Costa Blaca Arts Update - Dmytro Choni in Denia

 

Dmytro Choni is a pianist from Ukraine who has won the Santander competition and finished fourth in Leeds. Such results are irrelevant once a musician presents him or herself as a performer: the only thing that counts is a communication with an audience via the interpretation of music. On the evidence of this concert in Denia, Dmytro Choni has achieved near perfection in the art of performance.

Pianists often choose programmes that intend to show off technical brilliance rather than interpretive quality. At first sight, Dmytro Choni’s programme might appear to fall into this category. After all, it’s not anyone who starts an evening with the two Brahms Rhapsodies and then plays for an hour and a half to finish with a work as grand as the Dante Sonata of Liszt. There was even enough energy for an encore.

Those two Brahms Rhapsodies came across as more substantial pieces than I had remembered. Placed together, the contrasts and similarities became clear as they combined to mimic a single work. These were followed by perhaps the most taxing music on the programme. The Sarcasms of Prokofiev sound like Malevich meeting Picasso. Almost aggressively modernistic, these short pieces make a deep impression in the concert hall, since they seem to question what it is that we expect from music. They are atonal in parts, melodic in others, rhythmic here and there, broken elsewhere. Under the fingers of a pianist who does not actively associate with their intention, these pieces can dissolve into an amorphous mass of disconnected fragments. When played with sensitivity and design, as Dmytro Choni did, they become an abstract, surreal world where nothing can be assumed, but a world which we can inhabit. They surprise and enchant at the same time.

Dmytro Choni followed the Prokofiev pieced with the Sonata No1 of Ginastera. Written forty or so years after the Sarcasms, there are sections of this sonata that inhabit a similar sound world, underlining just how experimental was the vision of Prokofiev. Underpinning Ginastera’s music there is always at least an idea of an Argentinian dance, though usually of a much more energetic type than the languid tango. But here also, especially in the slow movement, there is a tendency towards the atonal, and much less stress of rhythm as musical content. In the other three movements, it was rhythm that left enduring impressions.

Book One of Debussy’s Images followed. Though harmonically Debussy’s sound world is now familiar to audiences, in its time it was nothing less than revolutionary. After the rhythmic drive of much of the Ginastera, Debussy’s sense of space impressed and this came across in the playing.

And the, having already earned his living several times over, Dmytro Choni ended the concert with Liszt’s After a lecture on Dante, Fantasia quasi sonata. It’s a vast piano sonata in everything but name and shares musical ideas with the Sonata Liszt did write. This is music on a grand scale and needs a pianist with vision and interpretive skill as well as the technical skills to render the experience musically credible rather than a mere test of dexterity. And this audience was treated to a superbly shaped picture of how Liszt responded to Dante, though it must be said that the pianist was tiring towards the end. Understandably so… It’s not every pianist who take on a programme like this!

The evening finished with an encore. It was inevitable, perhaps essential that this Ukrainian pianist would finish with some music from his homeland. The short, lyrical but reflective piece by Valentin Silvestrov was perfect, as was the rest of this superb recital.

 

Costa Blanca arts update - No superlatives - L’Orchestre de la Suisse Romande in Alicante with Jonathan Nott and Emmanuel Pahud play Ibert and Mahler

 

There are insufficient superlatives to describe the experience. L’Orchestre de la Suisse Romande in Alicante under Jonathan Nott played Mahler’s Fifth Symphony and Ibert’s Flute Concerto with Emmanuel Pahud a soloist so perfectly that ratings and comparisons simply do not apply. When music is this good, it is useless trying to say ‘how’ good it was. The playing transcended descriptions of technique, superseded mere sound and attained a perfection that can only be labelled ‘communication’.

Ibert’s syncretic mix of neo-classicism, humour, jazz and surrealism was so expertly played by Emmanuel Pahud that his virtuosity was almost immediately taken for granted by his audience. Once achieved, that level of experience progresses into a changed awareness where the music is absorbed and known, rather heard or learned. Emmanuel Pahud seemed to invite everyone to participate rather than merely receive. One doubts whether in the packed auditorium there was a single person who did not feel that this was anything other than a personal experience.

And so, when presented with what, it must be said, was probably an unknown work from an under-performed composer, that packed audience found absolutely no barrier of unfamiliarity between themselves and appreciation. Like all concertos, Ibert’s Flute Concerto offers a soloist an opportunity to show off, but here the virtuosic witticism engaged the crowd rather than simply impressed it.

Emmanuel Pahud communicated with the orchestral players, but he also seemed to engage the listeners directly. He was a soloist whose complete mastery of the music and his instrument created something that transcended performance and created genuinely shared experience.

An encore, introduced to the audience’s delight in Spanish, offered a statement of solidarity with the Ukrainian people in general, but especially the soloist’s performing friends and colleagues. This was one of the Jolivet’s Incantations for solo flute, a piece from just before World War II that is prefaced by the composer’s plea a world of serene communion. It was a heart-felt and wholly appropriate message on this dark day.

In his fifth symphony, Gustav Mahler seems eventually to have approached a state of optimism, certainly ecstasy. It is a work best known for its smallest part, the adagietto, a fourth movement that is often both played extracted and often murdered in performance. Its celebrity can too easily dominate, can become the focus, and thus conductors often take it too slowly, rendering its form disembodied, disjointed and meaningless. It becomes sweetness for sweetness’s sake, separate spoons of afters that ignore the identity or obscure the composition of the dish. Not here with Jonathan Nott, however. This adagio was paced towards the andante and so the lines joined into a whole that made sense. And that whole, as far as the symphony in its entirety was concerned, became the perfection that is communication.

This work in sound was read by the audience like a novel, whose complex plot found resonance, understanding and empathy. The biting contrasts of the second movement were expertly played and this movement, which can suffer from lack of direction made perfect sense. And the finale was simply unstoppable, apparently driven by its own internal momentum, the final flourish arising from its own logic, not merely tagged on as an afterthought, as can be the case. There’s simply aren’t the superlatives to do justice to the experience. Let’s just call it perfection.

As a footnote, there must be a mention for Jordi Verges Riart, whose organ recital the night before in Benidorm also delighted. Works by Pachelbel, Buxtehude, JS Bach, Vidor and Vierne were offered chronologically with the transformation and development of style both clear and powerful. It must be said, however, despite the finale of Vierne’s first organ symphony that concluded the recital, the major chord ending of Buxtehude’s G minor prelude provided the most powerful memory.

