Review in the SF Chron

Whew, what a weekend last weekend was. Terrific performances on Friday evening and Sunday afternoon, with a whole lot of friends in the audience on Friday and a few on Sunday as well. There were a few empty seats in the back rows on Friday, but Sunday was completely sold out and Dave and I had to stand in the back of the house to watch the show. (Believe me, I don’t mind.) Sunday’s audience gave us a standing ovation, and then during the bows the cast presented Ernest Knell (our musical director) and me with a lovely gift: copies of the poster of Stella in Don Giovanni that was onstage during the show, autographed by the whole cast and framed. Oh, man, that was very, very sweet.

Last Friday morning the San Francisco Chronicle review came out. On the whole a very, very good review, though with a few odd qualifications about my libretto:

The Berkeley Opera’s lively and affecting new production of Hoffmann touches those chords with deft precision. Treading a fine line between comedy and pathos, Wednesday’s performance at the Julia Morgan Center for the Arts combined first-rate musical values with a clear dramatic and verbal focus to produce a nimble portrait of artistic self-justification.

The verbal element was the province of wordsmith David Scott Marley, whose English adaptation of the text — a revision of a script first mounted in 1999 — brought forward the combination of exuberance and longing at the heart of Hoffmann. Compared with the manic inventiveness of some of Marley’s other stage creations — including The Riot Grrrl on Mars, which transposes Rossini’s Italian Girl in Algiers into outer space, or Bat Out of Hell, his contemporary Berkeley version of Johann Strauss’ Die Fledermaus — this is a far more subdued affair.

Uh-oh. I think he’s saying he prefers my earlier, funnier films — I mean, librettos.

There is, by my count, only one topical allusion — the bankrupt House of Elias becomes the House of Lehman — and the giddy Gilbertian rhyming that is Marley’s trademark gift is rarely in evidence. And although the version is billed as being steeped in the vein of speculative fiction known as steampunk, that tradition showed up more in the costuming, with its emphasis on stovepipe hats and aviator goggles, than in the text itself.

But as a faithful and accessible English translation of a familiar work, this Hoffmann is hard to beat. The words fit Offenbach’s melodies as they were meant to, with the expansive emotional outpourings rendered as precisely as the quick-witted comic numbers.

I bristled a bit when I got to faithful and accessible English translation. My libretto is not a particularly faithful translation of any earlier version of Hoffmann, neither the authors’ original version nor anybody else’s later reconstruction, traditional or otherwise; that’s why I billed it as an “adaptation”. But then when I think about it, it’s pretty cool all the same that my version feels like a faithful translation to somebody who knows the opera; it means that my rather Jungian interpretation of the story and all my other changes come across as feeling well integrated with the opera as commonly done and not just sort of pasted on top of it. That is, after all, what I worked hard to try to achieve; if somebody who hasn’t had the time to compare my version side by side with previous versions comes away with the immediate impression that my version is “faithful” to their memories of other versions, then it’s a strong sign that I’ve succeeded in making it feel all of a single piece. And the rest of the review is very complimentary, so I’m happy, and I’m sure it steered quite a number of people into the theater on Friday and Sunday.

(Naughty of him to give away the House of Lehman joke, though. Before the review appeared, there was no particular reaction to the first mention of a failed bank, and we got a nice laugh later when the bank’s name was finally mentioned. At Friday’s and Sunday’s performances, though, that first mention of a bank failure got a huge laugh, long before the bank’s name was ever given. Oy. By the way, the joke was an interpolation just for this production; it had my OK but it’s not actually part of my libretto.)

Another Review, and More

Ooh, a terrific review from San Francisco Classical Voice, plus a separate feature article about the production on the website’s home page. From the review:

Berkeley Opera’s performance of The Tales of Hoffmann, which opened Saturday at the Julia Morgan Center, is a resounding success.

Jacques Offenbach’s opera, unfinished when he died, has been performed in widely different editions. Librettist David Scott Marley, benefitting from recent discoveries of Offenbach’s sketches for the last act, has returned to the original librettist’s work and also to the three actual tales by E.T.A. Hoffmann on which the opera is based.

