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October 2011
Museum Piece
for
Kalila
In my sheepskin-lined corduroy coat—collar up,
I'm fighting the elements when we meet at the door.
It was all winter and white walls and wantonly young.
Your opening as icy and bold as the season
itself:
"Young man I can pay my own way," you say.
And this in the caterpillar days of the movement.
You were the smelling salts under a nose
of a kid knocked out cold to what held no punches.
My head now turned upward, my eyes transfixed
the walls of MoMA at first echoed one more
church.
But this one gloried in the works of man—
masters burning holes in other realms with their paints.
Like the macabre quietude of Guernica
shrieking.
Flesh and spirit swirling through cakes of oils
as if in defiance of the almighty God—
first encountered in my Catechism class:
Who is God? God is the creator
of heaven and earth and of all things.
You seek to teach of other
creators.
I'm about probing beneath the brush strokes
in search of a whole from disparate parts.
All filtered through a head steeped in anticipation
of what later that night was to come.
Had not the day itself been so ripe with discovery?
The rest is history. We have a history.
The chapters on distance and drifting apart
are so inevitable, they get read and reread.
You took me to places I had never been
then left me atop a mountain from which
I had no other option but to learn how to fly.
—Ron
Vazzano
***
de Kooning
Meanwhile back at the museum,
a retrospective spanning seven decades of the work of Willem
de Kooning (1904-1997), opened at MoMA last month on the 18th.
It will close January 9, 2012. If you are in town ("town"
for us always meaning New York if you will forgive the geographic
chauvinism) run, don't walk, to see it.
It runs the gamut from a couple
of traditional still life paintings he did as a young man,
to the those completed while in the throes of advanced Alzheimer's
toward the end of his life— his last artistic effort
coming in 1989.
While he comes from the Abstract
Expressionism school of painting, he is also a figurative
painter. And both of these forms come into play in his signature
"Woman" series, in which the figure seems to fight
its way through the abstraction, leaving a good deal of chaos
and ruin (?) in its wake. And as these bountiful amazon-like,
teeth baring (man-eating?) depictions of women are not exactly
a paean to the female form or femininity, it was no surprise
that they caused such a sensation when they were first displayed
in 1953.
He was roundly criticized
at the time by many, as being a misogynist. One can only imagine
what hell would have broken loose if these had been introduced
during the white hot period of the feminist movement, that
was to come some fifteen years later.
In de Kooning: An American
Master, an excellent biography by Mark Stevens and Annalyn
Swan (2004; Alfred A.Knopf), they have captioned his "Woman
I" (1950-52) as: An iconic work and still one of
the most disturbing images of a woman in the history of art.
But what also amazes us beyond
de Kooning's blatant disregard for political correctness,
is how much planning and development went into these works.
His representation of "woman" was hardly impulsive,
but rather much considered. One wall of the exhibit demonstrates
by way of full scale black & white illustrations, six
stages of development and iterations, of what "Woman
I" went through for two years, before it finally hit
the canvas as shown above.
De Kooning is also described
as being an "action painter." That is, one given
to broad brush strokes that seem to suggest movement (if not
collision?) and give the viewer a sense of the very physical
act of painting itself. Jackson Pollack —in not even
bothering to use a brush but actually throwing paint from
can to canvas—might be considered to epitomize this
form. But in "Ruth's Zowie," for one, (no this one
did not take two years in planning), de Kooning shows his
action "stripes".
De Kooning and Pollack had
more in common than that of being abstract impressionists
or action painters. The Ruth of this eponymous painting above,
was Ruth Klingman, the only survivor in the car crash that
killed Jackson Pollack and her friend Edith Metzger. She was
Pollack's mistress, while he had been married to his painter
wife Lee Krasner. She would then become de Kooning's mistress,
while he was married to his painter wife Elaine. As the world
turns.
And as we have frequently
posed the question, what is art? we might now pose the question
of what is madness? And why does it seem to be so inherent
in so many artists and their creations?
De Kooning, like Pollack,
was a flaming alcoholic (they drank at the same place, the
Cedar Tavern) and a philanderer. Both were indulgent beyond
words—poster boys for over-the-top and embarrassing
behavior. Yet both are now considered masters. Both hang on
walls…both are revered. De Kooning was awarded the Medal
of Freedom by Lyndon Johnson in 1964. And of course, someone
like Van Gogh could take this question to a whole other level.
None of this is relevant to
this wonderful exhibit, except perhaps for this: check your
left brain along with your coat when you enter the museum.
Then go for a joyride on the brush of de Kooning, through
the 200 works on display. Feel their wild wind of energy and
unbridled spirit—don't ponder their meaning. And take
that back out with you through the revolving door. Oh yeah,
don't forget your coat.
