#Myfanwy Piper

[operasrsly]

Benjamin Britten’s opera for television: Owen Wingrave 

The Wingrave family prides itself on being a family of soldiers. When Owen Wingrave decides that he will refuse to fight in the military, they don't take his decision well. Both he as well as his fiancé Kate lost their respective fathers in battle; while Owen sees this death as pointless, Kate embraces the apotheosis offered by society, that they died for a greater good, for honour, for King and country. Owen's decision challenges her own narrative. She calls Owen a coward and puts him up to a test of courage: in the attic of the Wingrave mansion, generations ago, a boy has died. Since then, the room is said to be haunted. If you're in a hurry, I recommend listening to just the two minutes starting at 55 min that blend Act I into Act II - a beautiful cantilene with an edge, and a disturbing children's choir, recounting the story of young Wingrave who refused to fight. [x]

Kent Nagano - conductor Margaret Williams - director

Gerald Finley - Owen Wingrave (baritone) Peter Savidge - Spencer Coyle (bass-baritone) Hilton Marlton - Lechmere (tenor) Josephine Barstow - Miss Wingrave (dramatic soprano) Anne Dawson - Mrs Coyle (soprano) Charlotte Hellekant - Kate Julian (mezzo-soprano) Martyn Hill - Sir Philip Wingrave (tenor) Elizabeth Gale - Mrs Julian (soprano)

The Deutsches Symphonie Orchester Berlin

Libretto: Myfanwy Piper, after Henry James Directed by Margaret Williams, 1991.

[earhartsease]

as promised, here's the first page of the introduction written by Myfanwy Piper to her 1944 poetry collection Sea Poems in which she kind of crashes somewhat against the cliffs

INTRODUCTION

Here there is not a single, 'row, sailors, row,' not a lady of Spain, not a bosun's mate, not a comb nor a glass; scarcely an oilskin or a Drake or a Trafalgar. Apart from this, these are the best poems or parts of poems I know that describe the sea (and seaside) or illustrate it in its relation to humanity. And as there are many different kinds of sea, from what Hardy calls "the Epic-famed, God-haunted Central Sea" to the ice-bound seas of Tartary; from the independent, cold and glorious surge of Cornwall to the complaisance of the esplanaded Channel; so there is an immense variety in its relation to man. To Swinburne it is a mother. But his passionate merging with the sea interrupts and obscures his passionate observation of it, and so the more personal passages have been avoided.

The sea is a playmate apt to turn nasty; it is alluring; it is hostile; it is indifferent; it is treacherous; human attributes that hang over from the time when it was a fighting ground for the gods: gods who gain a poetical familiarity, without losing their strangeness or their power, from Elizabethan translations. And so I have included the barbaric beauties of Chapman and Sandys' pedantic tenderness.

In late seventeenth and eighteenth century verse the ripples of the Mediterranean gods stiffen into a scollop-like pattern round more distant coasts; their swelling fury becomes a rank of formal breakers; and Neptune a mere flourish to give a certain graciousness to the spices and the icebergs of travellers' tales. But sometimes the eighteenth century had a display of fireworks over the sea all its own, and so there are surprises like Edward Young's Ode to the Ocean.

Landor's love and Darley's nostalgia give the gods new life.

In Byron's poems, like the ghost in a country house, they are heard but not seen, and without them a certain authenticity would be lacking. After that they disappear except in answer to rare summonses like those of the Australian Kendal, and do not impose themselves upon the waves again. The sea becomes a mirror for the moods of the poet. And to its melancholy is sometimes added the great Norse burden.

and so on :) - we love her passion more than we love most of the poetry she chose, to be honest - it mostly feels very cerebral and rigid and, well, standard male poet output as one might expect from the last few centuries - and we much prefer the choices in the book we were actually looking for when we got this one, The Puffin Book Of Salt-Sea Verse (which also has amazing art in it that we're still trying to summon the spoons to take pics of to share)

anyway, anyway, all hail welsh writers with a see-bea in their bonnet

[twittercomfrnklin2001-blog]

The Turn of the Screw

THE TURN OF THE SCREW, music by Benjamin Britten, libretto by Myfanwy Piper, directed by Amanda Smith: Britten’s chamber opera spells out what Henry James’ novella and most other adaptations leave to the imagination. Even though the housekeeper, Mrs. Grose (Krisztina Szatio) cannot see them, the ghosts of Peter Quint (Azitha Tennekoon) and Miss Jessup (Rachel Krehm) here are very real, and your appreciation of the piece will rise and fall on how well you can accept that. I was intrigued by the way Myfanwy Price positions them as representatives of a pagan culture fighting back against centuries of oppression. Its opposition, Christianity and rationalism, is doomed to failure. The church is off-stage, represented largely by a hymn the children sing at the start of Act II. Smith’s production adds a priest, but since he has nothing to sing, he’s not exactly a powerful force against the haunting. Rationalism, as represented by the governess (the wonderful Elizabeth Potese), has its flaws as well. Her crush on the children’s unseen gardener and, by extension, young Miles (Ryan McDonald), colors her choices and contributes to the plot’s outcome.

Smith has staged the work in a challenging space. The Theatre Passe Muraille’s mainstage is rather small, though there’s a catwalk surrounding the performing area that allows her to work with levels. A lot of her staging is quite effective. There are large lattice-work panels upstage that provide places for ghostly appearances and at one point a space for Potese to spy on the spirits. The only misstep is having Tennekoon make his first appearance in the center balcony, where most of us in the orchestra couldn’t see him. Since it overhung my seat, he also dropped leaves on me, a distraction that makes me wonder what you could drop on the audience in other operas, to good or ill effect (you can make your suggestions in the comments). Smith has also cast adults as the children, which is understandable, and they both play children convincingly on an emotional/relationship level. But having an adult male in the final scene makes the inevitable ending harder to sell.

Fortunately, the singing is glorious. This is largely an opera for treble voices with the addition of a tenor as Quint. When the women and Miles sing together, the harmonies are ravishing, while Quint and Jessup have sinuous, seductive lines as they try to live on through the children. Potese, in particular, is a wonderful singing actress. The governess is one of the most psychologically complex figures in modern opera, and Potese captures her every nuance. The opera is her tragedy, and her performance made me want to see Potese tackle other intense roles in pieces like THE CONSUL or MEDEA.

