Last night, on my way to hear David Sedaris read, I received a text message. My 13-year-old niece Maggie sent me a cell phone photo (see inset) and this message, “As a subscriber to American Rifleman, and a strong member of the NRA, I find myself hating Barrack Odrama more and more.” (Emphasis added)
Thus began one of the most enjoyable political exchanges ever. I responded ironically saying, “You know, Barrack has been inspiring young people all over the nation to get involved politically. Looks like he’s inspired you too.”
After that, we traded witty political barb, for witty political barb; clever conservative punch for clever liberal punch. Finally, I commented, “Aren’t you offended that it’s American Rifleman? Shouldn’t it be American Rifleperson?” Maggie responded with what amounts to a text-message, teenager roll of the eyes. And then she called me a feminist.
As a proud feminist, nothing could make me happier than my favorite conservative—a girl of thirteen who can stand her ground and keep up with her crazy liberal uncle who’s more than twice her age. Keep it up Maggie.
It was a beautiful fall day. And BYU wasn’t playing football. So I thought the traffic would be bearable for a trip to Provo. Why go to Provo? To see Turning Point: The Demise of Modernism and the Rebirth of Meaning in American Art at the BYU Museum of Art. I’m guessing an academic came up with the title.
The exhibit takes viewers from the Abstract Art of the 1960s, through Minimalism and Conceptual Art, and on to Contemporary Art. I buy the show’s idea that Minimalism and Conceptual Art were a reaction to abstraction. I’m not sure I agree with the notion that Minimalism led to the explosion of artistic styles we see today. But whether or not you agree with the premise, the art is worth seeing.
Let’s start with some of the earlier works in the show like Frank Stella’s Agbatana III (Fluorescent Acrylic on Canvas, 1968). This huge, shaped canvas feels like something from Austin Power’s bachelor pad—it’s just plain groovy.
From the minimalists, we get two spectacular works. The first is Donald Judd’s Untitled (Anodized Aluminum and Plexiglas, 1969). The piece uses simple materials to deliver astonishing finishes that mimic the high-tech surfaces of works by Jeff Koons and Anish Kapoor. And Sol Lewitt’s impressive 49 Three-Part Variations on Three Different Kinds of Cubes (Enamel on Steele, 1967-71) is a whole new approach to cubism.
Later works in the show are just as intoxicating. Take Jenny Holzer’s Truisms 2 English (Mini LED Sign, 1977-79). The work is exactly as described: A tiny LED sign scrolling bits of wisdom like, “Holding back protects your vital energies.” The sign is so small you can barely make out the words. The effect is mesmerizing.
My pick of the show is a 2008 work by Uruguayan artist Marco Maggi, Double Hotbed (Cuts on 98 Letter-Size Sheets of Paper). This piece is both imposing and delicate. It’s like a gleaming white city of the future—a place I’d like to live. This work is hard to describe. Think miniature pop-up-book sculpture—only on a strangely grand scale.
Recommending Turning Point is tricky because so many people find this type of art perplexing. But you should go. It’s worth the trip. And if you’re afraid to go alone, call me. I’d visit again.
Turning Point is on display through January 3, 2009.
I know, mid-century modernism is all about architecture and design. But some times the same ideas spread to music and even dance. Repertory Dance Theatre’s (RDT) recent show The Messengers offered an interesting dose of mid-century modernism, mixed in with more contemporary works.
RDT is moving up in the world. This show is one of the best I’ve seen in several years. Maybe it was the stellar choreography. Maybe it was the better dancers. Whatever it was, it was a big leap in the right direction.
Let’s start with the overture performed by PARTCH, an ensemble that specializes in the music and instruments of composer Harry Partch. Partch’s work is an innovative mash-up that’s part John Cage and part hermit-like instrument builder that lives deep in the woods. The music is radical and the custom-built instruments are just plain cool. The overture was the first movement from Partch’s Castor and Pollux. From the glass bottle bells to the hand-built marimba-like instruments, this was a percussionist’s dream.
