Art Archives - Page 5 of 5 - Los Cuadernos de Julia

Liverpool 2008 – Beatles Playlist

I’m back in Manchester. I’ve been back since Tuesday, but caught cold, which is the reason why on the day when Liverpool gets initiated as the European Capital of Culture for 2008 I’m sitting at home in Manchester instead of heading to St George’s Hall to watch the opening gala. However, I watched the BBC North West Today report from Liverpool, and the general feel I have taken away from it was that the pressure on the legendary city comes from two directions. On the one hand, all eyes are on Liverpool to perform at the level no lower (or even higher) than Glasgow. On the other hand, the year of culture is naturally expected to last longer than just 12 months, and the expectations are particularly high as far as the benefit of the culturally and socially disadvantaged communities and areas is concerned.

As a Beatlemaniac who’s been living in Manchester in the past four years, I am first of all sincerely pleased for Liverpool for its 2008 status. I can also say now that one thing that has always perplexed me in these years was this rivalry between Manchester and Liverpool, and for once I hope this bickering, however amicable, will be put aside, or left behind altogether. As someone genuinely impartial, the last thing I want is to stare at articles counting Liverpool’s hick-ups. The hick-ups are inevitable, guys. Let’s focus on the fact that for the whole of 2008 the attention will be drawn not only to Liverpool, but to England’s North West. The capital is now up north, as far as culture is concerned, and that is already a big win.

And yes, the theme that ran in the background but didn’t feature prominently was the status of Liverpool’s culture. We know what it was, and Ringo Starr is headlining the opening night this evening. But what is the state of culture now?

Just as I was thinking about it, having finished watching TV, I checked my email and found there a song sent by one of the friends. It was Brian Eno’s How Many Worlds. I started listening to it, and the opening sounded like an up-tempo opening to A Day in the Life by the Beatles. After that I spent some time browsing through the Beatles’ songs, when I realised that many comments on Liverpool’s potential to perform as the European Capital of Culture sound very much like “don’t let me down“. And, of course, when we look at Liverpool today we still associate it more with the Beatles phenomenon, – yet however important and long-lasting is their legacy, it unfortunately belongs to “yesterday“, as do the relatively peaceful times of the 1960-70s. How to change that? Well, we talk a lot about hope, faith, understanding, support, culture, but in the end, all the most beautiful things that we often assign to a country’s “culture” are born in love. And if we want to give peace a chance, we’ve got to love it. Be that the bigger world or just the city of Liverpool, to make things work “all you need is love“. That’s a job in itself, but it’s worth trying in 2008. Chances are, you won’t let it go after.

http://media.imeem.com/pl/hmzTTPlIvn/aus=false/

…………………..The picture I took in Lime St Station during a day-trip visit to Liverpool (June 2007).

My Favourite Billy Connolly

When I first came to England five years ago, I was promptly told that many things would be forgiven to me as a foreigner as long as I didn’t fail to like Billy Connolly. Watching him the first few times was tough, I must admit, for before 2002 my knowledge of the Scottish accent was virtually nonexistent. However, the man I saw on the TV screen was so charismatic and adorable, I said to myself that I must learn to understand him.

Time went by, I’ve seen Billy’s many performances, I loved the world tours he made, read about him, laughed at his sketches, certainly found him handsome, and watched Mrs Brown. The only thing I never paid attention to, for some reason, was his birthday. Turns out, he was born on November 24th and is a Sag, like myself. Obviously, I send my belated birthday greetings to him, and my adoration for a fellow Centaur has now grown even bigger. I love the month of December even more now.

Billy Connolly for me is the Henry Miller of stand-up comedy. I’ve never heard so many swearing words being said on stage in my entire life, but I cannot imagine anyone doing it with such gusto and creativity, as Connolly. Having lived in Manchester for over four years now, I also know that what he brings out on stage is the living language. Because when we think of stage we link it to theatre, and when we think of theatre we link it to art, Billy’s escapades at first look outrageous. It’s like Tropic of Cancer or The Rosy Crucifixion is being read aloud. But as I wrote last year about Henry Miller, one of his greatest achievements was in tuning his narrative in with the time in which he was writing. It was impossible to write “lovely” texts on the eve of the devastating military conflict. As far as Connolly’s shows are concerned, the bad language he uses can be heard everywhere, even in the most refined places. The brilliance of Billy is that he takes the genre which sometimes is a collection of pre-written sketches, not necessarily witty or funny, and turns it into a real people’s comedy. Again, just as Miller was able to write “decent” prose – like Big Sur or The Colossus of Maroussi – so Connolly has dazzled the viewers with his thoughtful and even romantic reports from his world tours.

I’m leaving you with the great man’s official website – BillyConnolly.com – and an extract from one of his shows, in which he talks about opera. This is an amazingly talented performance, but make sure you’ve got a few spare minutes and can afford laughing out loud.

Raphael, Degas, and the 16th c. music

2004 saw the first exhibition of Raphael in England. In November I happened to be in London, and my first visit to the National Gallery naturally included a voyage to the Sainsbury Wing. I had mere half an hour to enjoy some 40 works of one of the Titans of Renaissance. To see them, I had to gently if politely wriggle past some visitors, or queue up where it was impossible to squeeze through. Everyone who knows the Sainsbury Wing will recall its catacomb-like interior: low ceilings, dim light, rather small rooms with dark walls – hardly a backdrop for the rich Italian masterpieces.

At exactly the same time they were exhibiting Edgar Degas upstairs. The works of French artist resided in two or three well lit halls with tall ceilings and light pastel-colour walls, there were not many visitors (it was one of the first days of exhibition, I should note). Most paintings were of medium size, in front of every second or third of which there stood a Far-Eastern girl with a pad and some crayons, copying the works of one of the greatest Impressionists. To this day I cannot fathom why these two exhibitions could not be swapped places.