[ulrichgebert]

Einmal mehr hat Herr von Aschenbach genug von der Kunst, begibt sich nach Venedig, verfällt einem adretten jungen Mann, sehnt sich nach der Jugend, und stirbt. Wir hatten da sogar Karten diesen Frühling, aber die Aufführung fiel der Seuche zum Opfer. Man nimmt es jetzt überhaupt mehr als Geschichte über schlechtes Seuchenmanagement aus Habgier wahr, aber es ist trotzdem sehr schön.

[mybeingthere]

Edward Piper (1938 - 1990 English) was the eldest son of the artist John Piper and his wife Myfanwy. 

He was educated at Lancing College and later studied under Howard Hodgkin at the Bath Academy of Art in Corsham and later at the Slade School of Art in London.Piper produced photographs for the Shell County Guides and also undertook graphic design commissions to make a living. 

However, his real passion was figurative art and painting female nudes in particular. Later he painted landscapes, in Corsica, Malta, France, Italy and Spain.

A number of Piper's lithographs and screenprints are to be found in the Tate Gallery collection.

[nenuphar-blue]

I have a deep fondness for most of Benjamin Britten’s work, but for many years now I’ve been completely fixated on The Turn of the Screw. But when I was listening to it again while working today, I found it upset me in ways it never had before.

Let me explain. Britten’s treatment of the story emphasizes the corruption and suffering of the children. From the first time I heard it age 13 or so, that particular aspect really resonated with me. I was an extremely fearful, distrustful child, always ashamed, and always by myself. I think I was attracted to media and material that reflected my worldview at the time: there was something wrong with me, I shouldn’t trust adults, etc and etc.

Now that I’m older, I really feel for the governess in this version - the way she obsesses over the children liking her, her dogged determination to protect them, and her vain efforts to get someone else to see what’s going on … and when at the end, when the corrupting influence prevails and she’s left holding her charge’s dead body, she turns her sorrow back on herself in a curious way:

“But I have failed, most miserably failed/and there is no more innocence in me”

Weirdly, it reminds me of when I used to babysit - how uncomfortable the children would make me, how frightened I was that I’d do something wrong, and how I felt the parents looked at me: like they knew something was off and not right. This was likely all in my head, but I still felt they could see right through me, just like how I felt as a young child, how I felt adults and my peers saw me.

“You see? / I am bad / I am bad / Arent’ I?”

And of course, the Yeats quote that Britten and librettist Myfanwy Piper pilfered:

“The ceremony of innocence is drowned”

Anyway. This is the first time I’ve listened to the the opera since I found out about Britten’s obsession with young boys, hence the heavy emphasis on the boy child Miles and his interactions with Peter Quint in this version. And no matter how many accounts I read of people swearing up and down that Britten’s fetishization of innocence never led to any “improper behavior” on his part, it’s messed up the way I interact with The Turn of the Screw. The fact that it means so much to me as a piece of art now unsettles me. This is not the first time this has happened, either. Why do I get so invested in art that portrays victimization like this? And since I’m not usually one to become fixated on an artist’s “moral purity”: why is it bothering me so much this time?

I also wonder why I picked now, of all times, to return to this opera. My loved ones and I have been suffering some “life events” recently and that’s triggered some heavy introspection on my part. I don’t know what happened to me, I don’t know what’s happening now, and I can’t figure anything out. I guess my subconscious was driving when I chose this album today.

[startrekroleplay]

Directory Updated - February 13, 2020

View the full directory here. To be added to the directory, view the post linked here.

This directory is large and likely to contain errors. Please notify us of any mistakes, either in this update post or in the directory itself, and we will do our best to correct them.

* denotes a multimuse blog ^ denotes a canon divergent muse ~ denotes a genderbent muse

ADDITIONS - CANON CHARACTERS

Enterprise:

Travis Mayweather - @miisfiitmuses*^

Malcolm Reed - @miisfiitmuses*^

Discovery:

Sarek - @miisfiitmuses*^

Picard:

Dahj Asha - @miisfiitmuses*^

EMH - @ncthingstars*

Zhaban - @ncthingstars*

Multiple Series:

Zefram Cochrane - @dr-zefram-cochrane 

Hugh - @ncthingstars*

ADDITIONS - ORIGINAL CHARACTERS

Alternate Original Series:

Myfanwy Ifans - @lt-ifans 

Multiple Series:

Lough - @ncthingstars*

Jack Piper - @ncthingstars*

REMOVALS

@macaroni-muses-201 - 3+ months of inactivity

tendersores - blog no longer exists

[harrisonstories]

Sculptor’s tribute to Beatle who was old drinking buddy

SCULPTOR Clive Duncan has often featured in the pages of the Henley Standard for his artwork.

Now the Shiplake artist has created a piece of work celebrating another of the area’s creative types — an old drinking acquaintance, George Harrison.

The Beatles guitarist, who died in 2001, aged 58, lived in Friar Park, off Gravel Hill, Henley, and sometimes shared a beer and a conversation with Mr Duncan at the Baskerville pub in Shiplake.

The portrait sculpture, made of bronze, shows the musician with the long hair he sported for much of his later life. It took Mr Duncan four months to complete.

The piece will be on display at the annual exhibition of the Society of Portrait Sculptors at La Galleria in Pall Mall in June.

Mr Duncan, 74, has lived in Shiplake for almost 50 years and first met Harrison at the village pub in the late Eighties when the star judged a talent contest.

He said: “He used the pubs in Henley and had a few favourites and he came to the Baskerville here in Shiplake several times.

“The pub was packed solid — it was not far off Christmas — and we got chatting over a beer. We went on and on until throwing out time, all about things like his spiritual beliefs and understanding of different faiths. He had a very good mind for that sort of thing.

“After a couple of hours we got into what I did and that’s when he made a wry comment that I should come and work for him. He gave me his personal phone number.”

Despite being invited to view the Friar Park estate, Mr Duncan opted not to go in case it appeared that he was trying to “hang on” to the star.

