Tackling Difficult Issues

Large issues are easier to understand and synthesize when they are presented in humanized form. I spent my Thursday (which is my Monday in work days) evening and treated myself impromptuly to Stages Repertory Theatre's production of Eric Coble's "Southern Rapture." The last work I had seen of Eric's dealt with a family desperate need for their toddler to be in the right social circles that they end up committing murder to ensure his admission to an exclusive school. Hilarious. I expected the same out of "Southern Rapture" with the addition of one enticing attribute: nudity.

Eric Coble traces the cold to boiling progress of a variety of huge conceptual issues. Censorship, public support of controversial art, the definition of art, the purpose of art, and the fine line between certain artistic content and moral decency. All in about 2 hours. By humanizing the issues, Coble truly makes us look through a cubist perspective: through all angles at the same time.

The story traces the cordial friendship of a small southern town mayor in Georgia and a theater director who decides to put on a play dealing with homosexual issues including a short nude scene where an aids infected young man gets his penis inspected for lesions. Pressure from church and society groups encourages the mayor to first suggest the play not be done, then using legal powers to prevent the performance ending with failed behind the scenes negotiations until the play went on. In essence, the struggle between the characters is a microcosm of the struggles between public funding organizations and progressive and "questionable" art movements.

Best quotes and general thoughts of the night, and excuse me if I get these wrong. They were stored in my head:

"Government was no part in deciding what is art and what it isn't. You artists pushed the envelope to cause controversy and public outcry, now we have to. We were happy not caring"

"You are spiritual and cultural pollution."

"Government either funds everything, of funds nothing."

"I'm not a lesbian. I am just hard to live with."

Art continues to expand its own vocabulary. Classical arts were easily identifiable. Visual art was on a frame. Sculpture was recognizable. Music was within parameters. Theater was narrative. Dance had rules. Today, lines blur. Performance art redefines genres. Technology expands artistic possibilities. Global connections encourages cultural collaborations. Our definition no longer has clean boundaries. We are forced to come up with parameters, however the task is impossible. So what does art do:

Expresses? Symbolizes? Decorates? Entertains? Contemplates? Challenges? Questions? Represents? Contemplates? Perplexes? Angers? Soothes? Connects? Relates? Narrates? Records? Explains?

The list goes on. I'd like to think that art makes me think. Thus this blog.

You have to go. For tickets, contact Stages Repertory Theatre.

Photos by Bruce Bennett

(L-R) Pamela Vogel as socialite Alissa Marchand, Jovan Jackson as Emmett, Jon

L. Egging as Mickey Stedman

Growing Up

Lately, I have been obsessed with feeling like a tourist at home. It is often that visitors visit Houston's best while the locals concentrate of work and no play. Ever think how ridiculous it is to wait until we are out of town to enjoy the things that other cities have but seldom make time an effort to enjoy what we have right here?

A place I love to frequent is the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston Sculpture Garden at the North East corner of Bissonnet and Montrose. Especially during temperate weather, one can spend many hours being enchanted, confused, and perhaps a little perplexed by the works on display here. Two bronze sculptures always take my breath away. Rodin "The Walking Man" is rich in texture, playing on light and shadows. I remember distinctly my art teacher Lucy Durkin explaining how Rodin makes her just want to touch the works. The texture and play is completely sensual. http://www.mfah.org/sculpturegarden/artworks.asp?pid=1&aid=1

Matisse also has 4 works on display here. Back I, II, III and IV and spanning 21 years of artistic history. The portray the artists concept growth from 1909 to 1930. It gives me a sense of the character growth as the emphasis from anatomical and mannerist representation is abandoned in favor of a formalized and soft geometric approach.

Do you know how you feel when you look at pictures of yourself from 10 years ago? It is amazing to remember where you were, how you were, and more importantly, how you were feeling (although sometimes what were you thinking is appropriate). I feel these give us a deep look inside the artistic concept, and trace trends over 21 years.

Art and Jerry Springer

It can be plausible to assume that some may find the classical arts somewhat boring. Perhaps due to a lack of syntax or one's inability to understand arts language, it can lead to feeling quite disconnected from the aesthetic experience.