Marley’s version makes convincing sense of the opera, and with its use of spoken dialogue is well adapted to the Julia Morgan space. He has returned to Offenbach’s original order of the three acts, and has eliminated music written by other composers. And the libretto abounds in delightful wordplay and audacious rhymes.

Yay! Raves for everybody!

From the home-page feature:

The juxtaposition between emergent technology and the much more human, romantic themes are in part what led [director Phil] Lowery to use as a palette for this production the increasingly popular aesthetic of “steampunk.” Originally used as the name for a type of speculative fiction writing, the term now refers to artistic works and fashions incorporating the aesthetics and elemental limitations of the 19th century with more-modern concepts or futuristic fantasies. … For this production, it includes the presence of Victorianesque costumes with various gadgets and set pieces that give simultaneous nods to both old and new, like a remote control crank, complete with joystick, for the doll Olympia. Also, since this version includes the often-omitted “Violin Aria” for Nicklaus, Robért and Lorna Shashinda of the local Bear Paw Fiddles created a special “Steampunk” violin.

A nice posting, too, on the Opera-L email list:

Wanted to alert Bay Area folks that Berkeley Opera has put together a very good production of Tales of Hoffmann, with a clever English adaptation by David Scott Marley. It comes together very well -- singing, acting, orchestral playing, costumes, sets. Three more performances this week. I'll leave the reviewing to someone with more expertise -- I enjoyed it a great deal!

The Tales of Hoffmann

Berkeley Opera will be reviving my adaptation of Offenbach and Barbier’s opera The Tales of Hoffmann in February of next year. We’ve got a terrific cast. We originally did this nine years ago, so of course as I look fresh at the libretto after being away from it for nine years, I now see a number of places where a line of spoken dialogue could be tightened or made sharper or less clichéd, or where a word in the lyrics could be changed to something else to sing better on the note, that sort of thing.

I promised everyone that I’d be done with my revisions by the end of September, and I just barely made it. But it also meant that I got further backed up on my email again. In January Dave and I moved to a new place, and the move took much more time and effort than I’d expected, so that by March I was something like 800 messages behind, and that’s after trashing or archiving the ones that don’t require any further action. That was 800 messages that still needed action.

In July I got my inbox down to zero, though that just means having processed the messages into to-do lists, not necessarily having done whatever actions they call for. The truly urgent stuff got done, but I still have 30 or 40 letters to respond to, a big ol’ pile of stuff to read, and so on.

And now in September, while spending most of my free time on revisions to Hoffmann, I let the inbox back up again. But in the last few days I got it down to about 150 messages again.

My task for October is to make a copy of the score we used nine years ago, the one I whited out all the French words and wrote all my new words into, and make the revisions to that. Hopefully it won’t take me as many hours as the revisions themselves did — it ought to be cut-and-dried work, unlike the open-ended process of writing lyrics, on which you can pretty much spend as much time as you have available. There are always compromises I’ve made that I can keep revisiting and changing my mind about forever — which is best, the version of this line that is a little clichéd but it’s clear and sings well, or the version that says exactly what I’d like to say but puts a closed vowel on a high note, or the version that contains a really clever play on words but has the awkward consonant cluster on the rapid notes? Actually, the problem isn’t knowing which is best — better smooth than clever, always — but it’s amazing how much time I can spend trying to revise one of the flawed versions trying to get it to be both smooth and clever. Sometimes I find it, and sometimes I just go back to the first version, the one that just sings well and clearly on the notes.

