I just spent a glorious two and a half days in New York City! There is no ill in the world that can not be cured within me by spending some time in New York. It's been since April when I last stepped foot there and spent the most incredible spring working at New York City Opera. This time I was there for a much shorter period but was still able to do and see so much.
On the fine art front, I went to the Guggenheim to see their "Russia!" exhibit. I actually went straight off the plane. I leaned into the cab driver and said, "Guggenheim please," and we were off. Apparently, this exhibit is the largest collection of Soviet art ever assembled outside of the Soviet States. The exhibit wound itself up the spiral of the Guggenheim's stark walls in chronological order, with the religious iconic art from the 13th century starting everything off and iron curtain art from the mid-eighties rounding out the tour in the High Gallery. I was most enthralled, I think, with the portraits and huge political realism painted during the cold war period, as well as some of the revolutionary paintings from the 1870's. There was one in particular entitled "Barge Pullers on the Volga" or something like that, which depicted a bunch of tough looking raggedy men strapped to huge leather harnesses, as they pulled a ship to shore. The individual expressions on all of their faces were what did it for me, and I found myself looking at their eyes for a good ten minutes. As exhausted as I was after closing "Fanciulla" and getting up at 5am to fly to LaGuardia, I had enough energy to get myself through that exhibit and enjoy everything I was seeing.
On the shopping front, I walked down Madison Avenue during "Miracle on Madison," a shopping fundraiser going on during the holiday season. Christmas music was piped in at every street corner and with the little dusting of snow on the ground I was in a true holiday mood. I only wish I had enough money to purchase one thing for sale in any of the shops on Madison Avenue.
On the opera front, I had a once-in-a-lifetime experience and got to see "An American Tragedy" at the Met. I had nosebleed seats but still had a perfect view of the stage and great binoculars so I could still watch facial expression. As I've come back to Miami, I've realized that the critics haven't exactly been kind to Tobias Picker, and sometimes not to the cast or production team as well. I'm not sure what to say about that other than I disagree. Some complain that it is too much about redemption and not enough about Clyde Griffiths being shallow and horrid. To that I say that the book is also about redemption. Some say it's too long. It's almost three hours (not all that long for an opera). When I got up at intermission I remember thinking to myself, "Wow, that act was really short." When I looked at my watch I realized it'd been an hour and fifteen minutes. The show seemed to speed by for me. I didn't want it to end. People have all sorts of criticism about the music to which I can't even respond. I don't have a technical background in music and can't talk about it that way. What I do know is that I found it exciting. I thought that the high society parts seemed a little musical theater-esque, but then I thought maybe they were supposed to. Everything in high society has the appearance of being tied up in a neat little bow when there are really much darker things lurking underneath. I felt the same way about some of the music. I loved the huge chunks of recitative, I loved the interludes between arias, I loved the one constant high note that permeated through the final scenes as Clyde was beyond saving. I loved the opera.
The performances were great too. I felt like the set, with it's great moving planks, brought out the best in everyone's voice as it sent the sound sailing to the back of the house. I felt like Patricia Racette got Roberta's pain exactly right and the young treble who played Clyde as a young boy gave me goose bumps. I was very happy. . . Plus, there were flurries falling as I walked out of the opera house and the city was alive with Christmas lights and buzz and I just wanted to lay down in the middle of the plaza and let the world spin around me for a few moments while I let the perfectly crafted ending sink in and the snow soak into my skin. I miss living in the North...
On the friend front, I got to see some people I rarely get a chance to have time with. I met my best friend at the hospital where she works and we took the train back together to her house in Queens. I was actually an hour early to meet her because my feet were killing me after walking down Madison and I just wanted to rest in the waiting room for a while and play my Sudoku and rest my eyes. The guy at the front desk was worried about me and how long I was waiting and no matter how much I tried to convince him that I didn't mind sitting, he wasn't buying it. I was infinitely glad when Laural finally came down in her scrubs and coat. We sat on the floor of her living room later and drank beer and ate a BLT and watched "The Family Guy" and looked through wedding photos. I couldn't have imagined a better time.
I had lunch the next morning with Brea, a dancer friend of mine who has just moved to the Big Apple and is dancing with a German choreographer named Johannes Wieland. We met at Lincoln Center and walked until I recognized a place and laughed about other dancers we knew and old stories about ridiculous times. We talked about future and career and love and cold temperatures. We walked to a coffee shop down the street and ran into a line wrapping around the block for the "King Kong" preview and passed Tony Danza while crossing the street, then I held my arm out long as we pressed our heads together back at Lincoln Center for a photograph in front of the ugliest Christmas tree I've ever seen.
I had dinner with a choreographer friend of mine who was there when I started my opera career and I can't imagine not being there to bounce ideas off of, talk to about failure, cry with over nerves and personal frustrations. We shared pasta at a little Italian hole-in-the-wall on the upper West side and caught up on our lives, loves, plans. The thought of him hooking his arm in mine and trudging down the street next to me makes me grin ear-to-ear.
I had coffee with a newer friend who shares both an artist's life and Tourette Syndrome with me. We talked about being creative, surviving critics and production week and new work, and tics. I love talking to him because I feel like I'm not alone and I felt instantly like I could say pretty much anything and he wouldn't think less of me. He is brilliant but unaffected and his power in the arts community does not seem to do anything to his outward demeanor. We sat across the table from each other and watched our tics get worse and worse as often happens when two touretters are together. There's something about the power of suggestion that makes us all start ticing worse than ever when we see the other person doing the same thing. It made us laugh and also put me into a strange sort of ease.
So, now I'm back in Miami starting prep for "Fille Du Regiment," which is a rather insipid opera but I think I will enjoy the process of putting it on stage. Mostly what gets me through my days here is thinking about the fact that John will be here in two weeks. The other thing that gets me through this week is the respite I had over the weekend.
Thank god for art. Thank god for friends. Thank god for New York.
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