 

Costa Blanca Arts Update - Shostakovich 5 and Symphonie Espagnole in ADDA, Alicante

The fifth Symphony of Dmitri Shostakovich was reportedly “a Soviet artist's creative response to justified criticism”. That past criticism came as a result of official displeasure at the direction the composer’s work had taken in the opera Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk and, crucially, in the unperformed fourth symphony, a work the composer withdrew when it was in already in rehearsal. He waited twenty-five years before he eventually heard it. After a performance of this extraordinary fourth symphony under Gergiev, the audience at Alicante’s ADDA auditorium waited just two weeks to hear the fifth, the composer’s symphonic self-correction, from the ADDA orchestra under Josep Viicent.

And it was the similarities between the two apparently contrasting works that provided the most vivid memories for this listener. The fifth returns to the conventional four movements of the symphony, rather than the fourth symphony’s three. But together, the opening moderato and the scherzo are like the vast first movement of the fourth. The next movement of both symphonies form their respective emotional cores, intellectual in the fourth and self-pitying in the fifth. The finales of both works offer unconvincing apotheosis and the only major difference comes at the end. Both symphonies offer a triumphal statement of achievement in orchestral tutti and it has to be said they are both hollow and lack self-belief. But at the end of the fifth the major chords offer an apparent resolution, a statement of optimism, albeit false, whereas the fourth drifts into an agnostic cessation of existence with the merest of whimpers. Strange it seemed, however, to hear the celeste bring to an end the fifth’s first movement, albeit without the obvious question mark that concluded the fourth.

Josep Vicent’s tempo in the finale tested everyone. Originally marked as allegro non troppo, Vicent’s pace could have been described as presto. And his judgment proved memorable, because it brought to life both the urgency and impetuosity that underpins the music. By the end the ADDA string section might not have thanked him so enthusiastically, because it did make their job more taxing. A final observation must be that I have never heard this music without an error at some point amongst the French horns. This performance was therefore a first, because they were perfect.

Earlier, the audience had been treated to a performance of dazzling virtuosic communication by Leticia Moreno of the Symphonie Espagnole by Edouard Lalo. Now this is a work that wears its emotions on its sleeves. Here we are closer to Offenbach than Wagner and often refreshingly so. The solo violin part is more taxing than many concertos and there are not many bars of rest for the soloist in this five-movement work that lasts more than half an hour. The rapturous reception for Leticia Moreno’s playing was perhaps even understated because her projection of the solo part was nothing less than stunning. It was quite hard to take in such genius all at once!

And what artistic presence she displayed by playing an encore that offered musical as well as stylistic contrast. With the accompaniment of Carmen Escobar’s harp orchestrally-placed harp, Leticia Moreno gave a controlled and restrained account of Manuel de Falla’s Nana from the Popular Songs. Musically and philosophically this was almost the antithesis of the grandiloquence that had preceded it. This little encore underlined Leticia Moreno’s virtuosity. It would have been much easier had she tried again to show off. Here, less was certainly more.

 

Costa Blanca Arts Update - Valery Gergiev and the Mariinsky in Alicante's ADDA

 

Two concerts on consecutive days might be considered by some as a live event to far, especially when the concerts feature big, autobiographical works, one of which at least is widely regarded as difficult. But these two events in Alicante delivered by the Mariinsky Orchestra under Valery Gergiev seemed to make light of the challenge and on both occasions an eager and adoring audience could easily have taken more.

A Friday night program was clearly constructed to show off this magnificent orchestra. We began with Wagner’s Prelude and Good Friday Music from Parsifal. Despite the composer’s reputation for excess, Parsifal, his last opera, is largely contemplative, slow, controlled and unspectacular. The forces are large, but the control is larger and allowed this superb orchestra to generate beautiful, luscious textures within the balance, sounds that give away the sensual aspects of this piece, all encased in an apparently single-minded religious devotion.

The program then offered Prokofiev’s classical symphony. Now this work is conceived as a neo-classical re-visitation of the world of Haydn and Mozart. But, despite its logistically small scale, musically it is sophisticated, often complex, a surreal view of the apparently literal. Throughout, this work’s beautiful interlinking string lines were completely clear, whist remaining integrated in the whole. The resulting surprising harmonies blended to a convincing transformation of world we once thought familiar and the always arresting rhythms were allowed to fight it out.

After the interval this audience was treated to a completely virtuosic performance of Ein Heldenleben by Richard Strauss. Now by definition and intention this music is autobiographical. This is the already successful Richard Strauss showing off. The piece is almost self-promotion, a brilliant succession of tableaux illustrating his claim to be able to do a multitude of things, including the deferral ad infinitum of an obvious cadence. It is also full of self-quotation from a career that had already flourished, despite the fact that there was a considerable amount yet to come from this composer who was only in his mid-forties. It is a poet’s statement, says its title, but the self-knowledge here is far from analytical. This is undoubtedly a work that demands complete mastery from the partnership that is conductor and orchestra, and this particular performance excelled. We were treated to an encore, a Strauss waltz, no relation.

Our second concert of this mini-series featured a single work, if the word single can be applied to the vast complexity of the fourth symphony of Shostakovich, which calls for more than a hundred performers. My personal take on this music is that it is also autobiographical, taking its listeners from birth to a question-marked death, eventually accompanied by the same faltering heartbeat in the basses that signs off Tchaikovsky’s Pathetique.

Autobiographical it may be, but here we are imagining a life yet to be lived by a composer in his thirties. Unlike the Strauss, here the process seems to be highly analytical and, crucially different from Strauss’s self-adulation, the internally reflective process of Shostakovich’s fourth symphony seems to lack confidence. To clarify, this lack of surety has nothing to do with compositional ability, nothing at all to do with an inability to express, and even less to do with the obvious technical mastery that the composer brought to his handling of the orchestra. But in this piece Shostakovich seemed to be conscious of pushing the limits. If only I might express myself, this is what I would like to say. If only I had the space…

Well, we know now that Shostakovich did not have the space and that he withdrew the work and waited twenty-five years before he heard it played, when times were marginally easier for artists. One is left reflecting what the composer might have written subsequently if the work had been allowed its original space. It is paradoxical that his best loved symphony in the West remains the fifth, a work in which he self-corrected the “excesses” that had preceded it. By a quirk of programming, perhaps by design, the next concert in ADDA will feature the fifth.

The forces required were obviously too great for a touring orchestra to muster and so the numbers were made up by incorporating several members of ADDA’s resident orchestra. The achievement of this ad hoc combination was nothing less than breath-taking. This is perhaps one of the most difficult of all works to interpret and yet, despite the scratch team, the performance was nothing less than faultless. Gergiev’s tempi were quite fast in movements two and three, which increases demands of cohesion amongst the strings, a challenge that these players met as if they had played together all their lives.