He said: “I was suddenly aware that I didn’t want to seem like a sycophant to get work so I didn’t go. This was my fault and I did later explain to his wife that I was reticent because a lot of people hang on the coat-tails of these superstars.

“It was my loss — he wanted to show me around. It does seem perverse to break off what could have been a much stronger friendship.

“I saw him a few other times in different places and always said hello and had a chat.”

Mr Duncan, whose late wife Janet was also an artist, has previously made casts of other famous people including author and screenwriter Sir John Mortimer, who lived in Turville, and Myfanwy Piper, the opera librettist and wife of Fawley artist John Piper.

After deciding that he wanted to immortalise the Beatle in bronze, his plans were put on hold after Harrison was attacked at home in 1999 and his subsequent battle with cancer.

Mr Duncan said: “He spent masses of time abroad and then this awful business at his house happened.

“After that I didn’t feel I had any business to bother them. He was very nearly murdered. He got ill after that and I didn’t think it appropriate at all.”

It wasn’t until almost 17 years after Harrison’s death that Mr Duncan revisited the idea and found the memories of his friend were still fresh.

Mr Duncan said: “It was a kneejerk. I thought, ‘I’ll do this now, it’s the right time’ and I sent a photo to Olivia [Harrison’s widow]. I had previously written to them and got a nice letter back when George died.

“If you look at pictures of George Harrison, there are so many aspects of his face and hair that make people think of him in different ways. Sometimes he had long hair and beard, other times his hair was very short. My period is the late Eighties and early Nineties. That was the only period where I could say I had a real memory of him, not only of his features but the attitude and character.

“He did have quite a serious expression for most of the time I remember. He knitted his eyebrows and had very strong, powerful dark eyes.

“The piece made itself in a way, the memories were so fresh.”

Mr Duncan first made the design in clay before making a plaster of Paris cast which he coloured. It then went to the Arch Bronze Foundry in Putney, where further moulds and casts were made before the final version was cast in bronze.

The sculpture was completed in December and is now being held in storage in London ahead of the exhibition.

Mr Duncan says he is happy with the final result of the long-lived project.

He said: “I’m pleased with it. I’m a pretty ruthless self-critic but in this case it has worked quite well.

“A sculptor can feel in their work a kind of dialogue. If it feels as dead as a dodo it has not worked but at other times you get a sort of electric shock off it and you know you’re on the ball.”

- Henley Standard (14 April 2019)

[paulrennie]

Book of the Day #288

Lives in Art, 2009, Frances Spalding writes about John and Myfanwy Piper for the OUP, UK.

A lovely book, and dedicated to our friend Arthur Humphrey. 

[libromundoes]

Círculos y cuadrados por Caroline Maclean Crítico – Hampstead Modernists | Libros

yon 1937, el crítico de arte Myfanwy Evans publicó El objeto del pintor, una antología de nuevos ensayos de los mejores artistas de la época, incluidos Pablo Picasso, Wassily Kandinsky y Paul Nash. Si bien el objetivo de Evans era presentar una instantánea de la práctica contemporánea, de su introducción queda claro que no se trataba de consenso. De hecho, sugirió, el mundo del arte se encontraba actualmente en medio de una serie de "batallas" globales entre "Hampstead, Bloomsbury, surrealista, abstracto, social realista, España, Alemania, paraíso, infierno, paraíso, caos, luz, oscuridad, redondo, cuadrado ".

Se suponía que la lista sin aliento de Evans era divertida, pero hizo un punto serio. En la vasta iglesia del modernismo, puedes encontrar las cuadrículas abstractas geniales de Piet Mondrian, el estilo Picasso cada vez más políticamente comprometido o, más recientemente, la bola curva del surrealismo, representada por Salvador Dalí y su teléfono de langosta. Lo que hizo que la lucha por el dominio fuera más intensa fue que tuvo lugar principalmente en unas pocas calles alrededor de Hampstead y el vecino Belsize Park en el noroeste de Londres.

No fue solo que los artistas británicos, incluidos Henry Moore y Nash, se apiñaron en NW3, atraídos por estudios baratos y buena luz del norte. Es porque la región es el hogar de emigrantes cada vez más distinguidos, expulsados ​​de Europa por la convicción de los nazis de que la estética mecanizada por el modernismo, producida en serie, es producto del comunismo secreto. Después del cierre de la Bauhaus en 1933, muchos maestros influyentes de escuelas de arte, incluidos Walter Gropius, Marcel Breuer y László Moholy-Nagy, se habían refugiado en el edificio de Isokon, un nuevo complejo. elegante residencial en Lawn Road en Hampstead, que era el más cercano. que la arquitectura británica nunca ha alcanzado el ideal modernista de una "máquina viviente".

Sobre todo, Evans entendió que las guerras culturales actuales involucraban no solo ideologías y manifiestos, sino personas de carne y hueso. Ella sabía todo acerca de los borrachos japoneses, los matrimonios abiertos, las viviendas destartaladas, las tareas extáticas y las lentas guerras de desgaste a través de las cuales se creó el arte en la década de 1930. Una aventura con otro pintor , por ejemplo, podría llevar a alguien a una nueva forma de ver, mientras que una pelea con un compañero de cuarto podría conducir a un cambio violento de dirección por parte de un escultor. Los artistas continuaron produciendo trabajos en medio de los bebés que llegaban, alquileres de vacaciones tomados, autos que salían del fantasma, ahorros en seco. Y es esta historia humana, o más bien estas historias, lo que Caroline Maclean ofrece en este libro extremadamente agradable y bien definido.

Un buen lugar para comenzar es con la propia Evans, probablemente la única nativa auténtica de Hampstead en esta historia. Como estudiante de pregrado en Oxford, había admirado la crítica de arte publicada de un joven pintor desconocido llamado John Piper. Invitado por amigos para un fin de semana en la costa de Suffolk, entonces, como ahora, en un puesto avanzado del norte de Londres, otro huésped de la casa recogió a Evans en la estación y se lo llevó directamente en la playa para nadar. Resultó ser Piper y vivieron felices para siempre, al menos una vez que se había divorciado de su esposa pintora, que ya estaba enamorada de otra persona. La vida modernista, a diferencia de su arte, nunca sucedió en línea recta.

