Notes/Thoughts on the Chicago Symphony Orchestra performance on 09.21.18

In Riccardo Muti: The Maestro Among Maestros: 50 Years and Counting, an article found in the program pamphlet I received as I walked into Chicago's Symphony Center last Friday night, several notes stood out to me. Knowing next to nothing about Muti, the acclaimed international conductor, I found several of his viewpoints particularly fascinating. 

The first was this idea that there is an advantage to nations other than the United States (quite an idea, if you ask me). While in Italy, Muti (who himself is Italian) has said:

"We have an advantage here. At every corner, you are surrounded by history, every corner tells you where you come from. It's part of them. In Italian, the word is convivenza, to spend your life together."  

Imagine. Italy is so much older than the United States, and indeed, though I have never been there, I can understand what Muti is talking about. From pictures I've seen of Italy, in textbooks and advertisements, etc., the streets are full of old and new art, the place is bustling with culture in the language, the food, and architecture. A moment doesn't go by in Italy when an Italian isn't reminded of what their homeland is made of, in every sense. 

In the U.S., a place still very young in comparison, I think we as a nation are still very fragmented. Admittedly, we are a wealthy nation, in social, cultural, and economic capital, but fundamentally we are still just a huge stone slab yet to be carved. Walking around the United States does not, per se, reflect its people. On the two extremes, we have the pastoral (idyllic and not so idyllic) on one end and the industrial world  (apocalyptic or post-modern) on the other, and though these two are combining in odd and interesting ways, we cannot say and/or see much else, aside from noting the cliques and subcultures that fade and die every ten years (so it seems). It's worth wondering: what is it that will last? The idea of the cowboy? The skateboarder? The thug? The rich woman in the pearls and fur? Hippies?

What I'm keeping my eye on these days are expressions of the culture that really reflect its diversity by melding those different facets together. Like, perhaps, the art and architecture that reflects numerous different influences from different nations and peoples. This will be harder with food; I'm not a huge fan of fusion. A culture complex yes, but coherent. Right now I think the culture in the U.S. - sadly - is not so coherent. 

Another, simpler, point from the article that stood out to me was Muti's idea that to create better art, to be a better artist, and specifically, to become a better musician, one needs the very best quality of life. Which is part of the reason why he works so hard. So he can make money, so his orchestra can make money, so they can have the best lives - take care of themselves, enjoy the finer things, and make wonderful, beautiful music full of understanding and feeling, both. He says:

"I want to make the instrument better and better, and to make the life of the musicians better and better. If you have a better life, you make better music."

The performance began with Sergei Prokofiev's Sinfonietta, Op. 5/48. Hearing it reminded me of fairy-tales, the woods, and forest spirits. All these have been on my mind lately, but truly, the Sinfonietta reminded me of all of it. I marveled.

It was my first time hearing a performance such as this in maybe twelve years. The singular sound of a powerful unity -  which now is more like an orchestra that can sing (as Muti has said) - filled me with awe. The Chicago Symphony Orchestra was nothing less than perfect, even for its first ever performance of this piece. I was not surprised to hear the woman next to me say, "How delightful!", as she clapped her hands when the twenty-five minute performance was completed. 

Here is a recording of the Sinfonietta, not by the CSO, but if you'd like to hear it, you'll hear the birds and the wind and the warmth and romance (something slightly playful) that comes with the bright colors in this beautiful piece by Prokofiev:

After Prokofiev's piece came the haunting and dark masterpiece by Dmitri Shostakovich, Symphony No. 13, Op.113 (Babi Yar). This was a turn from the previous, yet not drastic. The gradual segue-way was in the musicianship of the CSO. When people think of orchestras, or perhaps in my own ideas of the orchestra as caricature, I think pomp and circumstance. There was nothing pompous here. Everything was heartfelt, subtle, and powerful, without anything drastically dramatic.

A bit about this symphony. Rarely has it been performed for any audience because of it's political undertones. One of the biggest reasons why it has rarely been performed is because of the lyrics that Shostakovich insisted be sung alongside the other instrumentation. Those lyrics come from a poem by Yevgeny Yevtushenko, who in writing it, was remarking upon the millions of dead bodies in Babi Yar caused by the brutality of WWII. Yevtushenko begins with condemning the place for holding no tribute or monument to the many Jewish people who were killed there. When Russia found out about the piece and Yevtushenko's lyrics, many Russians, including the government, were aghast at the fact that it did not seem give the other Russians who died there any attention. In any case, it seems that it was a little too political to be performed and celebrated as a masterpiece of artistic work. "I am not anti-semitic" - Shostakovich had once said - "because I am a true Russian."