The fourth symphony takes its audience to some scary places. Even when we waltz, we feel we are looking over our shoulders, and even when we go to the circus, we are watching our back. The heartbeat is permanent, however, and we know we are alive throughout. When, late on, we look back on our achievements, the climax is vast, but the sensation is hollow. There are still things we have not said, and the apparent pride is unconvincing.

But the magnificence of the final questioned peace is undiminished. The heart may falter and the body decline, but eventually we are what we are, nothing more. And that is probably when we realise we control precisely nothing and that what went before may as well have been a dream. Sounds like Shakespeare.

I have written of the work elsewhere, but this live performance, only the second one I have had the privilege to attend, confirms in my own mind a personal view that this work, the Symphony Number Four of Dmitri Shostakovich, is nothing less than the greatest single work of art the human race has thus far produced. Okay, I will tone down the superlatives: it is the human race’s greatest artwork that I personally have encountered. And this performance did it more than justice.

Costa Blanca Art Update - Alicante's ADDA Symphony Orchestra begins a new season

A new season of orchestral concerts in Alicante’s ADDA opened with a blast, rather than a bang. The blast in question came at the end of the opening work, which was appropriately enough Shostakovich’s Festival Overture. The concert cycle is called Festiva and artistic director, Josep Vicent, has assembled an impressive mix across the twenty scheduled concerts. This opener, as with all recent concerts, had to be played twice on consecutive evenings because Covid restrictions limit the hall to half capacity. Even second time through, the program shone and glittered via the superb sound the resident orchestra now generates.

Shostakovich’s Festive Overture is something of a musical joke. It raises naivety to the level of satire in that its vast triumphal fanfares celebrate a musical progression through the indisputably trite. But as ever, Shostakovich convinces us on every one of the multiple levels that the work confronts. The blast, by the way, came at the end when the audience was surprised by the standing participation of ten extra brass players who had been previously and anonymously seated in the boxes on either side of the stage. Three extra trumpets, three trombones and for horns added the extra weight to the coda and the sound was breathtakingly resplendent. It was an experience that reminded this member of the audience of the ENO’s production of Lady MacBeth of Mtsensk in the 1980s when an onstage brass band similarly emphasized the explosive and expletive elements in the operas incandescent score. Then the players were all dressed in bright red military uniform with greatcoats and officers’ hats and all impersonated Joseph Stalin.

Second on the opening concert’s program was the Double Piano Concerto by Philip Glass. The soloists were the Lebeque sisters who have admirably championed this and other contemporary works.

It was an interesting piece with which to follow the Shostakovich, since it transports the audience from a symphonic overture that glorifies the trite and crass in complicated ways, to Philip Glass’s minimalism, whose reputation for simple repetition of arpeggios belies the complex reality of this subtle music. Yes, the chord progression that underpins the work may effectively be a chaconne - is Neo-Baroque a relevant term? - but the constant rhythmic variation renders the material much more than repetitive. There are admittedly no show-off cadenzas for the soloists, no obvious technical gymnastics seeking applause for mere completion, but there is an almost constant jousting between all participants in fights for rhythmic space within the world the composer restricts to a melodic corner. The result is a fascinating interplay between the soloists, between the combined soloists and the orchestra, and even between different sections of the orchestra. The Lebeque sisters offered an encore from the Four Movements by Philip glass and by the end the hypnosis was triumphant in its own quiet, understated way.

The concert’s second half was devoted to one of the greatest masterpieces of the concert repertoire, Prokofiev’s second Romeo and Juliet Suite. This is music about which everything possible has been said, so this review will make out with your personal comments.

No matter how many times I hear the piece, I cannot but marvel at the idea, in Friar Laurence, at the genius that gave a gentle melody to the bassoon and tuba. And why, when we first hear the love theme on the clarinet, is one note lengthened, never to be repeated thereafter? The score has a stress on the note, but it’s still a crotchet. The orchestral playing was magnificent and the reading of the score superb except… Having killed off the lovers at the end of suite number two, the pianissimo ending conveying true tragedy, in this concert performance we concluded with the Death of Tybalt from the first suite. Musically it brought the evening to a brilliant close, but intellectually it made little sense. It’s a minor point.

We then had three encores. The blast from Shostakovich was repeated, complete with extra brass from the boxes and then Piazzolla’s Oblivion was just about audible! But beautiful. And finally, we had a rousing Latina American dance, the Danzon of Marquez, just a round off the opening evening. There’s 19 more like this in the season.

Costa Blanca Arts Update - Cassado and Chopin in Alfas del Pi, Stravinsky and Elgar in Alicante

 

Just over a year ago, it would not have been anything special to declare that it had been possible to attend four quality concerts in this area over three days. And then there was covid. Here is Spain, we had a strict initial lockdown, but since then schools have stayed open and some cultural spaces have kept running in spite of restrictions on numbers. Before saying anything else, it is necessary to remind oneself that the new norm has involved social distancing, fifty per cent capacity for venues, compulsory hand sanitiser, masks, the recording of contact details and a temperature test on entry. This has severely restricted audience’s willingness to attend and has persuaded many, perhaps a majority of venues to cease activity altogether. In addition, performers’ travel has been as restricted as the population in general, despite there being the possibility of exemption permits for work. The combination of restrictions on travel, availability of travel and reluctant venues has severely curtailed cultural activity, however, and there have been many perennial supporters of live events who have expressed the opinion that such gatherings should not be happening during a pandemic. Opinion is on one side, while the law places the limits. Also, many more elderly regular attendees have decided that now is the time to lock up and stay in. Individuals have made their own choices.

And now, on the day that bars and restaurants can open until ten o’clock in the evening and when cultural venues can admit seventy-five per cent of their capacity, it was under the previous, more severe restrictions that saw concerts on Friday evening, Saturday lunchtime and evening and Sunday lunchtime in Alfas del Pi and Alicante.

On Friday in Alfas del Pi, Antonio Garcia Egea and Fernando Espi joined as Duo Arbos to play a works from the repertoire of violin and guitar. This was the kind of programme one does not encounter often. It started conventionally with Spanish Dance no5 by Granados, but Carlo Domeniconi’s Sonatina Mexicana has probably not figured often on concert programmes in the last year. It has probably never been followed by Ravi Shankar’s El Alba Encantada, and the microtones of Indian music have probably never before led into Paganini’s Cantabile! Astor Piazzolla’s Historia del Tango, Bourdel 1900 and Café 1930 followed by Libertango was conventional in comparison, as perhaps was Pablo Sarasate’s Playera Romanza Andaluza, despite the understated but stratospheric virtuosity of the ending of the violin part. We finished the evening with Fernandon Espi’s own Impromptu and we were particularly grateful in these times to be taken by the performers on such a varied journey.