I wrote a lengthy text about it in Russian in the same 2004, contemplating on how these two exhibitions manifested our attitude to art. I was probably a bit harsh to suggest that it was easy to admire the classical art because then no-one would find a fault in your taste, but on second thoughts this is hardly far from the truth. Indeed, one would rather be ridiculed if they admitted liking pop music than if they admitted liking Mozart. Same with Raphael. As Henry James put it, Raphael was a happy genius, and by looking and admiring his Madonnas we seek to find happiness, too. Raphael is also easier to comprehend, unlike his contemporaries. Leonardo is very intellectual, to which La Gioconda is a good proof. Michelangelo’s devotion to the physique is sometimes baffling, as can be seen, for instance, in the figures on the Medici monument. Raphael, on the contrary, is always pleasant, always radiant, always rich in colour, and even if his end may not be as happy as his paintings, we probably shall still forget about it when we observe his work.

It is different with Degas. Degas was known for his perfectionism, and many times in his life he turned to rework his own paintings, as the examination of certain works, e.g. Portrait of Elena Carafa, shows. The name of the exhibition – “Art in the Making” – further highlights Degas’s critical, intellectual approach to his work. The British art historian Kenneth Clark in his book “The Nude: A Study in the Ideal Form” (N.Y., 1956) says, in particular, that Degas excelled at what the Florentine artists of the 16th c. would call “disegno” (i.e. a drawing, a sketch). He focused on a human figure as his main theme, but aimed to capture the ideal image of the movement of this figure, and especially the energy of this movement. Degas’s painting is more vigorous than Raphael’s, and his Madonnas are not only nude, they are also depicted in the poses or at such activity that many of us would still deem inappropriate. Still, again in the words of Clark, had the figures painted by Michelangelo come to life, they would have scared us to a far bigger extent than Degas’s naked women.

Thanks to his colour palette, techniques, and themes, Degas appears more disturbing, almost revolutionary, compared to Raphael. I noted in my text that in the three centuries, from Raphael to Degas, the very attitude to art had changed. As far as Madonnas are concerned, after the European revolutions of the 19th c. and on the eve of the First World War they became more emancipated, they drank absinthe and spent evenings in the Parisian cafes. Their blurred faces, loose hair and outrageous nudity were the symbols of their time, the sign of the fear of changes and of the vulnerability in the face of the outer world. Their movement and individuality were more prominently expressed in comparison to their Renaissance predecessors. Like many other Impressionists, Degas is much more “relevant” to our time, but as it happens we prefer to turn to what gives us hope and faith, and Raphael seemed to be a perfect saviour. Apparently, I concluded, when people turn to the classical art, they seek peace; and when they find peace, they’ll think of a revolution.

Nevertheless, I bought a wonderful CD at the Raphael’s exhibition, The Music of the Courtier, which contained several beautifully performed pieces by the late 15th – 16th cc. composers. One of this, Dilla da l’acqua, by Francesco Patavino (1497?-1556?), performed by I Fagiolini, has become an instant favourite, and I hope you enjoy it too.

http://media.imeem.com/m/xMPLqzqmmW/aus=false/

The paintings used (from top, left to right, clockwise):

Raphael, La Donna Velata (c. 1514-1516)
Edgar Degas, Portrait of Elena Carafa (c. 1875)
Raphael, Madonna of the Pinks (c. 1506-1507)
Michelangelo, The Tomb of Giuliano de’ Medici (1526-1531)
Leonardo da Vinci, La Gioconda (c. 1503-1506)
Raphael, Madonna Connestabile (c. 1502)
Edgar Degas, La Coiffure (Combing Her Hair) (c. 1896)
Edgar Degas, Russian Dancers (c. 1899)
Raphael, Ansidei Madonna (1505)
Raphael, Lady with a Unicorn (c. 1505-1506)
Edgar Degas, Miss La La at the Cirque Fernando (c. 1879)
Edgar Degas, Young Spartans Exercising (c. 1860)
Edgar Degas, After the Bath (c. 1890-1895)
Raphael, St Catherine (c. 1507)

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The Visions of Begemot (Part 1)

It’s been a few months since Manchester bloggers met at The Hare and Hounds pub in Shudehill. And we’ll be meeting again this coming Monday, between 6 and 11pm at the Festival Pavilion outside Manchester Central (G-Mex). Read more at BBC Manchester Blog and leave a comment there if you want to come along.

And when I was at the memorable meet-up in April (when I saw a man in a yellow duckling suit, unzipped on the back), I was talking to Rob Baker, who happened to be having an on-and-off romance with The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov. Like most readers, he was fascinated with the cat Begemot (or Behemoth, if we opt for historical spelling). This cat is an adorable black gluttonous creature that walks on his back paws, speaks rather eloquently, and rides a tram. On occasion, he can also tear one’s head off and even fire a gun, but for that one needs to seriously enrage the cat.

As we know, artists see things differently not only from other people, but from other artists, as well. I wondered how many interpretations of Begemot in illustration I could possibly find, considering how popular Bulgakov’s novel is. The result can be seen below. I didn’t even think of making a complete list of all Begemot’s images that could be found online, but even those that I found make up for enjoyable and observant viewing. There are also so many of them that I will have to organize them in a few posts, otherwise there will be too much writing and too many images.

Book covers.

