall how every man at a crowded bar attempted to chat her up one evening. She had a boyfriend and didn't welcome any of their approaches.
I wondered what drove these men to pursue a woman so unlikely to return their regard. Is it a deep seated sense of entitlement? Are they simply pushing the envelope? Do they have no sense of embarrassment when they are refused?
As I waited at the crosswalk of 23rd street the other night an elderly drunk homeless man asked me to help him cross the street.
His request was a cheeky come-on rather than a feeble person's request for assistance. He wore a lecherous smile. It did not elicit sympathy.
For the millionth time I marveled at the strange ways some men perceive women and themselves.
It is unclear what a date within a prison would entail. Oddly, I imagine something similar to a junior high date: the couple talks and kisses while the cell mate on the top bunk pretends to read. It isn't an enticing prospect.
This woman is a smart attorney with a beautiful figure and face. The men seeking her company are incarcerated for life.
It is phenomenal that these men thought a woman who encapsulates Destiny's Child's "Independent Woman" would date them.
These were not intellectual political prisoners such as Vaclav Havel or Nelson Mandela. They are hard criminals who hurt people. Did they really think her dating prospects were so weak that she would consider accepting an invitation to spend time with a dangerous high school drop out confined to a jail cell?
Or did these men over-value themselves to an absurd degree? They are incarcerated for life yet arrogant. Perhaps confinement has warped their self-conception.
Generally, women and men with similar attributes (levels of income, attractiveness, intelligence, etc.) find each other and form relationships. Yet, I've often observed men with modest attributes approach far more accomplished women.
A college friend was a model, and I recall how every man at a crowded bar attempted to chat her up one evening. She had a boyfriend and didn't welcome any of their approaches.
I wondered what drove these men to pursue a woman so unlikely to return their regard. Is it a deep seated sense of entitlement? Are they simply pushing the envelope? Do they have no sense of embarrassment when they are refused?
As I waited at the crosswalk of 23rd street the other night an elderly drunk homeless man asked me to help him cross the street.
His request was a cheeky come-on rather than a feeble person's request for assistance. He wore a lecherous smile. It did not elicit sympathy.
For the millionth time I marveled at the strange ways some men perceive women and themselves.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Lost and Found
My alma mater boasts a college president who conducts orchestras. A six figure degree from this institution isn't helping me get a job, so I was thrilled when the college offered me free tickets to a symphony performance at Lincoln Center's Alice Tully Hall last night.
I invited a couple of friends who also appreciate good music and an inexpensive night out.
I've grown more fond of classical music in the past several years. It used to be a struggle to remain attentive by the end of a concert, but now my mind is too active to grow bored. It isn't necessarily an outgrowth of an increased appreciation of the music. Nor do I think I've become more focused. This trait probably reflects a more purposeful use of distraction.
Initially, I concentrate on the music. Then, I attempt to pick a thread from the sound tapestry and determine which instrument made the sound.
I was amused by the percussion section, and the utter seriousness of the triangle player as he approached his periodic ring. The gravity he assumed while preparing to play a single note seemed ridiculous.
Later I simply use the music as a soundtrack for all of the thoughts swirling around my head. I suppose the creators of Fantasia, Sesame Street, and Bugs Bunny cartoons were guilty of similar modes of thinking.
The last piece was Mahler's Symphony 4, which I really enjoyed. The 3rd movement made me think of an image of a bride with a veil and train blowing wildly in the wind.
I vaguely recalled a painting called "Bride of the Wind" associated with Mahler. Mahler's wife, Alma, had a heated affair with painter Oskar Kokoschka. Her relationships with creative men were notorious. Kokoschka created the painting after she concluded the relationship. It's strange that this information surfaced after listening to the music.
The weather in New York is in flux again, so I wore a light jacket and my favorite pashmina to the concert. The Hall was warm and I placed the pashmina beside my seat near the ticket taker. This was the last time I saw it.
The shawl has accompanied me around the world, and it is unlikely we will be reunited. I'm surprised that a Lincoln Center symphony patron didn't take it to lost and found. Another stereotype shattered.
I walked home significantly cooler. I suppose this was karmic retribution for laughing at the percussionists.
I invited a couple of friends who also appreciate good music and an inexpensive night out.
I've grown more fond of classical music in the past several years. It used to be a struggle to remain attentive by the end of a concert, but now my mind is too active to grow bored. It isn't necessarily an outgrowth of an increased appreciation of the music. Nor do I think I've become more focused. This trait probably reflects a more purposeful use of distraction.
Initially, I concentrate on the music. Then, I attempt to pick a thread from the sound tapestry and determine which instrument made the sound.
I was amused by the percussion section, and the utter seriousness of the triangle player as he approached his periodic ring. The gravity he assumed while preparing to play a single note seemed ridiculous.
Later I simply use the music as a soundtrack for all of the thoughts swirling around my head. I suppose the creators of Fantasia, Sesame Street, and Bugs Bunny cartoons were guilty of similar modes of thinking.
The last piece was Mahler's Symphony 4, which I really enjoyed. The 3rd movement made me think of an image of a bride with a veil and train blowing wildly in the wind.
I vaguely recalled a painting called "Bride of the Wind" associated with Mahler. Mahler's wife, Alma, had a heated affair with painter Oskar Kokoschka. Her relationships with creative men were notorious. Kokoschka created the painting after she concluded the relationship. It's strange that this information surfaced after listening to the music.
The weather in New York is in flux again, so I wore a light jacket and my favorite pashmina to the concert. The Hall was warm and I placed the pashmina beside my seat near the ticket taker. This was the last time I saw it.
The shawl has accompanied me around the world, and it is unlikely we will be reunited. I'm surprised that a Lincoln Center symphony patron didn't take it to lost and found. Another stereotype shattered.
I walked home significantly cooler. I suppose this was karmic retribution for laughing at the percussionists.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