My absolute favorite part of the piece, and only because of it's juxtaposition to the rest of the heavy and solid parts, comes toward the end. It is a little theme, I think beginning with just two flutes, that begin a theme that comes in and out until the very end. It is a light flutter, a glimmer of hope, of souls eternal. 

To hear this narrative sung, this poetic narrative sung, is a very different experience than most of the performances of this sort which might be found today. This is because it is not a theatrical performance. It is an expression without action, with pure words and sound. 

Here is the piece in a recording by the Philadelphia Orchestra. Read along with the lyrics if possible. When I heard this live last Thursday, I could only listen. I plan on reading Babi Yar in full while the orchestra plays on a night this fall. 

- F 

Happily Ever Edens | Happily Ever After

One of the best things said to Dan and I on our wedding day was actually proclaimed by our priest (we had a Roman Catholic wedding, mind you). He said, "...for there is still work to be done." That even though we were all celebrating this Special Day of Matrimony, that even though this was the day that officially confirmed our marriage, that, despite all the years of coordination and planning we had already put into the ceremony and the reception, that there was, and is, still work to be done.

This reminder - that there is still work to be done - filled me with a sense of reality and of evanescence. Furthermore, it was a feeling of inspiration and truth. Those golden words: there is still work to be done, filled me with the sense of an eternity earned.

Certainly, the kind of work Father Robert was referring to was not only that of the work which provides us our income. He was talking about the labor of love too. What I heard was actually a marriage of those two things. The work to be done which provides us our income as well as the labor of love which gives us the ability to do that work, to wake up early with a sense of purpose and belonging, and to strive (this striving is indeed a type of work) to help those we can and to receive help from others as well, in whatever form that takes. 

This work is not easy to perform in our world. In this life. What is our relationship, as a couple, to the world and our friends and family? How does our own marriage reflect our communication and actions with others? How does our communication and action with others reflect and change our marriage? These are all the urgent questions which Father Robert's beautiful reminder made me think of. I also knew this: although these questions carried an urgency with them, they also carry an innate patience, too. And quite simply, the reminder was this: that the work we do - each and every minute of every single day - continuously contributes to the love that we celebrated and were blessed with on September 8, 2018. 

Yes, that day, there were plenty nerves racing through me. Yes, that day there was a lot of excitement, making me talk and talk ("a mile a minute" as my mother-in-law has said). Yes, that day, I was extremely energetic, not able to pay more than a few seconds attention to any one thing. But, more than anything, I felt ready. I was prepared to say my vows to Dan. I can't explain why I felt so ready to marry him. It felt like something akin to blind conviction. To true faith. It was unexplainable and yet, there it was: the confidence that this was the man that I was meant to be with, to share love with. All because our relationship blessed me with safety, peace, the desire to learn, the desire to love, and the desire to be loved. Now, writing this, I am aware of where that conviction and faith came from. It came from my awareness that I was making this choice myself. It was my decision to marry Dan. And I knew, and know tonight, that I married him for all the right reasons.

Dan provides those precious gifts, of safety, peace, learning, and love, each day of my life. How could I have ever turned down those values of presence? Making a harsh reality soft and comfortable with all the care in the world? There was no way other than to say: Yes. I do.

Those who were there to stand by my side during this celebration were angels. If not every day, they were angels on that day, in my eyes. Our bridesmaids, groomsmen, and entire entourage gave us so much support; we felt it through and through. And we could not be prouder to say that they each have shaped us in small ways, big ways, and important ways. Even the children, who behaved like little princes and a little princess, showering us with their playfulness and innocence and adoring eyes. 

My father could not be there, but I know he was there in spirit and mind. He called me on my birthday this year to wish us congratulations and love, and told me honestly that he had high blood pressure and would not be able to fly in for the event. My heart goes out to him for this directness and truth. My heart goes out to him for his hardships and his quiet yet constant love, and I am grateful.