Type in “bulgakov” in Amazon.co.uk Search window, and in a matter of seconds you will be staring at the innumerable covers of editions of one of the best-known and loved books in world’s literature. And on almost all of them you’ll see Begemot. We may speculate endlessly, exactly what makes this character so appealing. It is generally appealing – as any tram-riding cat would be. It challenges our attitude to black cats – again, a black cat may be a symbol of bad luck, but Begemot appears to be a master of smooth-talking, and how can it then bring any bad luck? This creature is lovely, fluffy, magical in every sense of the word, and it’s a cat. I suppose one of the reasons why Begemot is so popular is because it seems easier to conceive of a cat’s, rather than human, face.

The covers of the first English-language editions showed a particular fascination with Begemot’s rascal and smart side. It is no wonder that Harper & Row 1967 cover (left) is liked by many: the illustrator has probably come closest to capturing the cat’s mischievous essence. The Grove Press edition of the same year takes more interest in Begemot’s “human” side, falling short of giving us an ultimate boxer-cat (right).

It is interesting to see how the same
publishing house – Penguin and Picador, on this occasion – can present two so different interpretations of Begemot. With Penguin, one illustrator opted for a carnival mask (thus highlighting the theatrical and the figurative in the novel) (left), whilst another chose to produce a caricature (right), not unlike those drawn to illustrate one of Vladimir Mayakovsky’s books (below).

Picador’s covers are no less peculiar: one shows you, well, a cat with cards (left); and on another the cat has got an extreme modernist makeover (right). Vintage Classics and
Avalon Travel Publishing both take on the theme of all-pervasiveness of a devilish spirit, which Vintage makes slightly more figurative and political. On another Vintage cover we see Begemot in profile, and the angle of his head reminds me of a gargoyle at the Notre Dame de Paris. The Harvill Panther’s monochrome cover brings to mind politics, the black-and-white cinema and photos of 1930s, and the closeness of the Second World War (below, from left to right: Vintage, Avalon, Vintage and Harvill Panther covers; the gargoyle image is displayed on top). Finally, the cover of Fontana 1974 edition (further below, right) made me wonder if it had had any influence of the make-up artists who subsequently worked on The Cats musical.

(And please forgive me this little rant, but how could The Daily Telegraph reviewer back in 2004 ever allow themselves to write this phrase, which is now proudly cited on the book’s page on Amazon: “The Master and Margarita comes over like a grown-up and vastly superior version of Harry Potter”. OF COURSE, it is VASTLY SUPERIOR to Harry Potter and to the vast majority of other books out there. OF COURSE, it is incomparably thought-provoking, challenging and complex, which is why there hasn’t been and still isn’t any equally great adaptation of this novel in cinema or on stage. OF COURSE, The Daily Telegraph was reviewing one of the most influential books of the 20^th c. I’ve got nothing against Harry Potter (or J K Rowling, for that matter), but to even compare it to Bulgakov’s novel is too much of an honour for the young wizard saga).

Russian cover artists also like Begemot, although the cat doesn’t feature prominently on the Russian covers. The covers of EKSMO-Press publishing house, as well as that of Molodaya Gvardiya (Youth Guard), present an unmistakably feline face of Behemoth. Personally, I like the Sovetskaya Literatura (Soviet Literature) cover better of the three, which partly has to do with the fact that it was this edition that I read myself more than ten years ago (below, from left to right: EKSMO, Molodaya Gvardiya, and Soviet Literature covers). Surprisingly, the only website I found which has got this edition listed is Kevin Moss’s comprehensive resource.

A Hungarian cover gives us a giant Behe-Cyclop, while two Italian covers give completely polar interpretations of Behemoth: one cat is arrogant; another reminds me of a rabbit (below, left to right). Yet another Italian cover looks familiar to the Vintage’s that you saw above. This profile view seems to be the most popular, as it is also replicated on a Portuguese cover (I didn’t include either in this post).

A Chinese book brings to mind those beautiful medieval Chinese paintings; German and Estonian covers have not at all been taken by Behemoth (at least those that I saw), and a Polish 2006 cover gives the cat a minimalist feel (below, left to right).

Links:
Master and Margarita, a resource created by Kevin Moss at Middlebury College. The site lists published texts of Bulgakov’s novel, translations and bibliography, as well as the list of illustrations and themes. Unfortunately, the list of links hasn’t been updated for some time, but otherwise it is a very useful website. In addition, Kevin has also created several other sites dedicated to the Russian choir at Middlebury, Russian literature and language, and Russian gay culture.

Master and Margarita, a very comprehensive resource from where I linked to many images here. The resource was created by Jan Vanhellemont from Belgium, and, as Jan tells us on the front page (written in quite good Russian, I should say!), he never heard about the novel until one summer night in 2003 in Paris, where he first heard about the book. A year later he finally got to read it and has been studying the Russian language since, in a hope to be able to read the book in its original language one day. I must admit, I’m very smitten by this story. Bulgakov’s novel has played a crucial part in my life, as well, but Jan’s is a very different experience. Judging by the site, he’s doing pretty well, and since I’m sure he’ll know about this post, I’m happy to provide some distant language tuition. The site contains articles, illustrations, film excerpts, music pieces, and many more, so is definitely worth a visit.

Illustrations:

Most of book covers’ images were taken from Amazon.co.uk and Jan Vanhellemont’s site. Soviet Literature edition’s back cover image is on Kevin Moss’s site. The cover of Mayakovsky’s work is of the Krasnaya Nov’ (Red Novelty) edition displayed at Mayakovsky and His Circle site (some areas of the site are still in development). The gargoyle picture comes from this lady, WTS, at traveljournals.net. The Chinese painting is Plum Blossom and the Moon by Chen Lu (Ming Dynasty, 1368-1644) at http://www.xabusiness.com/china-resources/song-liao-jin-dynasties-paintings.htm. All images are linked to their original location.

