Four favorite songs from past decades
‘Chelsea Morning’ by the incomparable Joni Mitchell:
The whole song is marvel of terrific lyrics and infectious melody. The line that particularly stays with me is “The sun poured in like butterscotch and stuck to all my senses.”
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Two songs that tell a story. First, ‘Hotel California.’ This song tells a disturbing yet compelling story and ends with this ominous line: “You can check out any time you like but you can never leave.” According to Don Henley. the song is about “…a journey from innocence to experience … that’s all” You can make up your own mind.
I’m no expert, but that virtuoso guitar playing, especially at the end, seems pretty extraordinary to me.
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How can we ever thank Gordon Lightfoot for writing a ballad that could have come out of a previous century. In simple, straightforward language, he tell a heartbreaking – and true – story:
‘The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee
Superior, they said, never gives up her dead
When the gales of November come early.’
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Finally, Linda Rondstadt with The Eagles, a band she helped found. ‘Desperado,’ it seems to me, is a song she was born to sing:
Hans Holbein the Younger
An exhibit featuring the works of Hans Holbein the Younger is currently to be seen at the Morgan Library and Museum in Manhattan. The exhibit is entitled “Holbein: Capturing Character.”
The artist’s famed portrait of Sir Thomas More has been conveyed downtown from the Frick Collection in order to be part of this showing.
I’ve known this painting my whole life. I’ve spent many hours in front of it, gazing intently, hypnotized. It has always been for me a sort of summation of the endlessly fascinating history of England. (I was especially delighted to encounter Holbein himself in the pages of Hilary Mantel’s magnum opus, Wolf Hall. )
And by the way, Holbein Senior was no slouch either, as I learned from Franny Moyle’s biography The King’s Painter.
Peter Scheldahl, who writes about art – wonderfully – for The New Yorker, covered this exhibit in the magazine’s February 28 issue. In particular, he describes a work that is not part of the installation at the Morgan. He first saw it where it resides in the Kunstmuseum in Basel, Switzerland. It made an unforgettable impression him, as it has on many others, including myself:
Tantalizing hints of unfulfilled potential attend much of [Holbein the Younger’s] tyro work, notably one of the most indelibly shocking images of all time, “The Dead Christ in the Tomb” (1521-1522). The painting, measuring a foot high and six and a half feet wide, depicts a gruesomely putrefying corpse that, if unearthed, could present only a sanitation problem. Famously, Dostoyevsky’s encounter with the picture, in 1867, shook his Christian faith and obsessed him thereafter, figuring as a philosophical provocation a year or so later in his novel “The Idiot.”
Scheldahl adds parenthetically: “The work is not in the Morgan show but I will not forget, no matter how hard I try, my own first look, in the Kustmuseum Basel, at that…what? That thing.”
But the portraits for which Holbein is best known are those he made in England, of King Henry VIII:
Now, go back and gaze once more at these extraordinary images while you listen to some music of the period: Ave Maria by Josquin des Pres and Cantate Domino by Claudio Monteverdi. The Monteverdi is a bit later than Holbein’s time, but I love it and wanted to include it here.
Need for the Solace of Beauty
This work resides in the Groeningenmuseum in Bruges, Belgium. It was painted between 1434 and 1436 by Jan van Eyck. To me, it is somewhere beyond beautiful, even approaching perfection. Art historian Carel Huydecoper offers an enlightening explication. You can enjoy his talk, or simply stare, and be mesmerized – or both.
While you are gazing on the painting, you can listen to Panis Angelicus, an exquisite short piece of sacred music by César Franck. I’ve long known about the version with Pavarotti and the children’s choir of Montreal’s Notre-Dame Basilica. But the version below came as a surprise to me – and a pleasant one that I wasn’t expecting:
Here is Pavarotti at the Notre-Dame Basilica:
Post for the Christmas Season, 2021
So, this year is not ending on the upbeat, carefree note we were all hoping for. Nevertheless, there is still beauty in the world to be thankful for. I would like to share several of my favorite art works and musical performances with you.
I’ve taken several art courses over the past year, and they’ve given me many precious images to contemplate. A course in the Harlem Renaissance served to remind me how many terrific African American artists deserve a closer look.
Jacob Lawrence:
Steel workers
This Is Harlem
Faith Ringgold:
We Came To America
Jazz Quilt
I was also introduced to some artists whose work was well worth getting to know.