On Saturday lunchtime the orchestra at ADDA (Auditori de la Diputacion de Alicante) marked fifty years since the death of Igor Stravinsky with a breath-taking performance of Petroushka. Yes, it’s a work that the majority of the audience had hear many, many times, but it remains a work that is fresh with every new exposure and particularly so in this reading by Josep Vicent, whose reading of this music is faultless. The colours were always vivid, the scenes clear and beautifully depicted in this work that paints with sound. We also heard a superb reading of the Elgar Cello Concerto by Damian Martinez and then had encores of the Valse Triste of Sibelius and, and true to the form of current concerts, a short piece of Piazzolla, Oblivion, with the leader’s violin as soloist.

Then on Saturday evening, back in Alfas del Pi Duo Fortecello, the cello and piano of Anna Mikulska and Philippe Argenty, gave the first of their two concerts. This one featured works by Chopin, Nocturne opus 9, Cello sonata and Polonaise Brillante coupled with Piazzolla (yet again!) in the form of the Triptyque "la Trilogie de l'Ange" and finally the Danse Macabre of Saint-Saens. We only just made the curfew…

Then on Sunday, Duo Fortecello presented their second programme in Albir. While their first programme was the epitome of the conventional, the second was as opposite as it is possible to be. They opened with Joaquin Nin’s Seguida Española and followed with what proved to be a rare gem. Gaspar Cassado wrote a famous sonata for cello and piano based on old Spanish tunes, but this Sonata en la menor, though from the same year, 1925, is quite different in character. Exactly how many times this work has been performed in Spain cannot be assessed, but it is certainly not many times. And it may have been performed elsewhere even less. The work itself is superb and deserves to be much more widely heard, especially when it is compared to other works that form the basis of the repertoire for cello and piano. Any music lover will find great reward in searching out this work and hearing it performed. It has to be said that the fourth movement, Paso Doble, does not live up to the quality of the first three, but the criticism is minor. How many composers, after all, were capable of writing finales that lived up to their preceding movements?

Anna and Philippe continued with a Flamenco solo for cello by Rogelio Huguet y Tagell and then Andaluza by Granados. Manuel de Falla’s Siete Canciones Populares Españolas is music of genius and Gaspar Cassado’s Requiebros, though derivative, is a superb way to finish any concert. And so the duo had given a musical tour of Spain, visiting most regions and sampling its musical soul. Superb. And what a relief from current preoccupations!

Costa Blanca Arts Update, Claudi Arimany, Eduard Sanchez, Joaquin Palomares, Elena Segura

 

There are not many concerts around these days. In addition, audiences are reluctant to attend and the travel and accommodation restrictions make it hard for musicians to perform. Let’s hope things change sooner rather than later, because when music is shared it is truly capable of enriching lives. This was admirably demonstrated in the pair of concerts presented by Alfas del Pi Music Society on the weekend of 6 and 7 March.

On Saturday 6 March in Casa Cultura, the society presented a quintet of musicians led by flautists Claudi Arimany and Eduard Sánchez. The program was an intriguing mix of styles and genres, which would be suggested by the group’s title for the concert, Classic Meets Jazz. Now, anyone familiar with the flute knows the name Theobald Böhm. Indeed, without him the modern flute may never have existed, since it was his invention in the mid-19th century that established the modern fingering system for the instrument, the system that still bears his name. As a composer, Theobald Böhm may not be the most inventive, but he certainly knew his instrument and knew how to write for it. His Three Little Trios create an insider´s view of how the capabilities of the instrument can be best demonstrated and Claudi Arimany and Eduard Sánchez rendered these challenges with complete musicality, so the virtuosity blended into the music and made sense of it, rather than being an end in itself, as can be the case with such showcase pieces.

Haydn´s Duo No.4 is an arrangement of music originally composed for two violins. This version for two flutes is the composer´s own and is a substantial piece. The delicacy, skill and intricacy with which Joseph Haydn presents his ideas via this unusual pairing we probably take for granted, such is the composer´s stature. But this is music that is rarely heard in concert and so it is possible to approach the piece without the trappings and assumptions of familiarity. The restrained understatement of this music gradually grew to become its power. Well before the end, the playing and performance had completely outshone in ensemble and virtuosity the showpiece that had preceded it and the interpretation underlined Haydn status as one of the great all-time great composers.

The Andante and Rondo of Karl Doppler returned the audience to the familiar, at least those present with detailed knowledge of the flute repertoire, which probably wasn’t many! But this is a piece that is more familiar than its title or origin, since snippets of it often appear as call signs for radio stations, or advertisements.

And then the musicians reconstituted to form a jazz quartet fronted by Claudi Arimany to play the Suite for Flute and Jazz Trio by Claude Bolling. Now this is a substantial work that interleaves classical style ensemble with drum beats, jazz chords and a rhythmic, plucked bass. There is much that is familiar here, many quotations from popular song and folk melodies, as well as jazz standards and Broadway. But overall there is real compositional skill and invention, in this case not dissimilar in concept to Matisse´s collage-making, to bring everything together into a musically convincing whole. This is music that is original in style, if not often in content, but Claude Bolling´s skill in creating something greater than pastiche is considerable.

After the standing ovation and rapturous applause, the group offered two encores of Scott Joplin Rags and the concert without an interval closed over 90 minutes after it started, leaving attendees just 20 minutes to get home before the 10 o’clock curfew!

On Sunday 7 March, Alfas del Pi Music Society presented what was probably a first in the history of Spanish musical performance, and a program that has probably been replicated just a handful of times in its possible century and a half of existence. This was the coupling two great Romantic violin concertos, those of Beethoven and Brahms, in one program, played by the same soloist. It has to be said that on a Sunday lunchtime in lockdown the concert could neither accommodate nor afford to employ a full symphony orchestra, that part being performed in piano arrangement in the hands of Elena Segura. And this is music that was probably originally conceived on the piano, so the arrangement carried all the musical messages, though obviously not all of its orchestral timbres. What was unchanged from the full versions of these works was the challenge posed to the soloist, Joaquín Palomares. Now, in front of an orchestra, the soloist always does have the possibility, though none would admit to it of course, of playing a little softer here and there, to blend a little more with the orchestra, not to hide of course, but merely to rest.