The Politics of Art: After the Debate

As I said in the previous post, I tend to dislike generic questions. With regards to this debate, as a lady in the audience pointed out, both we and speakers seemed to have confounded the verbs. Whilst the name of the debate was ‘do art and politics mix?‘, the debate itself would better go under the question ‘should art and politics mix?‘ The nuance is pivotal: although the connection between art and politics is irrefutable, the problem that often perplexes us has to do with the limits of this connection, rather than with the very fact of such.

I decided to record the debate on a rather simple digital recorder, and I’m glad that I did. The panel consisted of Ruth Mackenzie (Chair and the Festival Director), Peter Sellars, Jonathan Harris, Heather Ackroyd, and David Aaronovitch. First, Jonathan Harris attempted to illustrate that great works of art, although originating in a certain political context, nevertheless go beyond this context and may ultimately lose any connection with it. This brought to my mind a Chinese aphorism about poetry that I quoted previously in the blog: that poetry, when conveying a feeling through a “thing”, should be precise about the “thing” and reticent about the feeling, so that through the experience of the thing the feeling could be captured.

Heather Ackroyd spoke, first, about etymology and definitions of politics, and state, and art (not always convincingly, in my opinion), and then moved on to give various examples of modern art reacting to and challenging political regimes. David Aaronovitch, who came next, honestly admitted that, while listening to Jonathan and Heather, he forgot to think of what to say for himself. In the light of which he started by taking an issue with Heather and continued and ended up speaking more about politics than any kind of art. And then came Peter Sellars and, thankfully, saved the debate by getting back to where it all started: the crossroads of art and politics.

It is here that I can utter that I’m very happy to have recorded the debate because Peter’s talk is a great example of public talk. Someone may say this is no wonder that a famous theatre director should also be a good speaker, but, as we all know, talents for art and for speech don’t always complement each other.

It was Sellars who touched on the question I raised at the end of my previous post. Art and politics always mix, but to what end? A few people told me I was a dreamer, which I accept because it is true. I’ve always believed in peace, so for me the goal of both art and politics is to promote peace by the means of peace. Again, previously on this blog I quoted Picasso who said that ‘painting is the instrument of war‘. This phrase, however, shouldn’t be construed as Picasso’s advocating the war: Guernica is one of the most powerful anti-war statements in the world’s art. Rather Picasso was acknowledging the fact that art could be and was being used to wage and propagate wars. Yet he was also arguing that, since an artist is a political being, whose biggest political act consists of the ability to take interest in another human being, then painting, as art in general, was the instrument of bringing peace.

This theme of an artist’s empathy lies at the heart of Sellars’s talk. To accord a human status to a human being is a great political act, and art therefore teaches people the skill of inclusiveness, the ability to ‘get outside of your head‘ and to put yourself in other people’s shoes. It is also art, not the media, that provides a new level of information, as ‘uninformed democracy is worse than a tyranny‘. The lack of information and empathy leads to violence which is ‘the collapse of communication‘, the ultimate manifestation of the lack of knowledge and understanding. This is the theme that rises in Gus Van Sant’s Elephant: at certain point during the film you realise that the tragedy that is about to happen has to do not only with the “dangerous minds”, but with the conflict between craving for inclusion and alienation. In Sellars’s words, today’s violence originates from one’s desire to ignore and another’s desire to be acknowledged, whereby the latter plants a bomb in the former’s car.

War is the consequence of this lack of communication and violence, and the purpose of art is to teach us see both reasons and consequences of violence. There is only one way to prevent wars, and that is through deepening people’s listening and looking capacities. At the same time, art continues to be a category beyond all categories, a land that doesn’t exist, and it’s this non-existence that draws us to art. In this, art is akin to culture, and culture, in the words of J.-P. Sartre, neither saves, nor justifies anyone; but it is a man’s creation, a critical mirror in which he can see and recognise himself (The Words).

Ultimately, man always wants to possess something he doesn’t have, and that is Beauty. The myth of Pygmalion is about the fundamental craving for the Beautiful, it is about the desire to have that which is unattainable and yet so close. The pleasure of finding and experiencing the Beautiful is what we should read in the well-known ‘beauty saves the world‘. It is not Beauty as such that saves the world, it is our full and open experience of it that does. Sellars utters this at the end of his talk: ‘world is going to be transformed through pleasure, not through accusation‘.

I suppose it is easy to see, whose side I am on, which I personally acknowledged to Peter. I uploaded his speech, and I still apologise for some technical imperfections and coughing sounds – there is little you can do at the live event of this kind. But I feel that we need speakers like Peter Sellars who encourages the new generation of artists to complexify things exactly when politicians are simplifying them. He calls on the artists’ sophistication, humility and empathy, to bring deeper understanding and pleasure to people. Listen to his talk, think about it, pass it on. For my part, this was one of the occasions when I was thrilled and proud to be living in Manchester.

Visiting London-7 (London Book Fair)

In Visiting London-6 I mentioned and already wrote about a few seminars that I attended at the LBF. One of these was on the subject of marketing a bookshop.

Marketing Your Bookshop was presented by Peter Fisk, a respected marketer who spent years of working with and gained an invaluable experience at British Airways, Microsoft, American Express, and Coca Cola. He is also one of the most inspirational and engaging speakers I’ve seen (and heard) in my life. His style of presentation is of the kind I like to listen to and to deliver myself.

Although focused on marketing a terrestrial bookshop, the presentation has had a far wider scope, and an attentive listener would take away from a one hour talk probably as much as they would after days of intensive training and reading. Needless to say, the advice given is equally applicable to online marketing as well.