El edificio Isokon en Hampstead, Londres, un refugio para el fundador de la Bauhaus, Walter Gropius. Fotografía: UrbanImages / Alamy

Juntos y por separado, John y Myfanwy Piper han trabajado en las implicaciones de la transición a la forma pura que han presenciado en el trabajo de contemporáneos como Barbara Hepworth, Ben Nicholson y Nash. Los gaiteros temían que el enfoque elevado y despersonalizado de sus antiguos amigos para crear objetos e imágenes en realidad constituiría un abandono político en estos tiempos cada vez más desesperados. Dentro El objeto del pintorMyfanwy incluyó una reproducción de Guernica, que retrata violentamente la destrucción de la humanidad por bombardeos aéreos durante la Guerra Civil española. Su brillante horror fue suficiente para alejar a John Piper de la abstracción y llevarlo a una figuración de las cosas comunes y cotidianas, que ahora informó haber visto con nueva intensidad. Mientras que los paisajes de Piper eran tan sobrios como los planes de un arquitecto, ahora están llenos de iglesias, árboles y monumentos, todos esos sitios caros que pronto podrían desaparecer en tiempos de guerra.

La historia de Hepworth y Nicholson es más sorprendente: cómo se conocieron el escultor y el pintor cuando se casaron con otras personas y cómo hicieron lo mejor que pudieron, como personas civilizadas. (sin mencionar a los científicos cristianos de mentalidad positiva), para evitar causar dolor emocional. Sin embargo, inevitablemente, su falta de acción decisiva resultó en un sufrimiento adicional en el camino. La esposa descartada de Nicholson, Winifred, se comportó como "una querida absoluta", según Barbara, quien sugirió que las dos mujeres vivan juntas y reciban visitas periódicas del hombre que amaron. los dos. Nicholson, convenientemente, creía que mientras se mantuviera fiel a sus propios deseos, la felicidad seguiría automáticamente para todos.

A pesar de todas las idas y venidas, los tres artistas encontraron el tiempo para practicar su tenis, y Winifred perfeccionó lo que Ben llamó "un movimiento muy agradable". Lo que realmente arrojó una clave en las obras fue el nacimiento de los trillizos de Ben y Bárbara en 1934. Era el tipo de realidad corporal que los artistas abstractos podrían encontrar difícil de absorber. ¿Quién cuidaría a los bebés mientras Ben desarrollaba su pintura "constructivista" y Barbara se enfocaba en sus esculturas de guijarros lisos? La niñera, por supuesto. Uno de los resultados más felices de la economía estancada de la década de 1930 fue que siempre había una "chica local", ya sea que estuvieras en Hampstead o St Ives, por limpia los pisos y limpia tu nariz.

Círculos y cuadrados es un hábil trabajo de síntesis, que se basa en el montón de biografías que ya existen de los actores principales y secundarios. Dado el enorme elenco de personajes, puede ser inevitable que haya momentos en que la narración comience a parecerse a un volante bohemio de la corte, una lista interminable de quién se fue al sur. de Francia y que vino a cenar. Pero Maclean nunca olvida que la vida ordinaria también cuenta. Alguien toma el autobús # 24 hacia la ciudad, mientras Jack Pritchard, co-diseñador del edificio Isokon, discute con su socio arquitectónico Wells Coates sobre dónde deben ir los transbordadores.

• Circles and Squares: The Lives and Art of the Hampstead Modernists es publicado por Bloomsbury (RRP £ 30).

The post Círculos y cuadrados por Caroline Maclean Crítico – Hampstead Modernists | Libros appeared first on Libro Mundo.

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[bea-ambs]

John Piper

Abstract I

1935

Similar to my work on the canvas, this abstract paining is very angular. What intrigues me about this particular piece of Pipers, is that the shapes fill the painting, set out in 3 levels, the shapes continue from the left to the right. When I look at the painting, I see many doors and doorways, with glimpses for the outside world. This concept challenges the mind as it makes me feel a sense of claustrophobia and a feeling of being lost. This piece I find more depth to my canvas painting. Researching this has increased my understanding of depth. In my own time I will paint with a meaning, rather than trying to find one after I have finished.

Another thing I liked about this piece is the use of colour. there are three accent colours, blue, red and yellow. The three primary colours. I can relate my own paintings to this as I usually use two or three accent colours. It draws the eye to a specific area of the piece and somehow creates a painting within a painting, because the sections are separated. Creating a pathway or a journey looking through the painting.

“This work was reproduced in black and white in Circle. Its stage-like interleaving of coloured planes reflects Piper’s engagement with abstract aesthetics. Though Piper is more commonly thought of as a painter of historical architecture and the landscape, for a short period he was intimately involved in the avant-garde. This was evident in his association with Axis, a groundbreaking journal of abstract art, which was edited by his wife Myfanwy Evans. Piper had strong links with artists abroad and his own collection included works by painters Piet Mondrian and Jean Helion, as well as the American sculptor Alexander Calder.” Gallery label, May 2007

https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/piper-abstract-i-n06212

[newbooks-tulibrary]

The art of John Piper

The first published survey of the whole of John Piper's art throughout his long life; the book includes not just his painting and printmaking, but his stained glass and opera designs. It was begun in collaboration with the artist and his wife Myfanwy and has continued with the encouragement of the Piper family.Piper was a major artist of the twentieth century. He was a pioneer of modern abstract art in Britain in the 1930s, the painter of the ruins of the Blitz in Coventry, London and Bath, of the Ruskinian beauty and loneliness of the summits and panoramas of Snowdonia,the designer of nine of the first productions of the operas and a ballet by Benjamin Britten. Piper was also a great landscape painter of rural churches in Britain, a pioneer of lithography and screenprinting and of colour in ceramics. Finally, he was the designer of the stained glass the great cathedrals and churches of Coventry, Eton College and Plymouth and of smaller commemorative glass in country churches.Piper is described here as committed to sharing his art, taking on the technical challenge of introducing modern painting to traditional craft practice and to a generous acceptance of continuous change.Fully endorsed and supported by the John Piper Estate, with unprecedented access to the family archive and a foreword by Piper's grandson, Luke Piper.