My beautiful sister-in-law Sarah was not able to fly from Colorado to Chicago, for reasons beyond her control. It will always be a huge part of my wedding memory that she, via our wonderful 21st Century technology, was able to see us and talk to us in real time. She is such a special part of Dan's life, and now mine, and I was so glad that we three (four, including our brother-in-law Paul) were able to cry and laugh together, recognizing that this was only one day in all of eternity, and one day out of this new amazing life that we are all currently stepping into. To approach this life with caution, care, and self-awareness is something that she taught me, and I am grateful.

I was given a very special gift from my father-in-law. A few days before the wedding, we spoke on the phone. He reminded me that he will be my father now, and that whenever I needed him he would be there, for whatever reason. He reminded me to breathe in and take in the approaching day with every pore in my body. He reminded me what it's like to have a real father, and taught me what it feels like to have one that is brave, that is open, that is caring and fun and kind. I had never heard words such as the ones he spoke to me, and I am grateful. 

My mother and my Ate Rodelia: the two headstrong, hilarious, and silently hard-workers who raised me, were both, of course, by my side, helping me through the day, reminding me to be cognizant of my manners, as usual. But more than that, as I told my mom the night before the wedding, I was taught virtuous love and endless patience. Those values they have blessed me with, as if magical fairies from some old tale, bestowing upon their child, both by biology and by guardianship, these important, ancestral, and ancient codes that must be practiced or else they should die. And I am ever so grateful. I'll always try to keep these safeguarded.

Of course, who else but my mother walked me down the aisle? It only made sense that she "give me away" to Danny. From one protector to another. 

My maid-of-honor needs no further words. I cannot speak any highly of her and I cannot say enough how she means the world to me. But. This picture.  It says everything, as a picture is supposed to do, an image producing a thousand words. Let me remark upon this: her calm face and her hands. Look close enough and all the strength and struggle and peace and vigilance can be seen without one sound coming out of anyone's mouth. No eyes need to be open, no tears shed, nothing further but the knowledge that there is someone who has my back. And I hers. And that is only one of my big reasons to smile.

My favorite part of the ceremony came after our vows were spoken. The Unity Candle was prepared for us by our mothers. My mother and Dan's mother walked up to the altar during the beginning of the ceremony and lit two small candles, one for me and one for Dan, with the intention of us lighting the single large one in the middle later on. And we did. The symbolism of this candle, which can be easily deduced, is not just personal. For we both hope for the entire world. 

Thank you to all who have followed us on our journey. Thank you especially for everybody who came to witness our ceremony. Though I may not be able to write about each and all of you, I've felt your love in my heart. 

For family or friends who I have not tied up loose ends with: know that I care about you and am thinking of you. There is still work to be done. I'm trying to do that work with as much respect and concern as possible, and to tend to those loose ends with clear intentions.

The fun part is: we get our professional pictures sometime this weekend! Things, admittedly, got less poignant after the ceremony. If you want to know the truth, I wound up in a patch of pines at the Arboretum as the reception was ending. Here's a really classy photo to show you my true colors (but - keep in mind - I'm a chameleon):

For good measure, here's the exact same photo PLUS one of my dearest friends from high school, Sean.

So. That's only half of it. Stay tuned...

(Don't worry. There will be p-l-e-n-t-y of photos of Dan and I in various states of passion and play to come. I promise.)

All our love,
F (& D)

P.S. It couldn't have ended without a picture of Dan and I, for that's how it ends in real life. I couldn't be more blessed and proud to have this man by my side. 

P.P.S. Thank you to my mother-in-law for the beautiful flowers. I was undeniably nervous that day, though many couldn't see it. It was all internal. And the smell of these roses... let me tell you... there was no smell that ever smelled as sweet.

In Which I Decide To Grow Wings"

because I can no longer feel my feet.
Was it a trick of genetics or a magic potion

that made my fingers into feathers or fins
ready for a different kind of escapade?

My body is slowly giving itself away
from this universe. It sparkles, sometimes sparks,

in this alien air. And I can have the hair I always wanted,
long and blue, the kind that thrashes behind me

with its own anima. Maybe shiny scales.
If I’ve become unrecognizable, I’m okay with that.

I’m happy to leave behind my misadventures, 
live inside someone else’s warm-lined skin.

I’ll arrive with a suitcase of snakes and silks, 
a map to a new evolution, a sky full of discovery.

by Jeanine Hall Gailey 
Sourced from: Faerie Magazine

(I found this gorgeous photo somewhere within the internet. I have no idea where it's from.)

- F