And the group returned later to accompany the dancers, a rarity to have live music with modern dance. The piece was Castor and Pollux, choreographed by Elizabeth Waters in 1958. And beyond the brilliant music, there was plenty of dancing to like. Take couple #1: Ashley Segura and Aaron Wood. I don’t want to like Aaron Wood but he’s making it hard not to. He’s proving to be a good addition to RDT. Combined with the newest dancer in the company, Chris Peddecord, the more experienced male dancers in the company have a lot to worry about.
I also have to mention Ariadne (1985), a solo by choreographer Ze’eva Cohen and danced by Chara Huckins-Malaret. I normally don’t like solos because it’s hard to appreciate the choreography. But this dance was so stylized, so precise that the choreographer’s presence was strong—it felt almost like she was sitting in the wings.
The best performance of the evening was Mythical Hunters (1965) choreographed by Greg Tetley. I’ve heard a lot about Mr. Tetley but this is the first of his works I’ve seen. The dance was challenging but thanks to the addition of several dancers from Ballet West, the company rose to the occasion. The work was created in 1965 for the Batsheva Dance Company in Tel Aviv. I liked the earthiness of modern dance combined with the long, lean lines of ballet.
Thanks to this intriguing performance, I’m more excited than I’ve been in a while to see what RDT does next.
I know, I said I don’t do favorites. But for the second time in just two posts, I’m ready to proclaim a favorite. Armistead Maupin is my favorite writer. After reading my third Maupin book, I’m hooked. I recently finished Maupin’s first book, Tales of the City. And it’s about as close to perfect as you can get.
First, a warning: I’ve taken to not recommending books because people get so sensitive. I never know what will offend. So as a warning, this book contains homosexuals, philanderers, druggies, potheads, child pornographers, and adulterers. Don’t read it if you’re going to get all preachy.
With that out of the way, let's talk about the book. Armistead Maupin pens better dialogue than any other writer I've read in a long time. Conversation drives the story. And you just can’t stop reading. The book reminds me that few things are as pleasurable as a great conversation. I'm dedicating myself to becoming a conversationalist. I want to chat with friends and acquaintances in a way that is charming, flirty, honest, emotional, sincere. I want to exit the room with short, carefully crafted statements loaded with intrigue and innuendo.
Then there’s the snappiness to Maupin's writing. Every word matters. There’s no need for embellishment. And that crisp, tight writing is refreshing.
Armistead also uses literary devices that I love. Take for example the way short, smart sentences punctuate the end of chapters. These sentences make it hard to put the book down. Before you know it, you’ve read a dozen chapters. And you still want more. Some of my favorite examples of chapter-ending morsels include:
- Connie, apparently, was still popular.
- Taped to the note was a neatly rolled joint.
- Venus reentering the clam shell.
- “Tell that to your gynecologist!”
- “O.K., O.K. So Nair doesn’t work for everybody.”
- “What else? Sickle cell anemia.”
Each short chapter in Tales of the City is a jewel; a sparkling gem that tells a complete story in just a few pages. And then, all those gems come together to create a tiara, a bracelet, or a brooch that dazzles and delights. And I love the literary bling.
For the most part, I don’t do favorites. Why should I be forced to choose when there are so many things to like? “Who’s your favorite this?” “What’s your favorite that?” I don’t know the answers. But I’ve gone gaga for Alwin Nikolais. So I will commit to this. My favorite choreographer is Alwin Nikolais. And lucky for me, somehow, someway, Salt Lake City is a Mecca for Nikolais’ addictive works.
I’m not exactly sure how it happened, but a few years ago Ririe-Woodbury was designated as the official re-creator of Nikolais’ works. And it’s paid off for the dance company. Early in the new century, the New York Times chose Ririe-Woodbury’s first all-Nikolais program as one of the ten best performances of the year. That’s the New York Times choosing a performance from a small modern dance company in Salt Lake City as one of the ten best. How did that happen?
Now Ririe-Woodbury is back with another all-Nicolais performance. The evening started with Crucible. This was the third time I’ve seen this work and you haven’t experienced dance until you’ve been through the Crucible. It involves a giant mirror and various body parts reflected in said mirror. It’s genius. I’ve seen very few works of art that are this good. All those multi-million dollar paintings from the same period have nothing on this.