Two very basic ideas are genuinely simple: to run a successful business in the modern-day world, you need 1) to combine your logic with your creativity and 2) to cater for the needs and desires of your customer. Legion is the name to those needs, but tuning in to your customers’ voices can ultimately help you enhance and even expand your business. The necessity to expand may be inevitable even for funeral businesses (after all, you may be not the only undertaker in town). Apparently, in the States they began to recognise the fact that the funeral should be a celebration of the life of the deceased, rather than an endless mourning of their death. As a consequence, some American undertakers began to expand their business into the area of fireworks trade and to offer a choice of a firework display to perform at the scattering of the ashes.

Yet the cleverest point of the presentation is Peter’s continuous referring to the two distinct, genuine individuals who in a very powerful way challenged and shaped the 20th c. – Albert Einstein and Pablo Picasso. The idea of a successful marketing is in bringing together one’s creativity and one’s logical thinking. Picasso and Einstein are referred to as those who embodied creativity (Picasso) and logic (Einstein). As being shown, however, Picasso had received an in-depth academic training in painting, whereby he was eventually able to overthrow the canons of his art and to pave the road to a new artistic vision. Likewise, Einstein, as brainy as he was, had been a dreamer who dreamt up some of his groundbreaking theories while walking in the mountains. Both Picasso and Einstein were capable of such complete success at their “trade” because, in the end of the day, both used logic and knowledge AS WELL as their creative potential.

This point is not only valid, but very powerful indeed, as it shows that a successful business is not just about figures, money, and the GP. Furthermore, Fisk potently demonstrates that art and business are not completely polar, as many of us tend to believe. He doesn’t recommend to turn your business into “show business”, but he urges to try and find this elusive equilibrium of creative thinking and knowledge. Quite simply, if you’re knowledgeable, look to make a new creative use of it. If you’re an artist, don’t lose your mind to the untempered creative impulse.

I suppose the latter point must sound strange coming from somebody creative (myself on this occasion). But, even if we look no further than at the works of literature, we’ll notice that all of them that survived their time and continue to impact and inspire us to this day are not just “lovely stories” or “serious stuff”. Beautiful in form, these works often hide many powerful intellectual challenges. For example, I have noticed long ago that people tend to think that poetry, as art in general, is all about emotion. In fact, it is about concealing the emotion, distancing from it, in order to capture its essence. One of my favourite Russian poets, Konstantin Balmont, when still young, was told by one of the older writers: ‘Let your inspiration crystallise first, then write’. “To crystallise the inspiration” means exactly what Peter Fisk is talking about in his presentation: to apply strict logical thinking to a creative impulse.

Links:

Marketing Genius at Amazon.com.

Marketing Genius Live – information about the book, seminars, launches, as well as a few free videos and extracts.

The Genius Works – more about Marketing Genius and Peter Fisk, plus more downloads. (Take a note of the website’s name.)

Peter Fisk’s presentation Business Strategy by Einstein and Picasso (video) from The Genius Works.

The Name for the King

The text that you’re about to read was written in late December 2005. It was literally inspired by a TV news report about Prince Charles considering to take on the name George when he eventually ascends the throne. The explanation was such that the name Charles was somewhat unfortunate: Charles I was beheaded, and Charles II was perhaps a bit too promiscuous.

Immediately upon hearing this, I thought about many things. Indeed, I thought about many kings and emperors and about whether or not their names ever pointed out to something bad or good in their fate. The result of my musings was posted first on Exzibit.net, which I then moved to another site. However, the beauty of Blogger is in that I can accompany the text with pictures, also choosing the best position for them on the page. Also, following the advice from Craig McGinty, I think this will be a good use of a previously written text.

I also believe this is a good way to celebrate the 1st of April. I know that all jokes on this day are usually played before noon, but, to paraphrase Kurt Vonnegut, “history is merely a list of anecdotes. It can only prepare us to laugh yet again”. Therefore, have fun!

The Name for the King

Shortly before Christmas, one of the TV news programmes broadcast a special report on Prince Charles. They said His Royal Highness is considering a change of the name and is thinking of using his middle name George when he eventually ascends the throne. Is the Prince being unnecessarily superstitious, or is name really a big deal for a king?

There are different opinions on a theory that personal names pretty much define people’s life. Some equal the theory to astrology and call it a “sham”; others quite honestly believe that name is highly important. Ultimately, it all depends on whether or not we believe in fate. If we do, we will probably avoid calling the child an old-fashioned or “unfortunate” name, like Marmaduke or Caesar. If we have no such hang-ups, our choice will be opulent (Queen), or health-friendly (Apple), or urban (Brooklyn).

The abovementioned report has left mixed feelings. For those who cannot give a damn about monarchy, Charles’s intentions certainly look ridiculous. Perhaps, even monarchists cannot quite understand him. Although the present Windsor monarch shares her name with Tudor Gloriana, she is neither as remarkable a politician, nor could she protect her royal house from public jeer. Of course, these things are not exactly to be blamed on her, but the truth is: as much as Elizabeth is a great and promising name, it could not and it would not allow Elizabeth II to fully match her famous namesake. Therefore, why to be so concerned about the past?

Now that the Prince’s plans are rumoured, and some historians have already expressed themselves on the subject, let us see if their fears are historically valid. Let us start with Charles. In England, Charles I was beheaded, and Charles II was raised in exile and is remembered for his promiscuity, the Plague and the Great Fire of London. Both, though, were the patrons of arts: under Charles I, van Dyke’s paintbrush flourished, under Charles II – Wren’s architectural genius. On the other hand, Charles I was sometimes unbearably idealistic. At the dawn of his youth he travelled to Spain incognito in an attempt to win over the Infanta’s heart. The quixotic heir mistook politics for windmills, wholeheartedly believing that his boldness and courage would make up for not converting to Catholicism. Of course, it did not work.