***
Word of the Month
David Alpaugh, for whom we had had the pleasure
of being a featured poet at a reading he hosted in Northern
California a couple of years ago, sent us an essay he wrote
entitled "Götterdämmerung for American Poetry." (www.davidalpaugh.com)
As he is very knowledgable on literary matters, we were inclined
to shout "right on!" And then we thought…uh, what exactly
is a Götterdämmerung? Doesn't sound all that good.
And therein lies our word-of-the month:
Götterdämmerung
[got-er-dam-uh-roong,
-ruhng; Ger. gœt-uhr-dem-uh-roong]
While it literally translates to twilight
of the gods, it means a collapse (as of a society
or a regime) marked by a catastrophic violence and disorder
(Webster's 2002). We call that here, "The Sixties."
Or…a God-awful Götterdämmerung gone Gomorrah,
good God!
And as often happens when you run across a
word for the first time, it seems as if you see it almost
immediately thereafter for a second time. And there is was
that very day in a poster up by Lincoln Center: Wagner's
Götterdämmerung. No doubt an operatic
excursion into despair. Think we'll pass on this.
***
That Breakfast…That Opening…That
Song
October 5th will mark the 50th anniversary
of the release of the movie Breakfast at Tiffany's.
Has there ever been a more captivating treatment
of opening credits in a movie?
A sylphlike woman, dressed
in Givenchy and decked out in pearls, stepping out of a cab
at dawn? Eyes hidden behind oversized shades? On a deserted
Fifth Avenue? Standing statuesque for a moment before Tiffany's
majestic door? Then inching on to the window displays? Tilting
her head just so at one piece that captivates her? Sipping
coffee… eating a danish? Who is she? Where has she been?
Where is she going?
And then there's that song.
Has there ever been a more sentimental, bordering
on schmaltzy song, that yet was so right for capturing the
spirit of such a poetic cinematic moment?
It turns out that the woman is on her way
to her apartment at 169 East 71st St. (which is right around
the corner from our barber shop on Lexington Avenue), and
that song, Moon River, would win Oscars for composer
Henri Mancini and lyricist Johnny Mercer. It's all worth another
look. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1JfS90u-1g8&NR=1
Of course the very presence of Audrey Hepburn,
elevates not only that scene—which establishes an inner
life for Holly Golightly, the character she is playing—but
she carries the entire movie on her slender shoulders. It
is difficult to imagine any other actress in this role.
It is legendary now, that Truman Capote who
wrote the novella Breakfast at Tiffany's on which
movie is very loosely based, wanted the studio to cast Marilyn
Monroe in the role. Marilyn stepping out of that cab? Well,
then you've got a whole different movie on your hands.
And yet, Hepburn had great
reservations about accepting the role. According to Sam Wasson,
who wrote a very entertaining book on the making of the movie,
Fifth Avenue, 5 A.M. with a subtitle that won't quit,
Audrey Hepburn, Breakfast at Tiffany's and the Dawn of
the Modern Woman, in speaking about those reservations,
had this to report:
" 'She kept fighting
to have the character softened...' "
"…the part frightened
her, and not just because of what Holly did in the powder
room, but because of what the role demanded of her as
an actress. Were she to accept, Audrey knew that this
time she couldn't trade in on charm alone, nor could she
sing…"
"…playing an extended drunk
scene, getting into absolute rage, and evincing a a deep
depression…were simply out of her range."
She would go on to get an Oscar nomination
for Best Actress, (though it would go to Sophia Loren for
Two Women) and she would turn Holly Golightly into
a classic fictional character, in a way Capote's book never
would nor could. Many film critics thought this was her best
work as an actress.
Truth be told, it is a flawed film. Mickey
Rooney (the only one still alive of all the principles connected
to the film) played an upstairs neighbor Mr. Yunioshi, in
the manner of a buck-toothed caricature of a Japanese man,
that was an embarrassment then and is ever more so now. Not
to mention that it was totally out of whack with the rest
of the film.
The party scene, so seemingly hip in a late
50's/early sixties sort of way, with all the cigarette smoking,
whoop-de-doo and excessive drinking—wherein a tall woman,
dead drunk, is about to fall flat on her face and a path is
cleared for her to do so, as Holly shouts "Timber!"—
all now seem a bit sophomoric. Yet it is very imaginative
and well directed. And who knows. With all the "retro"
fitting going on about that period popping up all over TV—Mad
Men, Pan Am, The Playboy Club to cite some prime examples—there
might just be an audience for such jolly good old times. One
would not be surprised to see them take another shot at this
as a TV series. "They" apparently once considered
it, and it went nowhere.
But all that aside, Audrey Hepburn's performance
is brilliant in a very understated way. And since they don't
make Audrey Hepburns any more, and romance never goes out
of style, the film is worth another viewing.