[ulrichgebert]

Herr von Aschenbach hat schon wieder genug von der Kunst, begibt sich nach Venedig, verfällt einem adretten jungen Mann, seht sich nach der Jugend, und stirbt. Nach Visconti kommt einem die Oper beinahe etwas geschwätzig vor. Für einen Thomas-Mann-Stoff ist das ja aber gar nicht unangemessen. Matthias Klink als Aschenbach ist unglaublich, und hat in allen möglichen Rollen als Gegenpart den unheimlichen Georg Nigl (er kam schonmal als Jakob Lenz vor), der sie alle zu einer Art Mephisto verschmilzt. Das ist für einen Thomas Mann-Stoff auch nicht ganz unangemessen. Es ist alles recht morbid, aber ganz grandios und wunderschön. Auch die Knaben.

[pangeanews]

“Forse è stato l’uomo che ho amato di più nella mia vita, di certo è uno per cui ti vanti di essere italiano”: ode sopra l’intelletto di Roberto Sanesi

“Ci sono uomini che amano il futuro come un’amante, e il futuro mescolava il suo respiro con il loro e scuoteva i capelli intorno ad essi e li celava alla comprensione della loro epoca. Uno di questi uomini era William Blake, e, se si espresse in modo confuso e oscuro, fu perché parlava di cose per le quali nel mondo a lui noto non trovava modelli atti a esprimerle. Blake annunciò la religione dell’arte”, W.B. Yeats

Mi risulta faticoso ed emozionate affrontare questa storia, la storia di uno dei più potenti maestri del pensiero del ’900 italiano, Roberto Sanesi, uno di quelli che posso dire di aver conosciuto e respirato profondamente, e di come iniziò così la mia una lunga strada di apparizioni e di scommesse, ma soprattutto di illuminazioni, da qui nacque il mio amore e la mia dedizione per l’avventura più grande della mia esistenza, la fede per la più immaginifica religione, quella dell’arte.

*

Sanesi era un grandissimo figo, uno di quelli che ti spiegava subito che se conosci resusciti, e che la mente è potere, come lo era la porpora per i Fenici, e che il senso di certe parole e la metrica possono cambiare il corso della storia e di molte esistenze.

Ecco, era questo il suo modo per farti capire la strada, una strada ha mille altre porte, dove i rimandi e le coincidenze erano il legante eccellente e perplesso della storia, e del come nulla accade per caso. Nel corso dei tempi, le epoche si parlano attraverso i propri avventori, alcuni artisti attraverso le loro apparizioni dipanano non solo il presente, ma anche il tempo a venire, precostituiscono un futuro azzardato di consonanze e di visioni parallele, in pratica sono dei medium che percepiscono gli avvenimenti futuri, le strategie dell’esistenza, le immaginifiche porte della conoscenza che il mondo deve ancora intuire. Tutto torna, ed è tutto un richiamo a qualcosa.

*

Sanesi poeta, era in grado di lavorare su una notevole varietà di forme metriche, aneddotico, filosofico, metafisico, fu un grande traduttore della poesia inglese e americana.

Ha tradotto varie versioni italiane delle opere teatrali di Shakespeare, Marlowe ed Eliot, ha scritto e tradotto libretti per produzione d’opera, tra cui Turn of the Screw di Benjamin Britten. La sua carriera di critico iniziò negli anni ’50 per la rivista “Aut-Aut” e fondatore delle Edizioni del Triangolo. Ha tradotto moltissimo T.S. Eliot. Scrisse di arte e di letteratura senza distinzione, collaborava con il “Corriere della Sera”. È stato insegnante di letteratura comparata, dal 1970 al 1975 è stato direttore artistico di Palazzo Grassi a Venezia. Fu lui stesso tradotto da poeti come William Alexander, Richard Burns, Cid Corman e Vernon Watkins.

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Fare arte collegando passato e futuro non si chiama forse occultismo? E l’arte non parla di magia e previsioni ancora sconosciute?

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Da William Blake imparò una delle cose che fece per tutta la sua vita, l’arte dell’incisione, e così ci spiegava che un artista ha mille vite, e che può essere scrittore di antropologia culturale, traduttore, attore, sceneggiatore, pittore, direttore museale, e poi poeta, ma la poesia di Sanesi era intrisa nella sua carne e nel suo sangue, quello profondo, quello che consacrava la sua gigantesca discendenza dai grandi Maestri del pensiero; la sua selezione lo portava ad essere ammirato ed amato. Chi lo guardava da lontano o chi come me lo spiava della fessura della porta dell’aula dopo avergli lasciato un bacio perugina sulla cattedra in facoltà prima che lui arrivasse e così per lui diventai Pollicino, esattamente come quello delle favole che lasciava un filo al suo passaggio.

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La comunicazione dell’arte è una sola, i mezzi infiniti, i parallelismi hanno un senso di conoscenza senza i quali non avremmo letto alcune tracce antiche nascoste tra le trame di quello che sarebbe diventato poi l’avvenire. Vorrei essere delicata come il silenzio, far parlare il movimento delle palpebre così perché il resto si crei da solo, senza forzature, vorrei una pace tale da poter riconoscere la grandezza. È questo che ci voleva far capire, la maestria dell’eleganza, il super potere della conoscenza, la gigantografia della letteratura e l’incommensurabile bisogno che il mondo ha di poesia e di conoscenza.

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Ogni grande monumento umano non fa chiasso, il chiasso lo fanno i cialtroni, e i disertori dell’informazione, quelli che non hanno cura nel dire, ma solo della notizia.

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Servono mille voci silenziose e profonde come l’epoca più ancestrale, e così mitigo tra i tempi per raccogliere le speranze della terra, che sia madre o inferno poco importa, la conoscenza la si scova nell’ostinata necessità di sapere e quando riconosci che tutte le vie sono collegate allora hai la forza dei giganti e nulla ti può scoraggiare ma nemmeno oltraggiare.

Mi ha insegnato il paranormale, e il misticismo, ma anche l’evoluzione di una specie rara, quella sacra degli avventurieri terreni. Siamo tramiti di conoscenza e lo sappiamo. Eliot lo scelse in persona e gli disse “mi serve un poeta per tradurre le mie poesie” e così fu.