Last Sunday Berkeley Opera gave an intimate little concert at the Chapel of the Chimes in Oakland (astonishingly beautiful place, by the way, and designed by Julia Morgan — Dave and I want to go back for a tour), including members of the cast of the upcoming production singing excerpts from my Hoffmann adaptation. The singers were excellent. I was especially grateful that Paul Murray took the trouble to learn my new lyrics for Lindorf’s opening aria, as I’d revised about a quarter of it just a month ago. The new words sounded very good for him, which was a relief. I never really know for sure how well my lyrics are going to work till I can hear them sung by someone else, and preferably the one who is going to be performing them on stage. Nine years ago, I followed the original libretto and wrote Lindorf as being in his fifties, and the lyrics referred to his creaking joints and unattractive figure. But Paul is young and handsome — I’m not sure how young but he looks early thirties to me — and I couldn’t see how we were going to make him up in a small theater to look that old without also looking ridiculous. So for this production Lindorf can be a young financier in his early thirties, and I removed the references to his advanced age from the lyrics. And Paul sang the words very effectively — he’s a good actor as well as singer.

Old version:

I may not be young and inspiring.
My figure may not be attractive.
My mind, though, is still very active —
      Very active!
My joints may creak, and yet my brain
Is nimble at acquiring
Whatever I may wish to gain,
Whatever I’m desiring:
A horse a train, a rare champagne,
A woman I’m admiring …

New version:

The ladies don’t find me inspiring.
My soul is not brooding or tragic.
And yet I do have my own magic —
      My own magic!
My banks and bonds, though dull and plain,
Work wonders in acquiring
Whatever I may wish to gain, etc.

The rest of the numbers were excellent, too. Angela Cadelago, who will play Stella and her three incarnations in Hoffmann’s tales, was terrific with the coloratura in Olympia’s song. She and Sara Couden, who will play Luther’s wife and Antonia’s mother, sang the barcarole that opens the tale of Giulietta, and all three sang the final trio from the tale of Antonia. I haven’t done any significant revising of those lyrics, so I could relax and stop worrying and just enjoy the singing.

I’m taking a break from Hoffmann this weekend, and then I start working on updating the score.

Spring Awakening

Dave and I saw Spring Awakening at the Curran on Thursday. Dave liked it a lot; I liked it more than I was expecting to. The musical seems fairly true to the feverish spirit of the Wedekind play, which may or may not have been such a good thing, and the rock songs are fun and a surprisingly good match for the story of nineteenth-century teens angsting about sex all over the place.

But though the songs were pleasant and the choreography was interesting and the story was clearly told, I never felt any strong emotional connection with any of the characters, who seemed thin and conventional to me. The deck is heavily stacked in favor of the teens, who are all poignantly lost in various ways, and against the adults, none of whom cares much about any of the kids and most of whom do little other than find new and increasing cruel ways of mistreating them. (The one adult who ever makes an attempt to be understanding, and who is somewhat less obviously a cartoon character than the others, nevertheless won’t stand up for her son when it counts, so it doesn’t matter.) The cartoony, one-dimensional way all the parents and teachers are written reminded me at times of things like Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Bleah.

I haven’t read the Wedekind play in probably thirty years, so I’ll have to reread it and see, but my memory is that the characters are just as shallowly drawn and the story just as one-sided there. But that’s just an observation, not a justification; I’m not a believer in being faithful to the weaknesses of a play as well as its strengths when you’re adapting it. And the Wedekind play is not a classic because of its theatrical skill, but because it was very, very shocking a century ago. It isn’t very shocking now. It’s not that America isn’t every bit as fucked up and in denial about sex as Germany was a century ago; but we aren’t fucked up and in denial in quite the same ways.

However, the audience was full of young people who were applauding vigorously all the way through and cheering at the end, so clearly the show strikes a chord with its audience, and equally clearly I’m at least a quarter of a century too old to be part of that audience.

I have several rules of thumb I’ve developed over the years about choosing stories to adapt as musicals, and one of them is: Don’t adapt anything you were assigned to read in school. It tends to lead you as a writer into to the wrong relationship with your story. It’s hard to argue with Spring Awakening‘s success, but the story and characters never came alive for me, and I wish they’d chosen a different play to give this treatment to, something that they might have felt freer to rewrite as they wanted to in order to tell a richer and more alive story. Or maybe scrap the nineteenth-century German setting and move it to modern-day America, and use it to write about the lies about sex that our society is telling itself. It’s a little too easy to give ourselves credit for recognizing the lies of a century ago.