Continental rulers named Charles, Carlos, or Karl usually were not predestined to anything spectacular or disastrous. The Carolingian dynasty in France was named after Charles Martell and Charlemagne. The latter’s reign was famous for political prominence of the Frankish state, as well as for one of the fascinating periods in European culture, known as the Carolingian Renaissance. Charles VII’s astonishing victory over the English in the Hundred Years War is not outshone by his infamous abandonment of Joan of Arc. Some French Charleses were not very fortunate, however: Charles VIII died at 28, having accidentally run his head into a stone lentil; and Charles X was deposed as a result of the July Revolution, in 1830.

In Spain, Carlos IV’s reign was gloomy. First, he had to entrust his realm to Manuel Godoy, a terrible politician and the lover of his wife. When Napoleon invaded Spain, Carlos had to abdicate. Eventually, both he and his son Ferdinand were deposed, and Carlos fled the country and died in exile in Rome. Unlike Carlos IV, the present Spanish monarch Juan Carlos I will forever be remembered for his democratic reforms after he ‘inherited’ the realm, following the death of Franco. Indeed, Carlos is only a part of his name, but it did not seem to have diminished the political input of its bearer.

And in Germany the well-known Karl V Habsburg propelled the Holy Roman Empire of the German People to the unprecedented heights. His influence on politics, arts and religion cannot be underestimated. Neither should be the fact that the decline of the state that began soon after his death, later coupled with the dissolution of the Empire, had played a crucial part in creating the feeling of national humiliation. This feeling contributed decisively to both the First and the Second World wars.

Most royal names in English history never gave any definitive reason for great expectations. William I the Conqueror was an outstanding, although unwelcome, foreign monarch; William II Rufus was killed by conspirators; and in William IV’s reign the Reform Crisis had begun. The most “bearable” name was Henry in that the only English monarch to be murdered was Henry VI, while the other seven Henries normally lived long and remarkable lives.

If we look over the Channel, we will see exactly the same situation with the name Louis in France. Louis XVI was beheaded, and Louis IX died of dysentery in Tunis, but Louis XIV, The Sun-King, is never to be forgotten. True, the last three Louises on the French throne did not manage to equal their great predecessors, but it is their reigns that show: no matter what your name is, time will always have the last word.

In Russia, Alexander II well matched his grandfather, Alexander I the Liberator, who famously drove Napoleon out of the country. Grandson’s sobriquet, the Reformer, was inspired not only by abolition of slavery in 1861, but also by his gradual and cautious attempts to “democratise” Russian monarchy. However, the political climate of 1860s-70s in which the grandson had to rule was altogether different from the early 19^th c. The disdain of monarchy’s rigour grew to the extent, when the attempts on Alexander II’s life were carried out repeatedly. He was eventually killed in 1881 on his way to the palace – to sign what could become the first Russian constitution.

Against all listed examples that show a relative unimportance of the name in a monarch’s life those who believe in the connection between name and fate could weigh one, and truly gruesome, counterargument. It comes from English history, where the really “unfortunate” name was Edward. Edward II was violently murdered, Edward IV was deposed and exiled, an infant Edward V was killed by his uncle, another boy-king Edward VI died before he reached 16, and Edward VIII abdicated. Edward VII was possibly as much an admirer of the fairer sex, as Charles II, and even Edward III is of dubious fame. In addition to throwing his country into the turmoil of the Hundred Years War, he also committed the least conceivable blasphemy by making a garter the symbol of his chivalric order. The only “normal” king left is Edward I, praised by the English for the Eleanor Crosses and loathed by the Scots for all good reasons.

The name George that Charles is considering to take on, according to the media report, also cannot boast blissful history. George III was repeatedly “losing his head” (figuratively speaking), while the bedroom feats of George IV have allegedly reached a stupendous number of 7000, – much like Charler I and Charles II, respectively. The reign of George V saw the outburst of the First World War, the reign of George VI – of the Second World War. For a truly superstitious person, the perspective of ruling the nation at war (even nominally) should be just as horrible as that of decapitation or sexual notoriety.

Among some of the best-known and admirable historical Georges one was a father-founder of the United States, another – a brave defeater of Napoleon at Waterloo. But they were not kings, and are not likely to be used as parallels by the public opinion. The latter might instead recall the Bush “dynasty”, whose both members seem to be very belligerent: if anything else, they show great deal of consistency in motives, as in targets.

Historically, Charles’s two other middle names, Philip and Arthur, also do not give much hope. Philip is not an altogether new name in the history of British monarchy. Queen Mary I Tudor was married to Philip II of Spain, and the present Queen’s spouse is Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh. But Mary’s husband, although styled “King of England”, had rather limited powers and left the country where he was disliked after a little more than a year. The Duke of Edinburgh was never granted the title of Prince-Consort and does not enjoy much popularity in the masses. Those who trust in names will certainly speculate on whether a royal contender named Philip can ever become a King in England, let alone a popular one. The Glastonbury legends claim that King Arthur shall rise one day, and centuries ago in a society more poetic and less cynical the Arthurian Cycle would provide an enviable background to royal representation. If the Prince was to adopt this name today, the public opinion would be more than happy to dismiss him as the “wrong” Arthur.

As succession is not imminent, it may be that Charles decides not to undergo the name change. What is useful to remember is that both history of mankind and history of monarchy show two things. Fame and tradition, either good or bad, can be changed; and monarchy, with all its dependence on both, is no exception. As for people, their names are only remembered for their acts – and never otherwise.