I have been in a tear to feel like I am a tourist in my own city. Strange concept right? True. We often do not take advantage of the things we have right here right now, and wait until we are in strange far away lands to venture to museums, happenings, and the such. Well, today things change for you. I am giving you permission, actually, I am challenging you to behave like a tourist and explore where you are. Right here, right now.

I have been attending the "gallery talks" at the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston. These are short tours, 1 hour at the most focusing on one subject matter, sometimes even just on one work. They are led by volunteer docents that have a love and passion for the arts, and make the tour fun, accessible, and educational. I learned something terribly naughty and reminded me that sometimes there is such drama surrounding the arts, that the history behind certain works is just worthy of it's own Jerry Springer show. Here is the story of Maurice Utrillo.

His mother Suzanne Valadon (changed her name from Marie-Clementine) became an artists model after a fall from a circus trapeze ended her career as an acrobat. She figuratively and literaly took of her clothes for infamous personalities like Berthe Morisot, Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, and later Edgar Degas who became her mentor.Out of these affairs came Maurice, and the following anecdotal story. Included is her self-portrait on display at MFAH.

"After Maurice was born to Suzanne Valadon, she went to Renoir, for whom she had modeled nine months previously. Renoir looked at the baby and said, 'He can't be mine, the color is terrible!' Next she went to Degas, for whom she had also modeled. He said, 'He can't be mine, the form is terrible!' At a cafe, Valadon saw an artist she knew named Miguel Utrillo, to whom she spilled her woes. The man told her to call the baby Utrillo: 'I would be glad to put my name to the work of either Renoir or Degas." ('Parting With the Family van Gogh' in the New York Times, April 22, 2006)

The painting below is by Maurice Utrillo (1883-1955) circa 1914, oil on canvas and on display at MFAH. To add to twists, the central house pictured here in the middle of the street (rue Mont-Cenis) belonged to Mimi Pinson, an eccentric woman appearing in many literary and musical works, who happened to be the model for Puccini's La Boheme.

A little drama is always good in terms of art. In this case, it heightened my enjoyment of seemingly beautiful yet somewhat boring and unremarkable works. Reminds me of Daniel Pink's "A Whole New Mind" where he hypothesizes that due to the three A's, Asia, Automation, and Abundance (remedial jobs can be outsourced, technology makes repetitive tasks easy, and we have more "things" than ever in history), we are drawn to seek a deeper meaning. In that search, we play. In play, we tell stories. The same can be applied to people. Often we dismiss based on physical assumptions. Rich stories, histories (whether dramatic or not) and experiences can provide us so many more life lessons.

La Femme Fatale and Remembrance

Give it to the French to pack so much drama in every minute of a work. Manon, although I was definitely more familiar with the opera, was exquisite and scandalous, as much as classical ballet would allow, and perhaps a hint more. Here are some of the themes encountered:

- Prostitution

- Sex

- Adultery

- Gambling

- Cheating

- Fighting/Murder

- Corruption

How much more French can we get? Originally novel by Antoine François Prévost and published in 1731, part of the story takes place in the swamps of Louisiana and New Orleans. It is a tragic love story where the protagonists have to decide between love and wealth, ending up dead and penniless. I can safely assume that most would not expect classical ballet to explore such subjects outside of Italian cinema, but the beauty of ballet, is that you can, and still call it high art. I can also assume that deep inside all our psyche's, we'd all love to be the enchantress femme fatale having seductive powers through beauty, charm, and allure that drives others to obsession, exhausting, insanity and irrational behavior.

As I was facebooking and twittering during the second intermission (yes the work is long, very long, and always think that extremely long works are pompous and self-indulgent, no matter how good they are), I looked at the date, froze, and my disposition changed. I suddenly had a blast of the past, clearly remembering where I was the night before and the morning of the fateful day of 9/11.

I had gone to bed early. I was a first year grad student at Rice University, Shepherd School of Music, having taken one-year off to work prior to starting my Master's Degree. I was full of energy, with a strong appetite for academic knowledge, and had set up a nice little routine for myself. Tuesday mornings went this like: Yoga class, practice flute, aesthetics class, practice, flute lesson, opera class, then off to Memorial High School to teach. My schedule was predictable, but my practice time was often filled with moments of blurriness, as often, one does not remember what you are doing all the time.