The book itself to Spring Awakening is clear and well constructed. One thing it was hard to miss about the musical, though, is that the songs are rarely used in a dramatic way to advance the action. They’re all static expressions of the characters’ attitudes and emotions, and the characters and situations and relationships never change between the beginning of a song and its end. It’s what I think of as opera seria construction: You have a spoken scene in which, say, X tries to persuade Y about something; Y is either persuaded or not, still in spoken dialogue; and only once the action of this scene has concluded do X and Y sing a static duet that is in some way about the new situation. This seems like bland theater writing to me; better if the song in that scene consists of, say, X making his argument, or Y giving her answer, or a duet in which both happen.

On the other hand, though, with the songs in Spring Awakening being performed in the modern overamplified style, I couldn’t make out very many of the lyrics, so maybe it was just as well.

Those Wacky, Inscrutable Chinese and Their Crazy Language!

From today’s Contra Costa Times:

The Chinese language does not have a word for “puzzle”. The characters for “enhancing”, “intelligence”, and “games” must be fitted together in a specific order to create a close translation.

Um, that means the Chinese language has a word for “puzzle”, and it’s made up of three characters. That’s how Chinese works. It would make equally good sense to say

The English language has no word for “tablespoon”; instead, the words “table” and “spoon” must be fitted together in a specific order to create a close translation.

Come on.

Lead Paragraph of the Day

As reported on the WELL, the headline and lead paragraph of a recent story from a small local paper in Indiana:

Fire destroys South Bend neighborhood store

SOUTH BEND — As smoke billowed into the sky, Victoria Kimber wondered where she was going to get mayonnaise now.

Lead Paragraph of the Day

As reported on the WELL, the headline and lead paragraph of a recent story from a small local paper in Indiana:

Fire destroys South Bend neighborhood store

SOUTH BEND — As smoke billowed into the sky, Victoria Kimber wondered where she was going to get mayonnaise now.

Three Favorite iPhone Applications

Some of my favorite iPhone apps lately:

OmniFocus. Very possibly my most-used third-party iPhone app now, though that’s with the addition of the desktop version, which it syncs with. It’s a tool for implementing the Getting Things Done system of task management, which I’ve been using for two or three years now. I bought the desktop version of OmniFocus a few months ago, partly because I liked the demo and partly because they’d announced they were working on an iPhone version that would sync with the desktop version.

OmniFocus rocks. The syncking rocks. I can add or modify a to-do item on my laptop and find it on my iPhone (not just downloadable from a website) ten minutes or so later, or vice versa. So far I like the interface on both my computer screen and my iPhone.

I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t recommend OmniFocus for someone who is just starting out with GTD. In fact, I know darned well I wouldn’t. I think it’s best to learn the GTD method staying as close to the ground as possible, just making the lists with pen and paper or in a text editor. Once you’re in the habit of making the lists, and you understand how the process works, and if and only if you’re starting to get a little impatient with the bookkeeping part of things, then you’re ready for something like OmniFocus. But the whole point of GTD is to keep the bookkeeping simple, and you don’t need OmniFocus or anything like it to help you; it’s just a timesaver.

And psychologically it’s important that you understand the GTD process well enough that you know you aren’t letting anything fall through the cracks. Jumping into a program like OmniFocus before you’ve gone through the process by hand for a while could get in the way of getting really grounded in it.

OmniFocus’s ability to use the iPhone’s GPS and show you to-do lists for places nearby is a catchy gimmick and it’s attracted a lot of attention in the reviews, but it seems to me add nothing at all to the program’s usefulness in actual practice. I don’t have any trouble looking over a list of errands and realizing that as long as I’m going to the supermarket I should stop at the post office, too.