When accompanied by a piano in a small auditorium, such opportunity does not exist. In such a setting, there is simply nowhere to hide. On stage with an orchestra, the soloist is ten metres or so from the nearest audience. In a small room with piano accompaniment, ten metres covers the entire audience! But under these conditions, the quality of the writing comes to the fore, and the musical communication becomes nothing less than intense, as long as the soloist has the skill, musicality and, not least, the stamina to do the job.

There is no need to restate the greatness of these two concerti, since the violin concertos of Beethoven and Brahms are unquestioned masterpieces. What needs to be recorded and in the most emphatic way possible was the playing, virtuosity, and the achievement of Joaquin Palomares. Superb. Superb. Superb. Da capo al fine.

 

Costa Blanca Arts Update - ADDA Simfonica in Mendelssohn, Tchaikovsky and Mozart

The symphony orchestra may rank among the most important of all human inventions. The fact that the very idea is absurd makes it a gem of human achievement. Around a hundred human beings, who have devoted their lives to mastering techniques in the use a technology invented specially for this product-less purpose. They join together in the presence of an audience, who is only in attendance to share the both intangible and abstract experience of hearing sounds, sounds that have been concatenated by the imagination of others who generally are not even present. The absurdity of the exercise can only be imagined. The permanence of its effect cannot be overstated.

The fact that we have concerts at all in these virus-dictated times is, in itself, a miracle. Duly temperature-checked at the door, socially-distanced and only in attendance by virtue of the musicians’ willingness to perform the same program twice each time, at six o’clock and then again at nine, we are privileged to assemble in Alicante’s ADDA concert hall. And this has happened three times in the last two weeks for this particular participant.

And, after some months away from real live orchestral sound, the opening phrases of Edward Tubin’s Estonian Dance Suite provided an immediate and major thrill. Tubin’s reputation for musical conservatism does not prepare the listener for the harmonic and rhythmic surprises in his work. We followed that with the performance by Adolfo Guitiérrez of Shostakovich’s second cello concerto, whose almost neurotic, obsessive concentration seemed to tap the general anxiety we are all feeling these days. Adolfo Guitiérrez had the time and energy to play and a little encore by Benjamin Britten, despite having to do the whole thing again just two hours later. We then heard the Symphony No. 1 of the fourteen-year-old Felix Mendelsohn. The music seems to fit the mental image of the early teenager in a frock coat and a cravat parading as a precocious adult. In some ways, the almost deliberate recourse to complexity, the calculated varied modulations of key speak of this lad frantically staking his claim to adulthood. The fact that the work convinces and generates communicative experience is testimony to the young man’s invention and genius, indeed success in his personal project. Anu Tali’s conducting debut in Alicante was thus a brilliant success.

The second trip was for a concert devoted to the memory of José Enrique Garrigós, who was a significant figure in the business and cultural life of the province. He died last year and was clearly an acquaintance of Joesp Vicent, ADDA Simfonica principal conductor and artistic director. Josep Vicent also clearly has special regard for the major work on the program, Tchaikovsky’s Sixth Symphony, the Pathetique.

But the concert began with a finale, the final jota from the Three Cornered Hat of Manuel de Falla. The piece was perhaps a long-term favorite of José Enrique Garrigós and perhaps gave an insight as to how he himself wanted to be remembered. There followed a performance of Raise The Roof, a timpani concerto by American composer Michael Daugherty. To describe Javier Eguillor’s performance as soloist as virtuosic would almost belittle the achievement. Rarely silent throughout the work, the work began with an aurally blinding flash of a cymbal roll. The timpani then offered their notes to the orchestra, which then proceeded to play with and amongst them throughout a first movement that was almost entirely pentatonic. Overall, the piece layered gloss on gloss, sparkle on glitter to provide almost an evaporation of emotion and brilliance.

And then we had Tchaikovsky six. Certain pieces of music, quite rarely, it has to be said, only grow by greater exposure. Each time such pieces say something bigger, reveal layers of nuanced meaning previously missed or merely impact on the listener in a more vivid, immediate way. This Tchaikovsky symphony is one such piece. This particular performance I would place a few centimeters short of life-changing. A closer brush with raw experience might even have been dangerous. After the turbulence, the paroxysms and the joy, we were left with the pianissimo of two notes on the basses, sawn rather than bowed, the cuts of the last ties with hope. Strangely enough, such overt despair makes everyone, eventually, feel better, because the only remaining way is up. I am reminded that in the same hall in less than two months I expect to hear a performance of Shostakovich Symphony No. 4, which finishes with precisely the same two note fate in the basses, but repeated like a torture.

And so to the third of the recent orchestral events. Programmatically this one was unusual in that it presented a Saint-Saens-Mozart sandwich. Three shorter pieces by Saint-Saens, the Andromache overture, Spartacus and the Dance Macabre, surrounded the Mozart Piano Concerto No. 20. The Saint-Saens showed off the orchestra to great effect, the brilliant orchestration producing color and effect in an almost Proust-like stream of consciousness, albeit considerably shorter. The brilliance of the composer’s orchestration contrasts with his musical conservatism, but the whole assembles like an Impressionist painting, albeit of a generation earlier than the composer’s own life.

Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 20 is a different experience from those previously described. This is a quiet, understated, deeply personal work the bursts with emotional states that are not advertised like self-promotion or worn like jewelry. The writing is subtle, reticent, suggestive of some deeper emotional experience than that being related to the listeners. It is a piece that needs a pianist with perfect touch married to an ability to communicate, a transparent virtuosity that allows the music to quietly come before technique, but a technique perfect enough to admit moments of sympathetic variations of emotion. The soloist achieving this perfection with apparent ease was none less than Maria João Pires.

Twelve years of Alfas del Pi Classical Music Society - alfasmusica.com

 

«Nuestro público es el fiel reflejo de lo que es la sociedad alfasina»

Tras doce años de existencia la asociación ha organizado ya más de 250 recitales

por Nicolás Van Looy

 martes, 3-noviembre-2020

Entrevista > Philip Spires / Sociedad de Conciertos de Música Clásica de l’Alfàs del Pi (Wakefield -Reino Unido-, 1952)

Philip Spires representa, en cierta medida, el tópico del gentleman inglés. Su tono de voz suave, su verbo educado al extremo y, sobre todo, una cultura general que emana de cada una de sus palabras convierte una conversación con él en todo un desafío intelectual.

