Arts Therapy 2020

Never mind it's been November in my soul since the end of August, with last year's retirement begetting a seemingly endless march of funerals (and the one wedding on the fall calendar offset just three weeks ago by the last and most devastating of these rites). The usual course for most people is immersion among more people. This is not my way.

I'd already had a ticket for the February 12 Giselle at the Kennedy Center, starring my oft-discussed Daniil Simkin as Albrecht, and it was an outing I could not deny myself despite that morning's fatal news. My evening of solitary reflection among crowds was briefly and pleasantly interrupted before the theater opened as I sat with a gentleman (stranger to me) who loved music and dance and all things beautiful and heart-swelling. Enjoyable encounter. I even told him about the time I wrote a ballet during a National Symphony Orchestra open rehearsal of Mahler's Fifth ("My, My, Mahler" and "The Mahler Ballet").

That was pretty much the end of the enjoyable encounter with another solitary member of the crowd. The ballet was dreary. Act 1 was all acting, little dancing. Too many people on stage standing or sitting about with nothing to do. And other than a few fireworksy variations from Daniil and his Giselle (Sarah Lane) and the expected excellent corps work in Act 2, not much from Giselle's gang of "ghost bitches" could get my mind away from the personal sorrows at hand.

A week away to tend to the sorrows at hand, and I felt a little more ready to face the crowds for the next outing already on my calendar, Silent Sky by Lauren Gunderson at Ford's Theatre. Science, history, feminism, families, problem solving, romance, humor--a few of the starry elements crossing the sky. The tourist-heavy and generally youthful audience was exuberant and gave a well-deserved standing ovation. I love standing ovations at Sunday matinees. I always smile and say to Edward Duke, "See? They're not the worst houses!"

Ballet, theater ... two of the couches I crawl onto for my art therapy. The other is museums, particularly art museums.

Yesterday's excursion to the National Gallery of Art was inspired by the Washington Post review by Sebastian Smee (author of The Art of Rivalry) of the "True to Nature" exhibit. I got there in time for the 11 a.m. guided lecture and again had a delightful pre-tour chat with two like-minded strangers. Unfortunately I lost them in the crowd that followed our guide through three small and fully occupied rooms. I enjoyed what I could see, cornered by the crowd, but didn't have quite the same reflective experience Sebastian did.

Artist in a Renaissance Costume Sketching in the Arena of Nimes (1822) by Fleury Richard.

crowd

As is my custom, I went directly to the Garden Cafe for a Ladies Who Lunch lunch (alone in a smaller and quieter crowd). I think "garden cafe" is a sweet aesthetic; if and when I move, that might be my new design guide. The mouse (I think) scurrying across the floor rattled me a little, but not enough to scream out. Just pick up purse from floor and rest feet on the cafe table's ornamental iron legs.

Garden Cafe, ornamental legs and shadows

National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.: West facing East

The Sacrament of the Last Supper (1955) by Salvador Dali. (NGA link)

For the remainder of my visit, I went back to some of my favorite rooms (starting in Gallery 71) and looked more closely at pictures, observing specificity without detail (as with the True to Nature paintings).

South Room - Green Street (1920) by Daniel Garber. (NGA link)

Detail--or specificity? Light and reflection.

Wandered around some more, spending more time with each picture, including Albert Bierstadt's epic Lake Lucerne.

Lake Lucerne (1858) by Albert Bierstadt. (NGA link)

  

And many more. Please pardon the colors and blurries. Go in person. It's better.

Love, hosaa
Therapeutic art trekking

The Mahler Ballet

As promised, here is the result of my scribbling the other day while listening to the working rehearsal of Mahler's Fifth Symphony.

The Officer's Bride

Place: A seaside market town.

Time: About when they usually place stories like this, vaguely 19th century.

I

A rising storm bodes ill. War is imminent. The villagers are aware their young men will be called away, but their fears are abstract and distant. Life goes on, markets are busy, and there's a big wedding to prepare for: the mayor's daughter, Barbara, and her betrothed, the handsome officer Gregor.

As the young men march into the square in their identical uniforms, Barbara laughingly pretends not to recognize any of them, though they are all her childhood friends and the sweethearts of her bridesmaids. Barbara tells all her friends to give their sweethearts a handkerchief in his favorite color--a token to remind him he is unique and loved. Barbara gives Gregor a crimson handkerchief, which he kisses and tucks into his coat.

The call to war is heard, alarming the mothers of all the young, inexperienced soldiers. The fathers try to assure their wives and advise their sons.

II

A month later, a witness arrives to describe the battle. As mothers mourn and fathers put on a brave front, the Mayor (Barbara's father) questions the witness further. They learn that it was not their sons who fought in this particular battle, but their turn may soon come.