OmniFocus has a rep for being a difficult program to learn, which I don’t get. I was using it in five or ten minutes. It does have maybe just a few too many features for my taste, since the whole point of GTD is to keep it simple. There are sections of the user’s manual I still haven’t more than glanced at. But it’s not so complicated that I find it overwhelming or hard to find whatever feature it is that I actually want. Once you understand the GTD process, OmniFocus seems a pretty intuitive way of carrying it out, and a nice timesaver.

FileMagnet. Lets me put docs from my laptop on my iPhone. It’s not the note-taking program that syncs between laptop and iPhone that I want (and that will finally turn the iPhone into the Mac-friendly PDA I’ve wanted for many, many years), but I can put notes on my iPhone for reference. It doesn’t let me edit them on the iPhone but it’s very easy to edit them on the laptop and then replace them, so that’s the next best thing I guess.

I was under the impression from the description that I was going to have to be at home to transfer files, because the iPhone and the laptop (or desktop) computer have to be on the same wireless network, but on their website I discovered that a computer-to-computer network set up on the laptop will work fine. So I bought it, and I have found that indeed I can transfer files from laptop to iPhone wherever I am.

You need to download and install a free program for the Mac, too. When you run it, it opens a window on your Mac screen. When the Mac program isn’t connected to your iPhone via the peer-to-peer network, you can drag and drop files from your Mac onto the window, to be syncked later when you’re connected. When the connection is made, the window divides into two panes; the top pane works the same as before except that files you drag and drop here are now syncked instantly, while the bottom half shows the folders and files you have on your iPhone, much like a Finder window, and you can rearrange them or delete them here. (There doesn’t seem to be any way to rearrange them on the iPhone, though you can delete them there.)

As a first test, to see how it would handle nested folders, I took my Yijing (I Ching in pre-pinyin spelling) files that I used to keep on my PDA, and I put them on my iPhone. This is a text file of Part I of the Wilhelm/Baynes translation that I split up into 64 files, one per hexagram. The files have titles like “17 Lake thunder”, meaning hexagram 17, lake over thunder. The eight hexagrams with lake trigram on top are in a folder called “Lake upper”, and there are seven other folders called “Earth upper” and “Fire upper” and so on. Then these eight folders are in a top-level folder called “Yijing”. If I toss the coins and get, say, mountain over wind, I open up the folder “Yijing”, look at the eight folders inside and open up “Mountain upper”, and then look at the eight files inside and open up “18 Mountain wind”. The arrangement of nested folders makes for a handy way of looking up a hexagram when I don’t have the book nearby, and I thought it would be a good first test of how the software worked.

Well, once I figured out how to get the network going, all I had to do was drag and drop the whole “Yijing” folder onto the window on my Mac screen and an instant later the same folder was showing up on my iPhone. I opened up the folder and found all the subfolders and files inside as they should be. Very easy. The only downside was that I found the text files (in Monaco font) a bit unpleasant to read, so I took a little time later to change the text files to RTF files and changed the font to 11-point Palatino, which looked like a good compromise between compactness and readability. I also abbreviated some of the file names to fit in the FileMagnet display. So now I can carry the Wilhelm/Baynes Yijing around with me on my iPhone, like I used to with my PDA, and I can toss the coins anywhere. Very neat.

I’ve done the same with a couple dozen favorite poems that I used to like to have on my PDA, and that’s working fine, too. FileMagnet is supposed to handle lots of other kinds of files like PDFs and stuff, too. The only problem so far is that I sometimes when I open a file I get a message that FileMagnet is running out of memory, which is silly because these are small RTF files, but this is a known problem so hopefully they’ll figure out how to make it go away.

FireWords. A simple game of finding words snaking through an array of letters that all start out yellow. Every time you make a word, its letters go away and are replaced with random new letters. With every word you find, the last three letters of the word are turned pure yellow again (if they weren’t already), any other letters in the word become silver (“ice”), and the rest of the letters in the array that are not already turned to ice turn a shade more orange. If a letter goes enough turns without being used, it will turn more and more orange and eventually start to smolder. Once it does, you have three more turns to go and then if you still haven’t used the letter, the game is over.