Spires preside la Sociedad de Conciertos de Música Clásica de l’Alfàs del Pi. Con todos estos datos, el lector seguramente se haya hecho una imagen muy definida en la mente sobre nuestro entrevistado y no diferirá mucho de un hombre estirado, pedante y, casi, con levita y monóculo.

Philip Spires es todo lo contrario. Es un tipo cercano con el que cualquier conversación, por larga que pueda ser, se hace corta. Su trabajo le llevó a vivir en distintos y exóticos lugares del mundo y ahora, ya jubilado, ha recalado en l’Alfàs del Pi donde puso en marcha la asociación que sigue presidiendo.

La Sociedad de Conciertos de Música Clásica nació hace doce años. ¿Cómo comenzó esta aventura?

Originalmente colaborábamos con Vicente Orts, en la Finca Senyoret, con unos conciertos de verano que reunían a una pequeña cantidad de personas y a unos pocos músicos. En aquellos días teníamos la ayuda de una entidad bancaria. No era mucho, pero organizábamos dos o tres conciertos en el mes de agosto.

Entonces, Joaquín Palorames, vicepresidente y director artístico de la asociación, también organizaba conciertos en colaboración con algunos ayuntamientos, especialmente en l’Alfàs del Pi. Fue él quien pensó en poner en marcha un programa de conciertos de pago a través de una membresía por parte de los asociados ya que pensaba que podía ser un modelo que funcionaría en un lugar como l’Alfàs.

«CELEBRAMOS NUESTRO PRIMER CONCIERTO EL DÍA DEL INCENDIO FORESTAL DE LA NUCÍA. ÍBAMOS A COMENZAR Y NO HABÍA SUMINISTRO ELÉCTRICO»

Sé que el día de su puesta de largo las cosas no salieron muy bien. ¿Qué sucedió?

(Ríe) Fue el día del incendio forestal de La Nucía. Íbamos a comenzar el concierto y no había suministro eléctrico, lo que nos obligó a arrancar tarde. Pero, desde entonces, hemos realizado unos 250 conciertos.

Ustedes han traído a l’Alfàs del Pi a artistas de todo el mundo sin olvidarse tampoco de los músicos de la zona. ¿Qué es lo más complicado a la hora de organizar un programa anual de conciertos?

¡Lo más complicado para mi es lidiar con Joaquín! Él es el director artístico y discutimos qué artistas queremos invitar. Lo bueno es que él tiene sus propios contactos y, a través de ellos, podemos llegar a la mayor parte de los músicos que queremos traer. Además, hay músicos que nos contactan directamente ofreciéndonos su repertorio y sus conciertos.

También contamos con distintos lugares para organizar los conciertos. Por ello, si contamos con un músico al que no conocemos muy bien, podemos, por ejemplo, probar su recital en el Forum Mare Nostrum antes de programarlo en la Casa de Cultura al año siguiente.

Su trabajo a la hora de contar con músicos de fama internacional es impresionante. ¿Desde dónde han sido capaces de traer concertistas?

Hemos tenido artistas que han venido, obviamente, de España; pero también de Italia, Alemania, Francia, Croacia, Serbia, Polonia, Rusia, Reino Unido, Irlanda, Bélgica, Estados Unidos, Albania, Bulgaria… ¡de muchísimos sitios!

Nuestros conciertos son, en cierta medida, fiel reflejo de la sociedad internacional y multicultural de l’Alfàs del Pi. Es una sensación que me encanta, porque yo me considero, por encima de todo, un ciudadano del mundo y, en segundo lugar, un habitante de un lugar concreto. Soy un absoluto convencido de que cuanta más interacción tengamos, mejor.

«TRAEMOS ARTISTAS CON LA CALIDAD SUFICIENTE COMO PARA HABER TOCADO EN ALGUNOS DE LOS ESCENARIOS MÁS IMPORTANTES DEL MUNDO»

L’Alfàs del Pi no deja de ser un pequeño municipio fuera del circuito de los grandes escenarios de la música clásica. ¿Es complicado convencer a los músicos para que vengan a tocar aquí?

No, en absoluto. No estamos en las grandes ligas, es verdad. Debemos ser realistas y sabemos que no vamos a poder contar con Lang Lang, así que nos centramos en lo que nos podemos permitir y ahí sí que somos capaces de atraer a muy buenos músicos. Artistas con la calidad suficiente como para haber tocado en algunos de los escenarios más importantes de ciudades como Ginebra, París, Nueva York, Viena, etc.

En nuestro caso, muchos de los músicos con los que contamos vienen de Italia por una cuestión de relaciones históricas. Algunos son muy conocidos y otros menos, pero eso es la música. Debes estar abierto a escuchar lo que te ofrecen y lo que te llevas es esa experiencia.

«ALGUNAS VECES HEMOS PEDIDO A UN MÚSICO QUE CAMBIE ALGUNA PIEZA, PERO SOLO HA SERVIDO PARA QUE NO CAMBIARA ABSOLUTAMENTE NADA»

Una vez han cerrado el acuerdo con el músico, ¿quién propone o decide el repertorio que tocará en su visita a l’Alfàs?

Una vez me crucé con un pianista, cuando dirigía una asociación en otro lugar del mundo, al que le pregunté cuántas piezas podía tocar sin necesidad de ensayar demasiado y me dio que unas mil. Eso es algo extraordinario. Normalmente, los músicos llegan con un repertorio y lo que hacen es repetirlo en cada una de sus actuaciones.

Lo más habitual, por lo tanto, es que cuando hablamos con ellos nos digan “voy a ir con este programa”. Algunas veces les hemos pedido que cambien alguna pieza, pero sólo ha servido para que, llegado el momento del concierto, no cambiaran absolutamente nada.

«LA MÚSICA CLÁSICA ES PERCIBIDA COMO ALGO ELITISTA. RECHAZO ESAS ETIQUETAS DE FORMA ENÉRGICA Y CATEGÓRICA»

¿Cree que es acertado el término de música culta para referirse a la música clásica? ¿No supone etiquetarla de una forma elitista que podría espantar a buena parte del público?

Entiendo lo que dices. En inglés, por ejemplo, no tenemos ese sinónimo, pero la música clásica también es percibida como algo elitista dirigida a la clase media-alta en adelante. Rechazo esas etiquetas de forma enérgica y categórica. Pero voy más allá: odio el término ‘música clásica’. Sé lo suficiente de música como para saber que el periodo clásico comenzó alrededor de 1720 y acabó en 1800.

Supongo que su propia colección de música será enorme.