III

Barbara attempts to keep her friends' spirit up by making them continue preparing for the wedding. She tells them how she and Gregor met and fell in love. And she asks her friends each in turn, Was it not this way for you? Her friends dance while waving their brightly colored scarves, which match the colored kerchiefs they gave their sweethearts, 

IV

Months pass; the war is over, and the men are to return. They were victorious in their battle, but the villagers are aware many will not return. The wedding preparations have turned into a welcome home, but it is tinged with dread.

One by one, the uniformed soldiers return, each greeted by his sweetheart all dressed in his special color. the square is filled with a joyous, multicolored bouquet of humanity.

V

As the square clears, Barbara is alone, in her bridal white, but with a black mourning scarf over her shoulders. Her Gregor has not returned. The villagers, in mourning black, attempt to revive her spirits. She dances with all her friends' sweethearts, but she reunites them each with their true loves, telling them all to be happy. This is the life that her Gregor fought and died to secure for them.

Barbara's father drapes his mayoral sash over her shoulders, declaring her his logical successor to lead the village. As the men of the village lift her on their shoulders, she lifts her mourning scarf over her head. She flips it over and holds the crimson side upwards, showing it to Gregor in heaven.

Nutcracker Versus The Rats

Back from the first preview performance last night of Round House Theatre's production of The Nutcracker, subtitled "A New Holiday Musical" in the banner ads, but unofficially subtitled, "No, Not That Nutcracker."

Not that that Nutcracker doesn't already have a mad kaleidoscope of variations available for public display, at least in the dance world. Those of us who grew up with the Baryshnikov version (with his then-girlfriend Gelsey Kirkland as Clara dancing all the juiciest roles) are sometimes surprised by the many different ways that the story and the steps can be rearranged. The one that made the most sense to me (and yes, even fantasy needs to make sense) was the Washington Ballet's version at GWU's Lisner Auditorium a couple of decades ago.

The RHT's production of the Hoffmann fairy tale focuses on a family tragedy that interrupts Christmas, and its impacts on the impressionable Clara (is it a nightmare or a nervous breakdown?). At least one major plot point is retained here, in Clara's defeat of the Rat King. (At last year's Joffrey overproduction, if Clara threw her slipper at the fiend, I missed it in the busyness of the stagecraft.)

Oh, sorry, should that have had a spoiler alert? No, the real spoiler here is in the design and staging of the Rat King himself. Honestly, that was my favorite part of this production.

Less successful to me were the fits and starts in the scenes, some empty aural and visual gaps, and a few technical glitches and unevenness in the actors' body mics. Those could just be early-in-the-run issues, but there was just an overall unevenness in the tone throughout.

Even the costume design seemed uneven, with all the imagination going into the dolls and rats, and the "contemporary" family dressed in generic Mid-Twentieth-Century Nostalgia.

I would also like to have seen the musicians and conductor, since this production actually bothered to have live music!

Costume sketch for "Phoebe" doll by Helen Huang (Costume and Puppet Designer), image via Facebook

But the dolls and rats were all delightful, though of course it's disappointing to see a couple of my favorite actors (Erin Weaver, Will Gartshore) buried in makeup design. Oh, well. Their talent couldn't be buried. The Phoebe doll (Weaver) used her pull-chord-triggered recorded phrases with assertive, plot-turning emphasis: "I'm afraid of the dark!" (Cue: hey, let's turn on the lights.)

The updated story no doubt touches a chord in most families--dealing with the loss of a loved one at holiday time. I'm just not sure it's a great way to start celebrating the holidays. Sometimes we just need to make cookies.

Love, hosaa
making cookies

The Nutcracker
Round House Theatre, Bethesda, Maryand, through December 28, 2014
Director: Joe Clarco
Created by Tommy Rapley, Jake Minton (book and lyrics), Phillip Klapperich (book), and Kevin O’Donnell (music), based on the story by E.T.A. Hoffmann

Cast:
Clara: Lauren Williams
David (Clara's father), Rat, Teddy: Mitchell Hébert
Martha (Clara's mother), Rat, dance captain: Sherri L. Edelen
Drosselmeyer, Rat: Lawrence Redmond
Fritz, Nutcracker: Vincent Kempski
Monkey (sock toy): Will Gartshore
Hugo (robot toy): Evan Casey
Phoebe (doll): Erin Weaver

Music director: William Yanesh
Scenic designer: James Kronzer
Costume and pupped designer: Helen Huang
Lighting designer: Daniel MacLean Wagner
Sound designer: Matthew M. Nielsen
Props master: Jennifer Crier Johnston
Dramaturg: Sarah Scafidi

Flying Art in Bethesda

Back from the Bethesda Row Arts Festival yesterday, going in for day two today. I knew as soon as I saw the flying elephant from last year--and in the same spot along Woodmont Ave.--that I'd be seeing some familiar work this weekend.