Instead of finding a word, you can shuffle all the letters in the array, but this turns all the non-iced letters another shade of orange so doing this too many times could lead to having more smoldering letters than you can use in three more words. But you can’t avoid shuffling now and then, because sometimes you’ll get an intractable clump of consonants that you can’t break into, so all there is to do is shuffle and hope they mix it up with the vowels.

The business about letters turning to ice is what makes the game interesting, though it also makes it too easy. Interesting because some strategy comes into play as you try to choose words that will create large patches of ice that you then don’t have to worry about until you want. I like to try to ice out the letters in the corners of the array first and then work my way into the center, so that the active letters, the ones that are still turning orange, are confined to a smaller and smaller area. Sometimes I can get so much of the array turned to ice that there are just three active letters, which is the minimum possible.

After playing this for a while, I’ve gotten to the point where I begin to wonder if the game ever really needs to end. It’s easy enough to make four-letter and longer words and turn letters into ice, easy enough to shrink the active area to an easily managed size, so that one isn’t trying to put out smoldering letters in three or four widely separated parts of the board. My latest game has been going on for a good while and I don’t see why it shouldn’t go on for a good while longer. The game could be improved by some mechanism to make the play grow gradually more challenging as your score increases. That, and perhaps something to encourage or force you to break open the iced-up areas now and then.

The only thing that has put my latest game in danger a couple of times has been the occasional stretch where I get few vowels. At times I’ve gotten to where there are only two or three vowels in the entire array, and when that happens any active consonants that are located far from a vowel are in danger of starting to smolder before you can get a vowel near them. You have to make a word that uses a vowel and also uses a consonant or two nearer to the letter you’re trying to get to, and then hope that one of those nearer consonants is replaced by a vowel, and then you use that vowel to use up some consonants even nearer, and so on. And of course there’s no guarantee that you’ll get vowels where you need them. Those are times when it may be better to shuffle all the letters, even at the price of pushing everything one step closer to smoldering, and hope that the vowels end up in more useful places. But there’s no guarantee of that, either.

The closest I’ve come so far in this game was at one point getting to where I had no vowels at all in the array, including no Ys. My own hope was to be able to make one of those rare words with no vowels. I had one N, two Ts, and several Hs, so I shuffled the letters several times in the chance that they would fall so as to make nth possible. I got to where a couple of letters were smoldering and the game would be over in three more turns, so I stopped and made yet another last-ditch search of the board for other words. Not really expecting it to work, but figuring what the hell, I tried making shh. The game accepted it as a word, and two of the three new letters were vowels, which was enough for me to be able to put out the smoldering letters in a couple more turns. The vowel/consonant ratio gradually righted itself and I got the board back under control. Well, if there are a few more short vowelless words like shh in the game’s list of valid words, and one can figure out what they are, then even a brief but severe shortage of vowels could usually be overcome.

(Later: Now I know that it accepts DVD. Sheesh!)

Vanya at CalShakes

Wednesday night Dave and I saw the first preview of CalShakes’s Uncle Vanya. What a pleasure it is to see Chekhov and Ibsen now and then performed by people who get the humor! A couple of seasons ago there was that terrific The Master Builder at the Aurora Theater, and now this production. Even one actor in common — James Carpenter played Holness in Master Builder and he plays horrible old narcissistic professor in Vanya, and I can’t remember seeing him be as funny before. There’s Barbara Oliver in common, too — she founded the Aurora, and she plays Marina, the old family nanny, here, with a brilliant deadpan singlemindedness. I have no idea why the sight of her simply walking across the stage with such concentrated determination just so she can fuss with the samovar and the teacups made me laugh out loud, but it did.

Dan Hiatt as Vanya is giving the best performance I think I’ve ever seen from him, and that’s saying a lot. But really, the whole cast is spot on, every character very touching and recognizably human and a little bit crazy.