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Si devono salvare solo le menti indispensabili, le atre voleranno in altri spazi più consoni al gesto finito, non alla mente, difenderemo la storia per proteggere le menti. E si lasci al sole il resto, se sarà fiore germoglierà, se sarà altro si dissecherà per diventare cenere. Non ce ne andiamo realmente se lasciamo delle tracce nelle menti di altri e poi di altri ancora. E in tutto questo dove sta la differenza tra terrificante e santificato? Dove le sette del tempo avevano differenza con certe chiese? Sia una potente rivoluzione a disarmarci, qualsiasi essa sia, purché desti coscienze e conoscenze. Non di certo questi contrabbandieri odierni dell’informazione che disobbediscono al principio fondamentale della coerenza, alzano una voce che non ha parole, in nome di un popolo che non conoscono, per stupire i più deboli, educandoli così alla sottospecie umana con obbligo di sopravvivenza. Qui sta l’infamia e qui sta il diavolo vero, per chi ci crede, nella più brutta specie d’insolenza, di questi uomini di paglia e di queste donne di gomma.

Ho riletto in questi giorni l’articolo che il “Guardian” gli dedicò qualche giorno dopo la sua morte, narrava del suo entusiasmo e dei suoi viaggi. Era il suo fascino prepotente che te lo faceva osservare in ogni dettaglio, quasi a voler carpire come si vestiva la cultura e che voce aveva.

Il sapere ha degli abiti, possiede occhi diretti e ininterrotti, conosce oltre le parole, declama prima dei fatti, legge il futuro attraverso le convergenze del passato, e ogni tanto ha un nome e cognome.

Serve uno stato mentale libero per poter leggere oltre gli schemi e Sanesi era uno che ti sceglieva perché diceva che eri già stato scelto prima dalla storia e dall’arte stessa. Forse è stato l’uomo che ho amato di più nella mia vita, di amore platonico s’intende, uno che sceglieresti per scappare dall’altra parte del mondo e di cui sei certa che non ti basterebbe altro. Se fosse già il primo giorno di Primavera probabilmente saremmo tutti più felici. Ricordo uno dei suoi ultimi libri di poesie “Il primo giorno di primavera”, portava questo titolo, era la rinascita che cercava…

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Lui era uno di quelli che l’ha fatto il ’900, quando ancora l’intelletto era vittoria, quando la cultura era ancora vanto e frastuono, quando la sapienza di pochi realmente istruiva i più.

Roberto Sanesi era uno per cui ti vanti di essere italiano, uno che ami perché ti fa amare le menti e il sapere, uno che per filosofia e scelta pensava che fosse doveroso salvare solo gli indispensabili e abbandonare gli uomini di paglia al fuoco del primo sole.

Era un sorvegliante del mondo, un essere in continua evoluzione, una sorgente di idee, creava per lasciare, creava per essere, viveva in funzione di una certa salvezza che allietava forse gli anni più belli di questo strampalato paese, il ’900 fu per alcuni la vera necessità di creare delle scale che si potevano percorrere da tutti, su gradini diversi, ma per tutti.

Il disagio è un’imposizione tematica che si sceglie, talvolta celata dietro una parvenza di non scelta, quelli dell’entusiasmo e resurrezione no, quelli devono condurre e vincere.

Era un entusiasta sorvegliante di porte parallele.

Istruiva fasi e competenze.

L’adattamento al disagio del paradosso non l’ho mai visto in lui.

A volte parlava di coincidente esemplari come se la storia non avesse nessuna distanza se non quella temporale ai più conosciuta come corsi e ricorsi storici.

Ho visto gente uscire dall’aula impaurita e lui con un meraviglioso assenso si fumava la sua sigaretta soprassedendo.

In una società come questa di intellettuali disadattati e disagiati, già, perché il disagio nasce dalla profonda insoddisfazione di sfondare in un mondo altrettanto contorno e vuoto di ideali, nella parvenza somigliante alla difesa dell’essere umano, ma nella realtà risulta una gigantesca mancanza di apparenza che serve solo a colmare di parole e non di fatti e non conforme alle buone regole di vita.

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Se vuoi essere devi comprendere, se vuoi far crescere una generazione la devi interpretare e spingere sostenendola con grazia, dove la serenità dei gradi di conoscenza era traguardo non gioco di recensione.

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Roberto Sanesi lo conobbi negli anni Novanta, era il mio insegnante di antropologia culturale all’Accademia di Belle Arti Cignaroli e diventò poi il mio relatore di tesi, “La voce nell’immaginario dei segni”, così si chiamava.

La prima cosa che mi disse quando timidamente gli chiesi se poteva seguirmi per questo gigantesco lavoro, fu: si certo, recupera il libretto scenico di “Giro di vite” un’opera lirica di Benjamin Britten, su libretto della scrittrice Myfanwy Piper, tratto dal racconto di Henry James del 1898, e poi studia Schönberg. Chi era per me Britten allora? E che ne sapevo al tempo di Schönberg?

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L’ho cercato per anni in mille volti, in mille voci, nei gesti, nelle ripetizioni, dei cerchi concentrici, ma solo pochi sanno percorrere quelle strade sconnesse senza paura, e solo alcuni riescono a tradurle.

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Era un procedere di un esistenzialismo aristocratico, l’unico possibile, viste le conseguenze che leggiamo oggi tra le righe di “alcuni” sagaci approfittatori. Una generazione parte di quell’appartenenza di pochi e rari individui che di cui Rinnovato e Innovazione erano i temi fondamentali.

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Vorremmo una primavera dove l’autonomia del rinnovamento crea e disarma i disagi. Non il nulla travestito da scheletro in decomposizione. Esattamente come il procedere lento verso un buio che sa solamente di arroganza e presunzione.

Come diceva Roberto Sanesi: “in qualsiasi tipo di aggregazione…”.

Spiace l’insolenza di alcuni che scrivono con una penna senza inchiostro, cercando tra le frasi sconnesse quella che ha più senso per i servi della gleba, quelli che non sanno perché preferiscono non sapere, perché il sapere regala ali, ma i voli per molti sono pericolosi.

