John awarded me with a trip to Los Angeles for my birthday weekend. Tickets to see the much anticipated "Grendel" at LA Opera, and a night in the Omni Hotel, which is a mere two blocks away from the theater. The weekend just got better and better. . .
First, "Grendel" was quite an interesting experience. Our tickets, while staying the same price, instantly became preview tickets when the monstrosity of a set piece malfunctioned immediately before the opening last week. I was willing to allow a few technical snafus during the run of the show on Saturday afternoon, but what we got was far from that. The singers were great (espcially Eric Owens as the misunderstood monster, and the inimitable Denyce Graves as a diva of a dragon lady with a Fabulous boa!), the costumes were beautiful, the musicians were exemplary. The choreography (by Angelin Preljocaj) was fine, but I've been having hang-ups about every opera I've seen lately turning into a modern dance concert at the oddest times. This production was better about it than most, but I still think dance can be integrated more smoothly. The music had amazing moments of grandeur and wonderful bits of repose, but was in bad need of an editor's swift knife. There were far too many ponderous moments for my personal taste. When the whole thing was on, however, the whole thing was ON.
The big issue, as far as I could tell, was the incredible disregard for sight lines. I would place bets that none of the production team had ever watched any of the show from the balcony. I was sitting in the very front of the balcony and watched every set change behind the huge moving piece in the middle. Every time a stairway moved or a group of dancers entered, ready to jump through the center of the mountain that made up the relatively uninteresting set, a curtain was pulled aside in the back, and the blinding daylight came streaming through, hitting all of us in the eyes. Every time there was about to be an entrance from the created doorway in the rotating hulk of plaster in the center of the stage, I watched an asm enter from the blinding daylight beyond the curtain, and walk leisurely to the center of the stage with her mini-light-lit score in one hand, her other hand poised above her head, ready for the appropriate musical cue. I watched props people shift from hip to hip, whispering to each other, waiting for the cue to remove chairs from behind the set and take them off stage. I watched deck crew run back and forth to make sure stair cases has been set properly. What the hell was going on??? I am sure, because of the sight lines of the set, that no one in the orchestra section of the theater could see this zoo happening behind the action, but I was in the front of the balcony and was watching a completely separate show. I hope to god that someone else noticed and is doing something about the appalling masking. If it had been my show, I would have been throwing a massive fit by the time the final curtain descended.
The show has a lot of work to do to become something amazing. I'm glad I saw it though. It's always exciting to see new work - regardless of its problems. The exuberance of the singers, especially Mr. Owens, and the beautiful dancers, made it all worth it. I'll be curious to see where it goes and how it does.
In a huge stroke of luck, John and I noticed on our way to the hotel that MOCA was having some late-night event. We walked down after checking in and found that the museum was open until midnight and that Robert Rauschenberg's Combines were being shown in exhibition. I hadn't been to an art museum in so long, so we sidled past the hipsters listening to a DJ in the atrium, and walked through his incredible retrospective. We were laughing at some of the "art-speak" paragraphs under the piece descriptions. Whenever I see Rauschenberg's work, I am enchanted and love looking at all of the found objects he's placed in juxtaposition; I rarely see the need to draw any deep meaning from his use of dead animals, socks, or newspaper clippings. I loved the various bits of deconstruction going on because it seemed rather absurd when compared to the randomness of his work.
As with most art exhibits, it was great to finally see some of his pieces up close when I'd only ever seen them as tiny thumbnails in a textbook. We also took a stroll through the permanent collection, and saw another exhibit by an African-American woman named Lorna Simpson. Her work consisted of a series of similar photographs surrounded by text. Many of her pieces seemed to be about identity - as a woman, as a black woman, as a black person. I was sometimes more interested in the photographs, sometimes more interested in the text, and a couple of times thought the marriage of the two were fascinating.
And so I had an art-full weekend in the City of Angels. John did good.
We came back to San Diego this morning and rested a bit before setting out for one more bit of culture. Pat Rincon Dance Collective was holding its 8th annual Blurring Borders Festival at City College. It was great to step back into the dance scene for the first time in seven months. There was an Irish company performing that did absolutely nothing for me, but the concert held some interest as the evening went on. I was especially enamored with a duet by Elizabeth Licea and Raffaella Judd - their movement is so similar that it was often like watching the same person on opposite sides of the stage. Raffaella tells me that a longer version will premiere this summer. I'll be curious to see how it transforms.
This weekend has kicked off my creativity. My body of work begins now...
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