As is the production, which is full of humor. Chekhov’s characters love to piss and moan about how hopeless life is and how trapped they are in their situations, which has led a lot of directors and actors to play them as bleak. But Chekhov always, always took great pains to show us as well that the cages his characters complain so incessantly about being trapped inside were built by them themselves, that the bars are made of papier-maché, that the construction is so flimsy that one good knock would bring the thing down, and anyway the doors are all unlocked and wide open. If a character in Chekhov says she has no choice, it is a safe bet that within half a minute somebody will offer her a perfectly good alternative and she herself will come up with a lame excuse why she can’t take it. If somebody says he can’t take any more and he is going to leave immediately, you know he’s going to jump at the first possible pretext to stay. On the comics page this morning I saw at least three strips whose punchlines turn on precisely this structure, and nobody would have any trouble seeing the humor in it, but for some reason you give your characters Russian (or Norwegian) names and it’s suddenly grim, deadly serious stuff.

Benjamin Britten and Frida Kahlo

Dave and I went to hear Britten’s War Requiem at Davies Hall on Friday night. I had suggested it just because a friend in the chorus had told me about it, but we were delighted to discover on buying the tickets that Marcelle Dronkers would be the soprano soloist. Marcelle is one of my favorite performers, who I’ve enjoyed tremendously in many roles; I think the first time I saw her was with Richard Goodman in Don Pasquale maybe 20 years ago, and it is to this day the only performance of that opera I have ever seen which worked for me, thanks largely to Marcelle and Richard’s lively performances in commedia dell’arte style.

I hadn’t heard the War Requiem before, nor had I read much of the poetry of Wilfred Owen, whose poems Britten used along with the Latin text of the requiem mass. Some of the requiem seemed dry and cerebral to me, as though Britten were keeping the emotions at arms’ length, but other parts were devastating and just about brought me to tears. I’m looking forward to listening to a couple of recordings and getting to know it better.

On Sunday afternoon we went to the Frida Kahlo exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art. I’d won a pair of tickets to the exhibit from mybart.com. We showed up around 2:15 pm and received tickets to enter at 4:00, so we looked at the other exhibits till then.

Very interesting to see so many Kahlo paintings at one time. I hadn’t realized before this how much she used symbols in her paintings rather in the manner of Renaissance painters. I also hadn’t realized what an intense and even sometimes frightening a woman she must have been — without knowing anything about her life than what I picked up yesterday afternoon from her paintings and the bits of biography on the walls, I’d make a somewhat wild guess that she may have been prone to histrionic personality disorder. Some aspects of the paintings seem very sophisticated to me — the mixing of styles in the same painting, for example, with elements of cubism and surrealism and Renaissance style all working together to create something that feels simple and whole — but then there’s a lot of what looks to me like childishness in her paintings, too.

I’d seen reproductions of the painting of herself with four parrots, but I had not noticed before that the two parrots on her shoulders are painted to look three-dimensional, while the two in front are painted to look flat, almost as though they were printed on her blouse. On looking closer, it seems to me that the two in front must certainly be the same birds as the two on her shoulders; too many of the markings are the same, and sometimes in subtle ways, for this not to be intentional. Why does each parrot appear twice? Was her intention that each parrot was not only a companion on her shoulder, but a part of her? In any case, it’s a more interesting and more touching painting than I’d realized from just seeing it in small reproductions.

One of the most striking paintings was one that I’d never seen before, about the suicide of someone she’d known who had thrown herself out the window of her tall apartment building. The woman is shown three times: at the start of her fall just outside the window; on the ground, broken and bleeding yet looking beautiful and peaceful; and in the middle of the frame, falling through blue sky and white clouds in a manner that makes her look almost like a graceful bird swooping down, and that suggests to me the sort of visual language that a Renaissance painter would use to show somebody ascending to heaven. Once that thought occurred to me, the whole middle image became ambiguous — is it of the woman falling toward her death, or of her spirit set free and soaring after she has fallen?

I bought the handsome catalog of the exhibit in the gift shop on the way out as a souvenir.