That particular morning, I had taken my flute and began warming up in my aesthetics classroom prior to anyone being there. Paganini Caprices were my project thanks to my teacher instilling a love/hate relationship with them during my undergrad years. Something was odd. It was 5 minutes to class, and no one was here. I started to worry that I was in the wrong place, or perhaps we were to meet somewhere else for a special something. I ignored myself and went on. After all, darn it, I was going to nail and sail through a technical passage that was giving me trouble.

Now it was class time, and again, no one was there. Half on hour went by, and no one was there.

My friend Katie Young (a ridiculously fabulous oboist with whom I share a long musical and very personal history as we went to undergrad and grad school together, at the time we were working on putting together the Ginastera flute oboe duo) called and said, "we are being attacked." Those words meant nothing at that time. Attacked? What does that mean? I left terrorism and fear (I thought) when we left Peru in the height of the shinning path movement in 1989. Is there suddenly a raid against emerging classical musicians? Those words had no meaning to me as they were out of context in my personal realm of possibility.

The rest of the day was a blur. I remember watching the news at the student center, watching people tear up, and being panic stricken at the realization that many had not heard from some friends and family living or visiting NYC. I cancelled my lessons to be taught later at Memorial High School, and spent the day numb.

Those immediately close to me were not harmed. But many folks within 2 degrees of separation were. Today, I put my flags half mast to think about them, the millions affected, and the millions who helped. I suppose the rain is very appropriate today.

Here is a recording of Katie and I playing the Ginastera Duo for Flute and Oboe. The second movement is quite eerie.

http://www.houstongrandopera.org/

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manon_Lescaut

A Foreign Film as Beethoven

Well, this was interesting. As I was browsing for things to do on a Friday night, I came across two things that caught my eye. The first was a Houston based baroque music ensemble doing a Mexican Fiesta in an outdoor theater. With the threat of rain, I opted against it and put plan B into action: sped to the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, for a screening of Teorema, a 1968 Italian film by Pier Paolo Pasolini that has over the years gained a cult like status.

Without consciously realizing it, this would serve to evaluate my previous metaphor of Beethoven and foreign films, although not fully as I would not have the opportunity to watch it silently, without subtitles, and gain absolute command of the Italian language and its colloquialisms. Spanish is close to Italian so I was able to piece a few things together.

I did not know much about the work prior. All I knew was the title and the short description provided by the museum:

"One of the key films of the 1960s, Teorema stars Terence Stamp as a Christ-like figure who wanders out of the dunes and into the home of a Milanese industrialist. He seduces each member of the household: mother (Silvan Mangano), father, son, daughter, the maid. All are spiritually transformed by their sexual encounters, and when the visitor disappears just as mysteriously as he arrived, each develops strange ways to deal with the anguish of his absence. Teorema has been interpreted as both mystical and Marxist; Pasolini himself said it illustrates "the vendetta of the sacred against bourgeois society." The film was seized at the Venice film festival and charged with obscenity. Today it enjoys cult status."

Well, I suppose this is quite a lot of information. The title intrigued me as I could translated it into "theorem." In mathematics, a theorem is a statement proved on the basis of accepted statements. The concept of a theorem is deductive, where if the hypothesis are true, then the conclusions must be true (opposite from scientific theory). That tells me that Pasolini was trying to prove something out of a series of hypothesis. Given then content of the film, I'd say his commentary is rather pompous.

Historical knowledge and context is important, and I'd argue essential. Without knowledge and general background on the Industrial Revolution, the rise of the bourgeois and conflicts with the proletariats, Marxism's harsh commentary on capitalism, and post-war conditions, the viewer has a huge leeway to interpret and reinterpret missing the continuum that exists within each art discipline. Michael Kimmelman in the "Accidental Masterpiece" speaks about works whose interpretation depends on their physical context (like Nancy Holt's Sun Tunnels, the Vatican, anything that cannot be physically moved for aesthetic of practical reasons). Can the argument be made that this film cannot be taken out of its historical context due to the same reasons? It would become another work, and clearly, even the artist claimed a specific purpose. Of course, in today's standards, is it acceptable to become another work?