Elizabeth Catlett:
Homage to Black Women Poets
Playmates
Kara Walker:
Black out Silhouettes Then and Now
In May of 2014, Kara Walker created a work of public art entitled A Subtlety, or the Marvelous Sugar Baby, an Homage to the unpaid and overworked Artisans who have refined our Sweet tastes from the cane fields to the Kitchens of the New World on the Occasion of the demolition of the Domino Sugar Refining Plant. It is so…well, I’ll let this video do the explaining:
I also took a class entitled “Gustav Klimt and the Viennese Secessionist Movement.” It was a revelation. All I knew about Klimt was the The Kiss:
and Portrait of Adele Bloch Bauer I, also known as The Woman in Gold or The Lady in Gold:
This painting was the subject of the famous legal battle that was fought between the Austrians, claiming that the work was rightfully theirs, and Maria Altmann, a niece of Adele’s husband Ferdinand. Maria, who was living in California at the time, claimed that the Nazis had stolen the painting during the war and that she was its rightful owner.
The story is told in the book The Lady in Gold by Anne-Marie O’Connor. There’s also a film, Woman in Gold, starring Helen Mirren as Maria Altmann. Worth watching, especially to see Helen Mirren doing her usual superb work:
Our instructor took us beyond Klimt’s so-called gold period, to his later work which consisted primarily of landscapes. These I found utterly enchanting:
Apple Tree One
Farm Garden with Sunflowers
Slope in a Forest on Atterslee Lake
Sebastian Smee is a journalist whose writing about art combines insight with a rare eloquence. He absolutely outdid himself in a recent article in the Washington Post in which he analyzes and rhapsodizes on the subject of a painting attributed to the great Jan van Eyck: Saint Francis receiving the Stigmata:
To read Smee’s article, click here.
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And now, for music and ballet.
This performance of Mozart’s final symphony, the Jupiter (No.41) knocked my proverbial socks off the first time I heard it. I shall always love it. For a new kid on the block – it was founded in 1992 – the Orquesta Sinfonica de Galicia has become a major player, especially under the baton of conductor Dima Slobodeniouk. This performance is a knockout. The final movement rises to a tremendous crescendo of pure joy. The audience went wild. I don’t blame them.
A performance of rare perfection: the Adagio from Spartacus by Aram Khatchaturian, danced by Anna Nikulina and Mikhail Lobukhin of the Bolshoi:
Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis, by Ralph Vaughan Williams. This performance takes place in Gloucester Cathedral. This is the same venue where the piece was first performed in 1903 and conducted by the composer. A writer who was present on that occasion had this to say:
The work is wonderful because it seems to lift one into some unknown region of musical thought and feeling…one is never sure whether one is listening to something very old or very new. The voices of the old church musicians are around one, and yet their music is enriched with all that modern art has done, since Debussy, too, is somewhere in the picture. It cannot be assigned to a time or a school, but it is full of visions.
I think many people feel that they could use a blessing at this time. (I know I do.) Here is an especially beautiful one, a Gaelic blessing entitled Deep Peace, written by John Rutter and sung by Libera:
At this Holiday Season, I wish everyone the best.
Christmas 2020, in Art and Music
Courtesy of the Smithsonian Associates streaming service, I recently had the great good fortune to attend via Zoom a webinar entitled ‘The Nativity in Art: Centuries of Storytelling.’ Our speaker was art historian Elaine Ruffolo.
Here are some of the images she shared with us:
Domenico Ghirlandaio
Taddeo Gaddi
Jacopo Tintoretto
Gentile da Fabriano
Lornzo Monaco
Federico Barocci
Hugo van der Goes (from the Portinari Altarpiece)
And my favorite of all these gorgeous works of art – I can’t say exactly why: Giorgione’s Adoration of the Shepherds:
Elaine Ruffolo was speaking to us live, in real time, from Florence, Italy, where she resides.
And now, some music:
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My Chicago family, at Thanksgiving. They’ve been a model of resourcefulness and buoyancy. Hopefully, I will be seeing them again, before too long. I am starved for hugs!
This has been a tough year for many of us. I believe that next year will be better. Love to all. And to my British friends: Hang in there, as you always have, with courage and resilience.
Orquesta Sinfónica de Galicia
Orquesta Sinfónica de Galicia came into existence in 1992. It is based in A Coruna, Spain. Since the orchestra’s 2013-2014 season, its conductor has been Dima Slobodeniouk.