Arranca en el siglo X y termina en una grabación de una pieza que se compuso la pasada semana. Tengo 32.000 piezas musicales en mi colección en más de 2.000 discos. No quiero repetirme, pero muy pocas de todas esas grabaciones podrían ser consideradas música clásica. Son, principalmente, música moderna y es imposible de clasificar.

Pero esas etiquetas, de una u otra forma, se han impuesto en casi todas las expresiones artísticas.

Así es. Si lo comparamos, por ejemplo, con las artes visuales, tenemos el periodo clásico, pero también el romanticismo, el barroco, el rococó, el renacimiento o el gótico. Y luego, tienes la era moderna, que arrancó entre 1880 y 1900. Mi opinión sobre todos los movimientos en el mundo del arte se resume con un dicho muy conocido en inglés: “el que paga al gaitero compone la pieza”.

Es la gente que paga el arte la que decide su estilo. Desde 1880 o 1890 el arte ha sido más la expresión de un gusto individual, de algo que va a ser patrocinado por un benefactor. Ese es el motivo por el que tenemos esa explosión de diferentes estilos.

Entonces, ¿a qué nos referimos con el término música clásica?

Hoy en día, en pleno 2020, se puede referir a un cuarteto de cuerda, pero también a una grabación, como la que me llegó el otro día, de alguien creando un ritmo tirando granos de arena sobre una mesa para explorar sus efectos sonoros. La clave, para mi, es que el mercado no sea el principal objetivo que marque lo que el artista está intentando hacer. Eso es todo.

En cualquier caso, los artistas también deben de pagar sus facturas y eso lo consiguen siguiendo las demandas del mercado.

Antes me has preguntado sobre el término música culta. Es algo que contrasta con la música que se crea para el mercado. Este te marca una serie de patrones a los que te tienes que amoldar y a la gente no le produce ningún tipo de sorpresa. Cualquier cosa que sorprenda a la gente, que no resulte familiar, crea automáticamente una reacción. A veces, al público no le gusta que se le presenten cosas que no le resultan familiares.

«PARA QUE PODAMOS APRECIAR ALGO EL PÚBLICO DEBE COOPERAR QUEDANDO LIBRE DE PREJUICIOS»

Si uno hace el experimento de escuchar cierto tipo de música, como por ejemplo el rock, y dar marcha atrás en el tiempo, verá que cada nuevo estilo de música entronca con un movimiento anterior y que no es difícil llegar a la llamada música clásica desde cualquier propuesta. ¿Por qué cree que eso no es algo mucho más evidente y que cuesta tanto que el público se acerque a ella?

De nuevo, falta de familiaridad. En esta sociedad es imposible, y eso es algo que en l’Alfàs del Pi sí que se ha conseguido en cierta medida, escapar de la música pop y su influencia. Oirás música pop en cualquier tienda, en cualquier calle, en los medios de comunicación… Te la están metiendo a todas horas. Es una fijación de consumo.

Si la gente se familiarizara de la misma manera, por ejemplo, con Chopin, también lo reconocerían. Hace poco escribí que para que podamos apreciar algo el público debe cooperar en el proceso y debe quedar libre de prejuicios. Eso es lo que mucha gente hace con la música clásica: prejuzgarla.

Disculpe la osadía, pero Puccini fue, seguramente, uno de los grandes artistas pop de su era. Al fin y al cabo escribía pensando en el mercado y en conseguir un nuevo ‘hit’. ¿No cree que es injusto prejuzgar la música pop de esa forma?

Eso que dices es muy interesante. Si repasas la biografía de Puccini descubrirás que fue prohibido…

Sólo por ciertos sectores, los más conservadores de su época. Sus obras llenaban los auditorios y él era inmensamente popular y rico.

Así es. Schubert apenas tuvo éxito durante mucho tiempo porque lo que proponía era nuevo y la gente no lo aceptó. Puccini era muy accesible, pero también hubo otros compositores de ópera como Leoš Janáček, conocido como el Puccini checo, que tuvieron un mayor legado sobre la ópera que vino después. Puccini, en ese sentido, fue una vía muerta.

Pero, volviendo a tu pregunta original, también rechazo, aunque lo he usado antes, el término de música pop. No es popular. Más del 90% de los discos pop que se publican no producen ningún beneficio porque no son populares. Lo correcto, por lo tanto, sería decir música populista.

Volvamos al ámbito local. ¿La mayoría del público de sus conciertos está formado por residentes extranjeros?

No. Nuestro público, te lo aseguro, refleja fielmente la sociedad alfasina, es decir, está formada al 50% por españoles y extranjeros. Y todo, con dos excepciones llamativas: no conseguimos que vengan muchos ingleses y tampoco, y esto me duele más, mucha gente joven.

«ES LÓGICO QUE LOS JÓVENES NO VENGAN A NUESTROS CONCIERTOS. ESTÁN EN UNA EDAD EN LA QUE LO QUE QUIEREN ES SOCIALIZAR»

¿A qué cree que se debe?

Mira, durante un tiempo viví en Brunéi. Allí todas las chicas jóvenes de origen chino tocaban el piano, pero nunca vimos a ninguna en nuestros conciertos. Creo que es algo lógico. Un concierto de música clásica implica estar dos horas en un sitio sentado y escuchando música y los jóvenes están en una edad en la que lo que quieren es socializar.

Pero sí van al cine.

Sí, pero eso lo haces con tus amigos e, incluso, puedes cuchichear con ellos sobre lo que estás viendo. Si eso lo haces en un concierto de música clásica la gente comenzará a quejarse y a decirte que te calles.

La música es una constante en la programación cultural alfasina

Entrevista por Nico van Looy

 

Costa Blanca Arts Update - Suite Havana, paintings by Anthony Miró in Palau Altea

Suite Havana is a newly inaugurated exhibition of paintings by Anthony Miró, hung in Palau Altea on Spain’s Costa Blanca. It complements and amplifies an existing show of the artist’s sculpture, an exhibition entitled de mar a mar, throughout the town. Altea is a long-established artists’ town, a white town whose appearance might suggest its location on a map might have slipped north from Andalusia by a couple of hundred kilometres. But this is Valencia and Altea is a Valencian town hosting Anthony Miró, very much a Valencian artist.

But despite its homegrown nature, the exhibition Suite Havana, like the sculptures of de mar a mar have done for several months, will provoke controversy and calls for its removal amongst that segment of the town’s population for whom sexual taboos retain their significance. For, like his sculptures, the subject matter of the paintings in Suite Havana is sensuality, sexuality and sex, three different facets of the same taboo. But whereas the three-dimensional bronzes portray both positive and negative images of various sexual acts, the paintings in Suite Havana portray only naked or near-naked Cuban women. And they are all beautiful women, all desirable, all at first sight arguably ideals of their type. This, in itself, does not separate them from the Greek pottery or poetry-inspired images of the sculpture, since ancient Greece was not noted for the realism of its own depiction of the human form. But the gender specificity does.