The first portion of the film goes to establish the industrialist bourgeois family in their context. Students running carelessly, cars, boys and girls holding hands, and a couple falling in love. In this case, visually it's quite innocent, but it is the music that provides the bitter commentary. Berg-esque and almost to the point of atonal expressionism, the music provides the viewer the notion that although the pictures are providing one affect, the music is providing the context in which the scene is to be interpreted and judged. I'll leap and propose that without all the elements intended present, the aesthetic experience is greatly compromised in regards to questioning the integrity of the bourgeois. Interesting to note that Ennio Morricone composed the music for this film.

The film is in three clear parts. The first are the seductions, where the Christ-like figure engages with each member of the family. The second are the confessions, where upon learning of his departure, they verbally vomit their psychological state and his effect on them. The third is there psychotic manifestation of the effect of something coming in and out of their lives, living out their void.

There is much room for personal interpretation also. Dialogue is minimal, but expression is abundant. We can guess at the internal struggle of each character, sometimes being able to personally connect, other times being separated from the subject by our inability to understand. I think Pasolini purposely gives these moments of blurriness (as my lovely friend Florence would say) to connect aesthetically.

Wherever dialogue is used, it is to further the development in ways that images cannot. It would give us too much blurriness and miss the overall psychological struggles of each character. Perhaps equating this to tonal syntax, it enables us to dig deeply into the past themes, present variations, and clues (foreshadowing) into future possibilities.

I can't say that I have am comfortable accepting my hypothesis as I don't believe there is a concrete and stable scale to determine our enjoyment, appreciation, and understanding of a work. Film still gives us a more representational approach, although in Pasolini's case, it is high symbolic and I'd leap a little higher in attempting a comparison. Perhaps one of these days, I'll do the whole experiment, and see what I can "understand" from each stage. I think it's worth a shot.

Beethoven as a Foreign Film

In an art essay discussion group at the Contemporary Arts Museum Houston, we recently discoursed over the concept of "pilgrimage" to view, experience, and have an aesthetic experience with a work. The author was mainly citing works that are site specific, meaning, those that cannot be moved out of the space in which they currently exist for either physical reasons or due to aesthetic loss due to spatial context.

For better or for worse, I tend to always correlate my understanding of visual art to how I conceptualize musical syntax. I made a comparison that looking at the Mona Lisa is like listening to Beethoven, while looking (or visiting) Nancy Holt's Sun Tunels (pictured here) is like listening to John Cage. The latter asks the participant to play a more active role in the interaction with the work in order to appreciate it, understand it and respond appropriately and aesthetically. They are also site and time specific. Meaning, the interpretation of the work is dependent on the circumstances and the space at that particular time. On retrospect, I should have also listed George Crumb.

At the risk of sounding elitist (which I did), I responded at the suggestion that some would find Beethoven's music boring. In that case I proposed, there would most likely be a lack of understanding and knowledge of his musical language and syntax. I equate this to someone saying they don't get Shakespeare. Let me clarify that I do not believe that all types of music can be thought of as language, just like not all art is dependent upon its surroundings and context for interpretation, appreciation and understanding.

On my way home I came up with the following understanding and appreciation metaphor. Let's think of a Beethoven Symphony as an Italian (or any foreign) film. We can:

1. Watch it without sound

This to me would be the equivalent of hearing it for the first time without any prior knowledge of classical music syntax, whether conscious or unconscious. There would be some basic understanding of the story line by visual depiction only but a lot of the nuances, themes, secondary plots, and sounds that are not related to the picture would be missed. Also, certain parts would make completely sense while others would remain a undecipherable. I also compare this to reading only sections of a book at random and trying to get full understanding from this experiment. Being that music occurs at a specific moment, it would be quite understandable that the viewer would tune in and out and miss key components that add to the character and plot development.

2. Watch it with sound but with no knowledge of the language or one related to (like spanish and Italian)

I consider this like hearing it and being familiar with classical music in general terms. In this case, external sounds and general speech nuances will give us a better understanding of the expression behind the meaning. Certain sounds are universal. We can easily identify certain emotions but in some cases, without understanding their raison d'être. Scenes where language is used mainly for plot development will be completely lost. In relation to music, this would be like not being able to recognize a theme and its variations.