Quotation is from the Baltimore Sun
Here is a lovely gift to us from the chorus:
This performance of Mozart’s 41st Symphony, the Jupiter, is positively breathtaking. All the joyous affirmation of this work is bodied forth, especially at the very end, Here is exultation unbound!
‘And what is so rare as a day in June….’
Then, if ever, come perfect days;
Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune,
And over it softly her warm ear lays;
Whether we look, or whether we listen,
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten;From The Vision of Sir Launfal by James Russell Lowell
This is a happy, even joyous poem, for a decidedly not joyous time. Yet it may be a worthy consolation.
Yesterday, when I stepped outside to retrieve the paper, I was greeted by a day of almost unearthly beauty: shining sun; cool, still air; intense blue sky…perfect. And yet, of course, it was very much of this earth, this very earth, which at this moment is so torn by grief and pain.
[O have mercy on us, Great Creator….]
Meanwhile, I attempted to capture the sound of the neighborhood woodpecker plying his trade. You have to strain most awfully to hear him:
Of course, I have never seen one. I would be the world’s worst birdwatcher. Neither of the following photos were taken by me. They are ‘possibles’ for woodpeckers here in the Free State:
Downy woodpecker
Red-bellied woodpecker
Pileated woodpecker
(At times, these feathered creatures may be heard rat-a-tat-tatting on the house. In those moments, we refer to them as Aluminum-siding peckers, or just Siding peckers. When they choose to engage in this activity when one is trying to nap, they are called Clueless peckers, or possibly Annoying peckers.)
Anyway, one is eternally grateful for clear, dry mornings, rare as they are in these parts. Just a few mornings ago, I was greeted by this, on our west-facing windows:
Has anyone written a poem about humidity? Probably, but I don’t know it. Music has certainly been written about spring and summer:
Solace in Beauty
I am deeply sorry for the pain being felt by many people right now in this country.
I fear that the beauty of this first day of June little avails aching hearts. So I would like to offer some words, sounds, and images of beauty, as possible solace.
Willem Kalf (1619-1693), Pronk Still Life with Holbein Bowl, Nautilus Cup, Glass Goblet and Fruit Dish
About the chambered nautilus, Wikipedia tells us this:
Nautilus shells were popular items in the Renaissance cabinet of curiosities and were often mounted by goldsmiths on a thin stem to make extravagant nautilus shell cups, such as the Burghley Nef, mainly intended as decorations rather than for use. Small natural history collections were common in mid-19th-century Victorian homes, and chambered nautilus shells were popular decorations.
Here is a cutaway view showing the configuration of the shell’s chambers: 
In his eponymous poem, Oliver Wendell Holmes wrests a deeper meaning from this curious artifact:
This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign,Sails the unshadowed main,—The venturous bark that flingsOn the sweet summer wind its purpled wingsIn gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings,And coral reefs lie bare,Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair.****************Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl;Wrecked is the ship of pearl!And every chambered cell,Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell,As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell,Before thee lies revealed,—Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed!*****************Year after year beheld the silent toilThat spread his lustrous coil;Still, as the spiral grew,He left the past year’s dwelling for the new,Stole with soft step its shining archway through,Built up its idle door,Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more.**************Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee,Child of the wandering sea,Cast from her lap, forlorn!From thy dead lips a clearer note is bornThan ever Triton blew from wreathèd horn!While on mine ear it rings,Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings:—*********************Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,As the swift seasons roll!Leave thy low-vaulted past!Let each new temple, nobler than the last,Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast,Till thou at length art free,Leaving thine outgrown shell by life’s unresting sea!****************
Gustav Mahler’s Third Symphony, final movement
I was working on something else when I came upon this. By the time it was over, I was in tears, and not fit for much else, for a while.
Thank you, Marin Alsop and the Baltimore Symphony musicians, for this rare and precious gift.
‘If you’re lookin’ for a miracle open your eyes; There was one this morning just about sunrise…’
We’ve had day after day of wet, sunless, raw weather – suitable to the current mood of the world, I guess you could say. And then, this morning, this:
And this beauty, everyday yet extraordinary, unfolding against a clear blue sky:
The title of this post comes from the lyrics to “This Island Earth.” Sung bt the Nylons, this has long been one of my YouTube favorites:
Books to the Ceiling 