The Film Society of Lincoln Center
and Paramount Home Entertainment hosted a 50th Anniversary
Party complete with a Q & A with Julie Andrews, acting
as a surrogate for her late husband Blake Edwards who directed
the film. This was prior to the movie's re-issuance on High
Definition Blu-ray Disc(TM) on September 20th. If only there
was a way to edit Mickey Ruin-y out of the film.
As a parting homage to that breakfast, that
opening, that song, we reprise something we "photo-shopped"
and referred to in our JUNE,
2007 MUSE-LETTER as "…the visual equivalent
of mixed metaphors. Or…might we suggest incongruous
icons?"
***
9/11 and Oklahoma City
In response to our reflections on 9/11 last
month, in prose, poetry and video, we received a rather impassioned
point of view which stated in part:
"I'm a bit disappointed
at the extent of the 9/11 commemoration, relative to other
events. Timothy McVeigh killed 167 people, and injured nearly
700 more. But as a nation, we do not commemorate those casualties
(granted, only a fraction of the WTC toll, but victims of
terrorism nonetheless)...
"It's got to be part
of that "NY is the center of the universe" thing."
It should be noted that this individual is
a lifelong New Yorker, so there certainly is no regional bias
in his take on the matter.
As it would happen, we were in Tulsa last
month. And as it's just an hour and a half drive to Oklahoma
City from there, we got to visit the National Memorial &
Museum, which is dedicated to the remembrance of that tragedy
sixteen years ago. The focus, in the main of course, is on
those lives lost at the hands of a home grown blond-haired
terrorist— Timothy McVeigh
Walk through a portal…go down the steps…find
168 empty chairs on the grounds of where the Murrah Building
once stood and was destroyed that April 19, 1995. Each chair
is inscribed with the name of a victim. The nineteen smaller
ones each representing a child who was killed that day.
But also, there are more than 600 names of
those who survived the blast, engraved in the salvaged pieces
of granite from the lobby of the bombed out building. It suggested
to us, a statement along the lines of... even in the face
of terrorism, we will survive. We cannot be defeated. If the
9/11 museum due to open next year, turns out to be anything
like that of the Memorial Museum in Oklahoma City, we are
in for a rather chilling experience.
The interesting thing we have come to discover,
is that even if— as has been suggested—we have
forgotten those Oklahomans, they have not forgotten us. It
started with the service we attended on this past 10th anniversary
of 9/11, in St. Paul's Church at Ground Zero. This is the
banner that hung from the rafters.
And while in Oklahoma, we noted that 9/11
is repeatedly referenced; on its museum walls and on the lips
of its people passing through. As is the similarities in the
humanitarian efforts and heroism, that were made in response
to both tragedies.
Finally, if that is not indicative that we
have been on the minds of Oklahomans throughout these last
ten years, how can those who pass through downtown Tulsa ever
forget? For there sits Oklahoma's tallest building (52 stories),
the BOK Tower (Bank of Oklahoma). It is an exact replica of
a World Trade Center Tower, and it too was designed by the
American architect Minoru Yamasaki. And both were built within
five years of each other. We found it almost eerie when we
first came upon it and snapped this picture:
But the question raised is
still a valid one. While they remember "us," do
we remember "them"? Maybe not as we should. But
perhaps the reason lies in the fact that, the attack on the
WTC was deemed an act of war. Acts of war are never forgotten.
Acts of terror on the other hand, have tended to fade from
the collective consciousness over time.
When was the last time any of us heard of
the Wall St. bombing? It took place on September 16, 1920…killed
38 and serious injured 143 (400 overall).
We would doubt if many have ever known that
the Los Angeles Times Building was dynamited on October
1, 1910, killing 21 and injuring 100.
Yes of course, these happened long before
we were born.
But many of us had to be reminded of the first
World Trade Center bombing in 1993 killing six people, and
according to Wikipedia, injured 1,000?! And that happened
just eighteen years ago. (Those six names thankfully, have
been included at the site of the two WTC memorial fountains
just opened to the public last month on the 12th.)
What tragedies resonate and which tend to
fade, probably does have something to do with numbers. We
remember the Titanic… not the Andrea Doria.
(AUGUST,
2006 MUSE-LETTER)
That of course doesn't make it right. But
it doesn't make it wrong either. Our remembrances about tragedies
are not matters of governmental dictate. With a possible exception
of Remember the Maine! Though we have forgotten why
we are supposed to remember it.
November 22nd goes by each year with nary
a mention in the press, or by any institutions, governmental
or otherwise.
We don't know the answer to the question posed
by our reader. But given history's lessons, we doubt that
it lies in the fact that this tragedy, was in the main, "New
York" based. That said, our regrets do go out to those
in Oklahoma for perhaps not keeping you more top of mind.
***
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