Whether Western art of the Christian era portrayed sensuality as it’s prime message before Titian‘s Venus of Urbino is a matter for the art historian, which I am not. But for me that particular painting is representative of a turning point in the history of art. Titian‘s Venus is naked. Her left hand cups her pubic area, conveniently hiding its detail. There is nothing new either in art or life. But what is immediately different about the Venus of Urbino is that she engages the viewer. And she smiles. There is an engagement in her expression, almost a recognition, indeed a recognition that may even be personal, but equally it could be contractual. We could be her friend or her lover, but we could equally be her customer, with a hand to reveal its detail only after a contracted payment is made. The taboo here may go well beyond mere sex and sexuality. It may indeed extend as far as prostitution, deception and even might reach as far as a notion of pleasure, even worse, pleasure for its own sake. It’s an image whose public display would be controversial today, let alone in mid-sixteenth century Venice.

A century or so later, Rembrandt was painting his canvases that glowed with the human reality. He produced images of ordinary people powerful enough to provoke even today’s observer with feelings of recognition, sensations of association, and the desire to greet by name, a need almost to renew an acquaintance. As observers, we cannot fail to feel the humanity, the proximity to our own experience, an empathy with what we assume are the subject’s concerns. But is this quality diminished, enhanced or unchanged by our knowledge that, largely still hidden from public view, there are hundreds of drawings and sketches by Rembrandt the depict the erotic, the sex act, the aroused genitalia and expressions of sexual ecstasy? Do we find humanity to an equal degree in such images? Does our knowledge of this side of Rembrandt´s interests change the way we view his ability to penetrate the human psyche?

And, as a third observation on the theme that is in danger of overstatement, how do we personally react to Courbet’s Origin of the World? Courbet - we now assume – was of the realist school, the group that grew out of the Brabizon painters of the early 19th century, where the everyday was both subject and object of interest. For those who do not know this particular work, it’s in the Musée d’Orsay and depicts, no more and no less than, a close-up of the hirsute genitalia of an unnamed, unknown and an identifiable woman, a viewpoint of a torso that might be achieved just before oral sex. After many years of not seeing light of day, the work is now in the gallery for all to see. It stays the right side of voyeurism, opinion has it, but why, how or in whose opinion is rarely possible to define.

There exist other examples, of course. Velasquez’s Venus was painted some years after that of Rubens. In both paintings a voluptuous back view is presented and in both the viewer is engaged via a mirror held by Cupid. Goya’s unclothed Maya stares at her viewer and she incurred the wrath of the Inquisition. Manet’s Olympia caused a scandal as late as the mid-nineteenth century in Paris, of all places, where brothels were an accepted part of commercial life, where there were at least 150,000 registered prostitutes and where the state took fifty per cent of the transactions in taxes. And it was a woman, Mary Richardson, who attacked the Velasquez in London in 1914. She later said she did not like the way men gaped at the picture, though the initial motive was to protest against the arrest of a suffragette leader.

It has often been said that female nudes in painting exist for the eyes of men. The women depicted, the nostrum has it, are always ideal types, worthy of voyeuristic scrutiny, of elevation to the status of the pornographic. The twentieth century did challenge that notion, especially via the work of artists such as Lucian Freud or Tracy Emin, both of whom have their own complex relationships with sexuality. Indeed, at the opening of Suite Havana in Palau Altea, a companion of mine stated that in her opinion these seemed to be works painted for men.

It is time to describe the work themselves, lest the critique take centre-stage over the content. Suite Havana is a collection of 50 or so naked or near-naked Cuban women. Each painting features one or sometimes two models. Most paintings feature a named individual and she is often returning the gaze of the viewer, just as Titian‘s Venus does. Facial expressions vary from neutral to inviting, from distance to ecstasy. Some works concentrate on particular parts of the body and some subjects are wearing pants or a bikini. All the women are beautiful.

The paintings are mainly acrylic on canvas. There are a few abstract prints, but the style is predominantly what might be called photorealism. These are named, identifiable women, posing naked for us to look at. And, because of the realism of the style, the viewer must get very close to these images to appreciate how they differ from photographs. There are outlines here and there, sometimes in black or blue or white. There are added lines that accentuates something extended from the image itself, for example a lengthened lock of hair, a circle accentuating the buttocks. And most of the women are lying on beds. Just like the one-dimensional imagery of Courbet’s Origin of the World, these subjects are in your face. And clearly intentionally so.

But let’s suppose they were all wearing enough scanty clothing to be socially decent, to break no taboos, and let’s introduce a product of consumer capitalism into the fray. The smiling woman then becomes an enticement to buy, to consume, to associate the perhaps subliminal pleasure the image creates with the featured product, without ever wanting explicitly to suggest that the woman is part of the product being sold. Suppose we remove the woman’s name from each title and replace it with that of the product. I use only generics as examples: toothpaste, 4 x 4 gas guzzler, washing powder, fast food outlet, dishwasher. We all know this is a woman. We all know that women have breasts and genitalia. We all know that these are being offered alongside the commercial product. Why is it seen as taboo if these qualities, these realities, which we all know exist, are revealed? Does our collective problem lie in the suggestion that these women might just be selling themselves? I wish I could answer the question, but asking it is the important act.

I now read that the artist’s Instagram account has been threatened with closure because he has promoted his exhibition with some of its publicly displayed images. Suite Havana and work like it always asks the same question. The medieval European mind was clear at least institutionally that nakedness was a matter of shame. The Renaissance forced a reassessment of this attitude, and it is a reassessment that is still underway, despite Titian‘s, Rembrandt’s, Courbet‘s and other artists’ contributions.

The images themselves are pleasing, in their provocative, arousing and challenging way. They might promise ecstasy, but sometimes the detail differs, such as in the canvas where across the woman’s lower abdomen there is a scar of a Caesarian or a hysterectomy, with a strange, almost umbilical cord of thread trailing towards it from the navel. My friend pointed at the woman’s labia and declared she thought it looked like a wound. I was reminded of Margaret Atwood’s feminist work, The Gash.

Suite Havana is a collection that would cause some people offense. My advice to such people is, “Don’t go there”. But, as ever in art, the questions are always more interesting than the answers. The beauty of these images and their capacity to move anyone who does seek the experience is indisputable.