Con l’avvento dei social è stata distribuita una pistola carica ad ogni singolo individuo di questo mondo, peccato che i più non abbiamo il porto d’armi. Lui odiava anche i libri a basso costo, diceva: “si autodistruggeranno! Di quella carta non rimarrà nulla, e sarà come cancellare la storia”. Diceva che i libri meritano pagine eterne, carte bellissime, stampe a centomila colori.

In questa valle infinita di messaggi tra individui, in questo crescere di collegamenti fondamentali alla salvezza, ci stiamo affossando in ridondanti argumentum ad hominem, dove in questo caso i professori sono dei gran somari.

Salviamo l’indispensabile e stacchiamo la spina con eutanasia immediata dell’intellettuale pop, per capirci di quello che parla di un tema che ai più sembra attuale ma che nella realtà si vomita addosso.

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Si diventa star solo se si nasce idoli. “Dedicato a quel branco di cialtroni che si riempiono la bocca di disumanità e falsi credo.” Accattoni del sapere oserei.

Si comprende se ci si sforza ad intendere l’empatia che esiste nella comunicazione.

Vi risputo in faccia l’odio che avete nella vostra imprecisa comprensione delle convergenze, siete i soli falsari di una supponenza disarmonica.

Questo sociale specifica la parte del mediocre, della vittoria del mediocris, se vince l’individuo medio si salva la feccia di quelli che si permettono di insultare la corrispondenza tra menti superlative.

Gli indispensabili servono perché a loro malgrado fanno la parte di una categoria di protezione del genere umano. Quanto aspetteremo prima che sia riconosciuta dal mondo una gigantesca riconoscenza tra menti, una riconoscibilità forse saremmo salvi.

In ogni frase c’è un messaggio subliminale, la vera informazione è quella della rilettura, la decifrazione di messaggi della medesima attinenza,

Gli intellettuali e gli artisti in genere operano su comuni affinità culturali, spesso lasciando messaggi cifrati nella loro opera, la sublimazione dell’Io culturale fondamentale. Così come accade tra contemporanei questo è sempre accaduto, il principio è quello analogico.

L’analogia ci spiega la storia delle Sincronie.

La fisica quantistica ne vorrebbe parlare, accenna a tutto ciò, ma non riesco a scorgere ancora delle combinazioni favorevoli.

Come ci innamora della cultura?

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Prendo ogni sua parola e la traduco, la scompongo in mille pezzi. Le analogie interne, le suggestioni traverse, le ambiguità interpretative.

Nei tre aspetti generali della bellezza: integritas, consonantia e claritas, la grandezza del mondo si manifesta per frammenti ma non separatamente, questo era l’insegnamento di Tommaso D’Acquino.

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E qui trovano spazio i disertori dell’informazione.

Avanguardisti contrabbandieri ci stanno portando ad un’assurda e fuorviante verità, e di quei maestosi maestri dell’informazione rimangono briciole assolute, e noi costretti a doversi bombardare di passato e ricorrenze per ricordarvi che c’era una storia ma prima ancora una dimensione mentale che definiva l’intelligenza e la basilare verità della pazienza umana.

Della vergogna non ne parliamo, gli intellettuali erano una sorta di tramiti tra cielo e terra non detrattori della realtà, falsificatori di vite umane. Giornali ricolmi di panzane, favoleggiatori disinvolti, eccolo il buco nero della comunicazione, eccola la verità stravolta, ecco l’apparenza che dissimula il reale. E noi siamo cresciuti con quei Roberto Sanesi di turno che andavano a gara per leggere le più grandi gigantografie storiografiche.

Di quel matrimonio ci raccontavano le gesta, perché nell’equilibrio degli opposti c’è un’assoluta inderogabile verità.

Sia la pazienza di alcuni, rari promotori consapevoli, la verità si chiama per puntare al meglio, non per dissimularla.

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L’intelletto è rivoluzione.

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Siamo deboli come il cristallo, vorremmo paradisi ma poi non sappiamo viverli se non negli inferni più crudeli della nostra vita.

Sia l’astrazione a colmarci di sapienza, gli angeli in terra sono quelli che dipanano la conoscenza, la sottraggono alla massa informe di fanciulli adoranti e di infamie.

La Sapienza è una perla consacrata e non cosa da paracadutisti senza zaino.

Ci riempiamo la bocca di intelletto ma poi c’è solo una vera malattia sociale.

Codici e affascinazione come qualsiasi cassaforte serve capirne la combinazione.

L’uomo cade e sputa, sputa e cade e raramente impara.

Pochezza, violenza e presunzione.

Dal momento che sei qui, resta con noi, gli altri pensano tu sia andato, ma non sanno.

In questa infinita avventura di cui ancora non so distinguerne la realtà dalla fantasia, prima o poi mi spiegherai che c’era in cantina e perché il glicine ha già completato il suo destino.

Elisabetta Fadini

L'articolo “Forse è stato l’uomo che ho amato di più nella mia vita, di certo è uno per cui ti vanti di essere italiano”: ode sopra l’intelletto di Roberto Sanesi proviene da Pangea.

from pangea.news https://ift.tt/389AOhO

[ansiklomedia]

Death In Venice – Venedik’te Ölüm Opera Konusu (Benjamin Britten)

Death In Venice – Venedik’te Ölüm Opera Konusu (Benjamin Britten)

İki perdelik operadır. Myfanwy Piper Benjamin Britten 1973 Aldeburgh Gustav von Aschenbach (Tenor), yaşlı adam, yaşlı gondolcu, otel müdürü, otel berberi, oyuncuların başı, Diyonisos’un sesi (Bariton), Apollo’nun sesi (Tenor), Polonyalı anne (Soprano), Tadzio, oğlu (danseden rol), Tadzio’nun kızkardeşi, dadı, Jaschiu, kamarot, otel kapıcısı, sandalcı, gezginci oyuncular, memur, (konuşan roller).