3. Watch it with subtitles

I equate this to knowing basic music syntax, music theory harmony and general musical forms. Although appreciation can happen at the above levels, I believe true understanding perhaps begins here. Still, we miss the nuances of the original language, missing any specific idiosyncratic linguistic attributes that are lost in translation.

4. Watch it with full command of the academic version of the language

A full grasp, command, and understanding of tonal systems, perhaps with a lack of historical context of the norms of the time period, this is like understanding academically every line in the movie, but missing colloquialisms that may (or may not) enhance its communicative efficacy.

5. Watch it with full command of the colloquial language and its context

Perhaps this is where understanding, appreciating, interpreting, and aesthetic interaction meet. Although this is perhaps an utopian idea, it is the place to strive for to decipher and understand Beethoven's syntax. I think those that have experienced it on period instruments could attest for the difference in sound and affect this imposes on the performer and listener.

I am reminded myself of the many times when I am sitting next to my better half, who speaks several languages, watching television in an idiom I do not understand, stopping and asking every 5 seconds: what are they saying? What is happening? I am sure he finds this extremely annoying. I grasp somethings, but most is lost. With movies being mostly representational (you recognize concretely what you see) and music being mainly symbolic (through abstracting expression), I think it would be easy to adopt a feeling of appreciation without understanding.

I am reminded of Partner's in Building (a Houston custom builder) website a year or so ago. The flash site started with a series of exterior and interior pictures of their product with an instrumental version of Madonna's "Ray of Light." Those not familiar with the lyrics of the song, would miss that the chorus repeats "and I feel like I just got home." I would argue without this knowledge one would miss a rather large part of the presentation's message.

Am I being elitist by suggesting the same with music? Or perhaps just realistic?

More on Nancy Holt

Contemporary Arts Museum Houston

Finding my Perfect 5th

The Rothko Chapel never seizes to amaze me. Founded by John and Dominique de Menil, it was dedicated in 1971 as an intimate sanctuary available to people of every belief. A modern meditative environment inspired by the mural canvasses of American abstract expressionist Mark Rothko, the Chapel welcomes thousands of visitors each year, people of every faith and from all parts of the world.

I frequent their lectures series "Twelfth Moments of Meditation" where leaders of a myriad of faiths lead participants in practice. Additionally, it serves as a forum to ask questions about their dogma, specific place in relation to other doctrines, and the leader's personal relationship with the religion. I have attended many, but this one was particularly humorous to me with addition of chant and drumming.

The Nichiren Shu Buddhist Meditation was led by Reverend Myokei Caine-Barrett. The main chant was the title of the Lotus Sutra (a discourse delivered by the Buddha toward the end of his life): Myōhō Renge Kyō. It started as a steady drone, slowly increasing tempo and dynamic level (and pitch) until we suddently stopped. It was highly tantric, somewhat hypnotic, and very very exotic.

The problem came when I was not satisfied chanting in unison, after all, the perfect 5th has a wonderful ring, where the resulting vibrations are strong and almost ticklish. So I ventured and sang, well, hummed the harmony. At first, it felt good, so my hum turned into a strong chant, gradually of course, Then I added a little glisssando to the pitch, after all, it seemed stylistically appropriate, and it was so much fun. As I was engaging myself in more of a musical game, I realized I was missing the whole point.

Of course, by this time, the whole group, including the leader seemed to have modulated to some unrecognizable interval. Well, I should specify, some of the group modulated and some where left behind. I had a lovely Italian lady next to me (who I recognized from last month's Bahai meditation) who decided she was going to stay right in pitch so I struggled to find either her perfect 5th, of the leader's. I noticed my pitch swimming around like a wide nanny goat vibrator until I found a pitch that wasn't terribly horrific. Eventually, everyone modulated, of course, by this time, we had again moved higher to another pitch level. I was doomed.

Well at least I had fun trying. Perhaps I didn't have the aesthetic and spiritual experience I had hoped for, but It was definitely an entertaining experience worth writing about. I did find my perfect 5th, but it wasn't for long.

http://www.rothkochapel.org/index.htm

http://www.nichiren-shu.org/Houston/pages/minister.htm