And there was plenty more to love. Tensile Movement is the Alwin Nikolais work I’ve seen more than any other. And no matter how often I see it, it still inspires. Let’s face it, tension is sexy. Like most great artists, Nikolais has themes that appear constantly in his works. Tension is one of his best. Tensile Movement is all about tension. But you also see the theme of tension in several movements from Liturgies. Take Reliquary. It features a women in a lacquered mask tied with stretchy bands to two men. And then the company danced Celebrants, where the performers forced themselves into strange silhouettes that were confined and restricted. It all made for a performance that feels like a precursor to Mathew Barney.
Another Nikolais theme is reflection. It’s most obvious in Crucible. But you also see it in several movements of Liturgies and Tensile Movement. Once again, Nikolais seems to have influenced visual artists after him. Like Jeff Koons’ polished stainless steel works. Or the slick artistry of Anish Kapoor. Even the works of Josiah McElheny. Alwin is a visionary who set the stage for art that followed. And don’t get me started on how Nikolais may have influenced pop culture from Star Trek to Cirque du Soleil.
Tower was the newest work in Ririe-Woodbury’s Nikolais quiver. I liked its 60s, go for broke, performance-art feel. But (and I’ve complained about this before) asking dancers to speak is almost always a mistake. The Ririe-Woobury dancers did better than most. Still, this wasn’t Mr. Nikolais’ best. But even his less-than-best stuff is dang good.
My Fair Lady is one of my favorite shows. The lyrics, the songs, and the story are just plain loverly. So when I heard Pioneer Theatre Company is opening its current season with My Fair Lady, I was more than excited.
Unfortunately, the Pioneer Theatre production doesn’t live up to the material. The reason, the two leads just don’t deliver. Elizabeth Stanley as Eliza Doolittle is flat. The Eliza character usually makes me choke up in at least two or three moments. This performance? Nothing. I think Ms. Stanley was worrying way too much about the accents and not enough about the acting.
And Paul De Boy is no better as Henry Higgins. In fact, he’s worse. I know Henry Higgins is supposed to be a curmudgeony, sexist intellectual but we’re still supposed to like him. Mr. De Boy’s Higgins is just annoying. What’s with those hand movements? I’ve seen American Idol rejects that give more convincing performances.
OK, I’m probably being too hard on the leads. But these roles are iconic. And I think I have the right to expect more. Thank goodness not all was bad. Jeff Brooks as Alfred Doolittle gets off to a shaky start but warms up to steal several scenes. The trio of men providing back-up vocals turn out to be more than just a little bit of luck. And the costumes during the racing scene are stunning. I just wish the company delivered performances to match.
It’s early in the run. Maybe performances will improve. And there’s always the possibility I just got it wrong. So see for yourself. My Fair Lady at Pioneer Theatre Company runs through October 4.
Keith Lockhart opened the 2008-2009 Utah Symphony season (and Lockhart’s last season as music director) with what can only be described as classical pop—some of the biggest hits in the history of music. And why not? The house was full, the orchestra was energized, and the crowd thrilled to the all-Beethoven program.
Garrick Ohlsson (who’s become something of a Utah Symphony regular) opened the show as soloist in Beethoven’s Concerto No 4 for Piano in G major. The dizzying demands of the concerto were delivered effortlessly. This is music that moves and astounds. And that was just the first half.
The second half featured Symphony No. 9 in D minor, also called the Choral Symphony and commonly referred to as Ode to Joy thanks to the concerto’s big finale complete with soloists and chorus. This symphony is one great moment after another. The music is so good that even a bad performance is rewarding. But there was no bad performance here. The Utah Symphony delivered a big, confident performance. And by the time the choral finale rolled around, I expected to see banner-waving crowds and cheering in the streets afterward.
I think I’ll spend more time at the Symphony this season.
Last night, on my way to hear David Sedaris read, I received a text message. My 13-year-old niece Maggie sent me a cell phone photo (see inset) and this message, “As a subscriber to American Rifleman, and a strong member of the NRA, I find myself hating Barrack Odrama more and more.” (Emphasis added) 