[leominster1941]

source  http://www.huntleyarchives.com/film/41590

Synopsis:

A banner bears the message, Welcome to Leominster, The Great Three Counties Show.  People are arriving at the Show and are paying at the gate.  An elderly man with a white beard is Mr Elijah Molyneux, 89, a big farmer and once Mayor of the town.  Mr Archer Baldwin, the Conservative MP for North Herefordshire, arrives with his wife, Minnie, and they chat with Bill Gallimore, the official auctioneer through Russell, Baldwin and Bright for the Hereford Herdbook. Guests arrive at the Bandstand. Briony Hastings, daughter of Mr Glynne Hastings, long serving Secretary of the Society, presents bouquets to Lady Lettice Cotterell and the Mayoresses of Hereford, Gloucester, Worcester and Leominster.  A Government delegation of visiting farmers from Nigeria  dressed in traditional costumes take their places. A procession of dignitaries from the three counties in ceremonial dress is led by the Mayor of Leominster, in red robes and the Aldermen in purple. The man using a crutch is Sidney Layton, a farmer from Ivington.  The Councillors, including Dennis Rowland Jones, wear blue cloaks.   The tall man is Norman Davies, who owned the Corn Square Pharmacy in Leominster until the late Eighties. Adrian Foster, one of two shop-owning brothers is also in this procession. Two members of the Leominster procession carry the Town maces which were given to the town in 1723 by the Right Honourable Thomas, Lord Coningsby as replacements for three earlier ones presented to the town by two of his forebears in the seventeenth century, which subsequently disappeared.  The ceremonial Mayor’s Wand is also carried.  This is a plain black ebony stick tipped with a band of silver and bearing the date 1659. The Hereford Mayor wears a scarlet robes trimmed with velvet and a solid gold chain containing twenty-four medallions showing aspects of the City and county such as apples, hops, a Hereford Bull, Wye Salmon and military insignia.  The liveried men have dark coats with gold braiding.  The fur Cap of Maintenance is one granted to ten principal cities of England by Queen Elizabeth 1 as a reward in support of the sovereign and is carried by the sword bearer. The dignitaries line up facing the distinguished guests and some doff their hats.  In front of them stands the ducking stool, an ancient instrument of punishment in which nagging wives could be dunked in the river. The Master of Ceremonies in scarlet tailcoat speaks to Sir Richard Cotterell and Glynne Hastings, bowler hat and gloves in hand strides off on some errand.  Three farmers look on. In the main arena the pipers of the 1st Battalion Gordon Highlanders march on.  Officials talk to members of the African delegation who take their seats.  The crowds stand as the procession arrives. Two horses pull a dray advertising the brewery, Mitchells and Butlers.   Two skewbald ponies trot by pulling a smaller trap.  Then there are shire horses with foals.  Show-jumping is taking place and a parade of horses in pairs.  The North Herefordshire Foxhounds are led by three hunt servants, each on a grey horse.  There are several more traps drawn by trotting ponies, one driven by a woman. Two policemen walk through the trade stands.  Alexander and Duncan’s stand, still a thriving firm today, shows a fine display of agricultural machinery.  Along comes a little man, wide trousers, cloth cap, “bum-freezer” jacket, cigarette in mouth – and then back he comes again.  Taylor and Ward, ironmongers and only recently disappeared from Leominster, display their agricultural accessories, and Hintons, still a strong element in Leominster have a trade stand too. A short visit to the busy High Street in Leominster where three Midland Red Buses wait, perhaps for returning visitors from the show. Back at the show some little girls play.  One, Myfanwy Thomas, a Leominster Councillor’s daughter, rides a Mobo horse, a popular toy of the time.  Two others sit on the seats of a circular roundabout, taken care of by a group of WVS ladies in their green overalls.  One nurses a baby. The hounds and huntsmen appear again, watched by two girls on the Walls Ice Cream stand.  There are two or three large barns bearing the name of Frank Dale, a company still with an important presence in Leominster. A man smoking a pipe gets out a camera to take a quick snap of the Africans.  They don’t seem to notice, or mind.  A man and his family enjoy eating some ice creams from tubs. The parade of prize-winning cattle begins.  At the head of the procession is the champion Hereford bull, R.S.de Quincey’s Vern Boxer, led perhaps by Mrs de Quincey.  Then come Lord Brocket’s Brocket Godfrey and Brocket Handsome, followed by Mrs P.M.G. Fraser’s Westhide Embassy. British Friesians follow.  Sir Richard and Lady Cotterell watch from their special box, beside another reserved for Rt. Worship the Mayor (an unusual and special title bestowed on only a few mayors including that of Hereford.)  More horses appear in the arena and then a group of Gordon Highlanders perform a highland dance. Finally, there is part of a spectacular motorcycle display by the Royal Corps of Signals who ride in formation similar to a musical ride with horses. The Mayor, Aldermen and Council walk from the council rooms in the Grange to the door of Leominster Priory where they are received by the Rev. S.M.F.Woodhouse.  After the service they walk out carrying the ceremonial maces and wand.  They walk into the Grange, a fine John Abel building which was moved from the top end of Broad Street in     when it became an obstruction for increasing traffic. The lower side of the open ground floor was filled in and the building converted into council rooms.  Members of the party, now in everyday dress, pause to pose for photographs.  Norman Davies, a well-known local character, who was the owner of the Corn Square Pharmacy smiles as he passes quickly on his way. A crowd gathers outside Dutton House, a distinctive house at the top end of Etnam Street. The First Cadet Batallion of the Herefordshire Light Infantry with band members marches through the town to the carnival field where they later “Beat the Retreat”. The Carnival Queen and her attendants sit on a float, part of the procession. W.Wright, greengrocer in Leominster until very recent years, has a decorated float, as has Frank Dale, the constructor of farm buildings, whose company still is an important employer in the town.  One group has made a train engine, with carriages on wheels and a guard’s van at the back, complete with passengers inside the coaches.  It is highly decorated with festive bunting. There is also a decorative swan constructed from white flowers.  A policeman on point duty directs the procession towards Corn Square. Once in the carnival field, the Carnival Queen is crowned by the Mayoress. There are athletic races, penny-rolling, a small maypole and a little golf course in which a middle-aged couple demonstrate their skills.   Traditional skittles is a popular activity, especially among a group of burly women who hurl the bowls with great dexterity, scattering the skittles against the hay bales at the back. There is a Fancy Dress competition for all ages.  One baby represents Prince Charles, a woman is dressed in Spanish costume and a man appears as Cardinal Wolsey.  Sandra Dimarco, daughter of the owners of a long-standing Leominster fish and chip shop, still in the town today, is dressed as a Welsh girl.