The images used (from top):

Charles I, King of England, from Three Angles (by Anthony van Dyck, 1636)

Charles II (by Sir Peter Lily, c. 1670)

Karl V Habsburg at Muhlberg (by Titian, 1548)

Alexander I of Russia (by Franz Kruger, 1812)

Alexander II of Russia (a contemporary photograph)

Nigel Hawthorne as George III (Madness of King George by Nicholas Hytner)

How King Arthur Saw a Questing Beast and thereof Had Great Marvel (by Aubrey Beardsley, 1893-4)

O Felici Occhi Miei: Arcadelt and Caravaggio

The sheet music to a popular madrigal O Felici Occhi Miei by Diego Ortiz and Jacob Arcadelt can be seen in The Musicians by Caravaggio

Our fascination with Renaissance Italy never ceases. This time we have unambiguous evidence of what music the contemporaries of Caravaggio preferred. One piece that was quite popular was a madrigal by Jacques Arcadelt O Felici Occhi Miei.

(As a matter of fact, last year the Victoria and Albert Museum hosted two exhibitions that were linked together thematically, as geographically, and were of immense importance to all “Italianised Englishmen”, if we are to use the 16th c. slang. One was on Leonardo da Vinci; another on Italian Renaissance household; and I wrote about both on my blog in early November).

Now, I got somewhat interested in the piece of music that I recommended in the mentioned post purely because it was composed in the 16th c., which I studied in great depth. The piece is called Divisions of Arcadelt’s O felici occhi miei, and was composed by Diego Ortiz.

The piece in question is a madrigal by Jacob Arcadelt, a Flemish composer born between 1504 and 1505, who spent a lot of his time in Rome and then in Paris, where he died in 1568. Immensely popular for his madrigals and chansons, he also composed masses and motets. The very first printed madrigals appeared in 1537, and the year 1539 saw the publication of four out of six volumes of Arcadelt’s madrigals.

The madrigal in question is called O felici occhi miei (Oh, my happy eyes), and this is the text:

O felic’ occhi miei, felici voi,
che sete car’ al mio sol
perche sembianz’ havete
de gliocchi che gli fu si dolc’e rei.
voi ben voi sete voi,
voi, voi felici et io,
io no, che per quetar vostro desio,
corr’ amirar l’onde mi struggo poi.

(My word-for-word translation:

Oh my happy eyes, happy you are
That you can dearly behold my sun,
For [this is what] the face
To the eyes, to which it was so sweet and regal.
You are beautiful, glowing,
You are happy, and I,
And I am not, for to quieten my longing desire for you,
I look up at you whereby I then suffer).

The comparisons we find in this madrigal are typical of the Renaissance poetry. The most prominent poet who comes to my mind is certainly Petrarch (Canzoniere); but similar motives we can find in Shakespeare’s Sonnet 24. Face is the Sun (the term can be extended to include God); a lover cannot stop looking at the face of his beloved, like a man cannot stop looking at the sun; but the beauty of both bedazzles the viewer, bringing him to tears (strictly, as figuratively, speaking). Such motive, I am sure, goes well back in the dawn of history of literary figures.

Caravaggio - The Musicians (1595) — In this painting by Caravaggio we see one of the boys holding a sheet music with Diego Ortiz’s work

You can follow the links below to see the score sheets for this madrigal. What is interesting, however, is that a few years ago art historians have identified the Arcadelt’s manuscripts as being included in Caravaggio’s paintings. O felici occhi miei apparently features in painting above, The Musicians (1595, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York). Which only proves how popular was the madrigal O Felici Occhi Miei by Arcadelt even quarter of a century after his death.

(The image is taken from Florence Symposium Program page).

Below is a video with the madrigal recorded by Ernst Stolz and Trond Bengston, featuring the piece of art by Andrea Previtali. It is followed by Pro Musica Antiqua ensemble from Milan singing O Felic’ Occhi Miei a-capella.

Links:

Biography of Jacob (Jacques) Arcadelt at Wiki.
Biography of Arcadelt at HOASM.
Music of Renaissance Italy – Florence Symposium Program.

Previously on this post there was a link to O felici occhi miei music score in a .pdf file. I discovered recently that the link was no longer working, but the file is still available on the original site. Flauto Dolce has been created by Andrea Bornstein and has already amassed a marvellous collection of music score sheets and ‘is dedicated to the publication of original music and arrangements for recorder made available in various formats‘. Students of both Renaissance and Baroque music will be pleased to find a wide selection of compositions from these periods, some available in MP3. Mr Bornstein also indicated on his website that he was interested in collaborating with musicians who would consider to ‘realise the continuo of pieces from the XVII and XVIII centuries‘. No money offered, but the work will be licensed under the Creative Commons Licence. If you are such musician reading this post, don’t hesitate to contact Flauto Dolce.

You can go to Jacob Arcadelt’s page on Flauto Dolce, where you will find not one, but five of his compositions. Please note that you will need to register on the site to access any content.

World Cinema Day

On December 28, 1895, at the Grand Cafe on Boulevard des Capucines in Paris, the Lumière brothers screened their first film. Since then, cinema has entered our everyday life.

Today different directors speak differently of their art. Some say that cinema is in a rut; some assert its potential to influence the audience. There is a grain of truth in both views. A film must contain something that may influence the audience, and these days it’s hard to predict what this may be. On the other hand, whatever it may be, the audience must be prepared to receive their gospel.

I’m reading Miller’s Big Sur in Russian, so I cannot quote the passage about the real and the imaginary, but I’ll try to summarise his thought. Our life, he writes, is a dream. We move from one phase of this dream to another, from the dream of sleep to the dream of awakening, from the dream of life to the dream of death. He means, simply, that we aren’t always aware of what is happening, of the boundary between certainty and uncertainty. But the ultimate beauty of the dream is in its transforming force. Every object, animate or inanimate, the entire world, has got an aura, which becomes fluid in the dream and can transform itself.