Though I was keeping my eye out for new stuff among the wood and fabric and metal and glass works and the photos and paintings, I really did want to check in first to see if Brad Pogatetz was back. And there he was, in the same spot as last year, and with as many folks flocking into his tiny booth as before. (See my previous report, "Art of Devastation.")

Bethesda Row (Maryland) Arts Festival, Oct. 18, 2014 - Brad Pogatetz's booth. Photo by C. G. Wagner

Brad Potatetz (left) takes a break at the Bethesda Row Arts Festival, Oct. 18, 2014. Photo by C. G. Wagner

I got to chat with him briefly, and joked that I thought I could point out the pieces that were new since last year. One of the "devastation" images that caught my eye was the gigantic rusted industrial hook hanging from an abandoned warehouse or factory, shot from below so that the eye traces frayed ropes to the opening in the ceiling above. Brad confirmed that this was a newer image, and he used it on one of his new business cards. (I didn't spot it online, but check out his New Work under Galleries at his site.)

The subjects in Brad's photographs are abandoned human spaces--factories, stadiums, depots. Naturally, I am curious about their stories, but as an artist, Brad is attracted to patterns, colors, lights and shadows.

I asked him if he thought about putting together a book: "Yes!" he replied quickly and brightly. He said he gets asked that question a lot, and I confessed I probably asked him the same thing last year.

Sample business cards, text added.

So, what else is on display? Again, maybe I'm seeing too much of the same thing, and not much stands out anymore. I love the wearable art, the beautiful garments in varieties of fabrics. But it is too tempting to my compromised budget, so I had to pass those booths and admire from afar.

What did stand out were the flying sculptures. Right, mobiles. The Calderesque whimsies by Bud Scheffel cast interesting shadows on the booth's backdrop and soaring silhouettes against the bright blue autumn sky.

Bethesda Row Arts Festival, Oct. 18, 2014 - Bud Scheffel's booth. Photo by C. G. Wagner

Bethesda Row Arts Festival, Oct. 18, 2014 - mobiles by Bud Scheffel. Photo by C. G. Wagner

Bethesda Row Arts Festival, Oct. 18, 2014. Mobile by Bud Scheffel. Photo by C. G. Wagner

On the other side of the street, air space was claimed by another metal artist, Michael Gard, whose balletic forms danced through light and re-created space with their shadows.

Bethesda Row Arts Festival - Oct. 18, 2014. Michael Gard's booth. Photo by C. G. Wagner

Bethesda Row Arts Festival - Oct. 18, 2014. Sculptures by Michael Gard. Photo by C. G. Wagner

Bethesda Row Arts Festival - Oct. 18, 2014. Sculptures by Michael Gard. Photo by C. G. Wagner

Love, hosaa

Looking up, seeing dance

Their Chéri

I've mentioned before that my favorite pieces of theater incorporate choreography in the staging; two examples from Round House Theatre in past seasons were Around the World in 80 Days and (astonishingly) Lord of the Flies.

So the theater-as-dance model was turned on its head in Martha Clarke's brilliant Chéri staged at the Kennedy Center, giving audiences the opportunity to see brilliant artists from dance (Alessandra Ferri and Herman Cornejo) demonstrate their acting abilities. Normally at the ballet, acting extends only a millimeter or two beyond the pantomimes of silent films, with a stock of simple gestures and expressions to convey. But Ferri and Cornejo took their characters' emotional journey through a narrative of real and tactile emotions, spinning out the repeated gestures of passion from playful to bitter, through anguish and shame.

Alessandra Ferri as Lea, Herman Cornejo as Cheri. Unidentified photographer, via Kennedy Center

Rounding out the theatrical side of the production was the exquisite Amy Irving as the mother of young lover Cheri and friend of the aging femme Lea. Irving's star quality has never been so sparkling, yet there was no question of her stealing the stage from Ferri and Cornejo, who brought the dreamlike musical selections (Ravel, Debussy, Mompou, Poulenc, et al.), performed by Sarah Rothenberg on solo piano, to full-fleshed life.

Though she didn't dance, Irving moved eloquently and elegantly through the narrative to create an emotional pas de tois, creating tension between two loves: maternal and carnal. Irving was perfectly cast as the controlled and controlling matron, witty, wise, and tragic.

With such an unusual form of theatrical experience, mixing drama, ballet, and concert, the audience may feel a little uncertain about when to clap and when not to. After a brilliant piece of dancing in, say, Don Quixote, you know you're allowed to offer some thunderous appreciation. But this production was more of a chamber piece, and the presence of Rothenberg on stage served as a reminder to treat the production as one would a concert. The moments between movements were for breath catching, and the spell was unbroken for 65 minutes.

love, hosaa
mesmerized