Cinema is a dream. Moreover, it is a play, and, as everyone would agree, it aims at constructing its own space with its rules and agents. And here is where we sometimes stumble. I don’t quite like it when in Russia, for instance, some people are trying to invent a new word to describe an actor’s performance. Simply, where in English there are two words, game and play, which are used differently and sometimes strictly in a collocation, in Russian we’ve only got one word, igra. Whether you’re speaking of a sexual foreplay, or political games, or children games, or an actor’s playing, you’re using the word igra. And some people want to put in a divide between woeful life and beautiful art – as if the two can really be separated. At worst, they say that acting fools people.

It does. I read recently that a certain lady had stopped her romancing with Anthony Hopkins because in her mind he was strongly identified with Hannibal Lecter. And there are scores of women who think that a certain actor is just as sexually wild in life as he is on screen. But Hopkins is not Lecter, and a heartthrob can be a very modest man. So, the actors are playing, and, if this gives enough consolation to anyone, they fool themselves just as they fool us. In real life, they are nice and gentle parents, and on screen they kill in cold blood. Indeed, it looks like they use their talent against us. In truth, they give us an image of life that we’re craving for – like in The Purple Rose of Cairo. Or they make us see something we’d rather not look at. Or they try and show us a new dimension to life, which otherwise may have consisted of four walls of our room.

The world is a dark cinema hall, says Jean-Luc Godard in Notre Musique, and cinema is the ‘light’ that shines upon it from the screen. Cinema manipulates with the imaginary objects, but only imaginary is certain; reality is uncertain.

And so we’re living a dream. We’re living it in real time, if one agrees with Henry Miller, and we’re living it, when we watch films. Admittedly, as techniques and resources improved, the dream has become longer and brighter. The very first films shown at the Grand Cafe in Paris were only about 90 sec long. These days they can last as long as 4 hours, or even more.

The point is not that someone on both sides of the screen is constantly pulling our leg. If we think that art only reflects life, then we’re being fooled when we listen to the music, and when we read books, and when we look at the paintings. All that is a dream. But we need its transforming power to learn about ourselves, to see our aura being modified, if only slightly or very gradually.

More on the Lumière brothers films – here.

A bientot!

No, I’m not leaving anywhere, but I will be very very busy throughout the first half of November, whereby I might not have time or chance to write anything here. So, I decided I’d post some news and musings, as I may have to disappear until after the 13th.

It’s finally getting cold in Manchester. As I wrote previously, I’m not the most energy-efficient person in the world, thanks to my cold blood. At the moment I feel very very cold, despite the fact that I’m fairly well dressed. The problem, I should note, is that the room where I’m sitting is on the northern side of the building, hence there’s no sunlight. Does cold weather make me feel like I’m at home in winter? Positively so, especially because, as I’m told, it’s been snowing in Moscow already.

I’ll be working non-stop in the next two weeks, doing a lot of research and writing. I actually enjoy such hectic times, especially if a lot of information is coming my way, and I can learn new things. Then it’ll be the time for me to find a day to visit London. Unfortunately, it is unlikely to happen during the Atlantic Waves festival. It is definitely unlikely to happen on the 25th, when Thomas Koener, Victor Gama, Max Eastley, Asmus Tietchens, Z’Ev, David Maranha and Robert Rutman are performing at St Giles Cripplegate in Barbican. You can read more about this night of musical improvisation, on the festival’s website, or in November’s issue of The Wire (on sale now). I’m hoping, though, that either big channels, like the BBC, may feature it, OR it may appear on YouTube, providing the organisers and artists grant their permission. From what I know and read about the line-up for the night, it’s worth being recorded and transmitted.

However, whenever I go to London, I’ll have time to visit these two exhibitions at the Victoria and Albert Museum. Both are dedicated to Renaissance Italy, one to the Italian household of the time, and another – to one the Titans of Renaissance, Leonardo il Magnifico, commonly known as Leonardo da Vinci. The exhibition features an aircraft model after his drawings.

The online features of At Home in Renaissance Italy include a section on music, where you may find some delightful pieces, played on the lyra di braccio, lute, harp, and harpsicord. I cannot help recommending two pieces from the mid-16th c. in which I am a specialist, Canone by Francesco da Milano (1548) and Divisions of Arcadelt’s O felici occhi miei by Diego Ortiz (1553). I had a post on The LOOK group about Renaissance music, which you may wish to check out, it contains some interesting links and an extract from a song called Dilla da l’aqua.

Another small disappointment is that the Russian TV series of Quiet Flows the Don is now complete and the first episode will be screened on November 7. They say, you can’t have it all. I cannot have Rupert Everett and the night of musical improvisation, but I can have Leonardo at home in Renaissance Italy. Quid pro quo, eh? 😉

And, of course, November 5th is coming up this weekend. I have to say, where I live, we had a very calm Halloween, with no trick-or-treaters knocking on the door. But there were fireworks, and I expect something window-breaking on the 5th. A story goes with that. Four years ago I was coming to Manchester, and across the isle on the plane sat three people who took the same flight with me from Moscow. Because the airport authorities were afraid that some rascals might try and target the planes with the fireworks, they ordered an abrupt landing. So instead of landing gradually, the aircraft literally dropped down. Immediately as the engines had stopped, one of my compatriots was on the phone to his family. Last thing I heard him saying before I left the salon, was:

‘Oh, yes, we’re OK. Yes, we’ve just fallen. No, of course, we landed, but it was like we’ve fallen down’.

Finally, one of my favourite photos by Brassai and one of my favourtie photos, in general. I adore his plan and perspective on this nocturnal shoot. Hopefully, you’ll like it, too.

Update: thanks to another Russian aficionado of Quiet Flows the Don, we’ve now got the date of release of the film on DVD. It’s 9 November, exactly one month before my birthday. The cover apparently looks like this:

And I can’t help it, I’ve got to put up this photo from the film, which has got two of the leading actors, Andrei Rudensky and Rupert Everett.