Showing posts with label Rudolf Nureyev. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rudolf Nureyev. Show all posts

Monday, October 6, 2025

Just Another Diva

After a video recording of Maria Callas at the Franco Zeffirelli Museum gave me goosebumps, I was hoping to see more about her storied career at the Museo Teatrale Alla Scala. Instead, only a single oil painting was on display.

 

That's probably because "the unforgettable voice of the 20th century" (the museum's website's description of the diva)  is just one of many hundreds of people who have performed, danced and acted at Milan's famed Opera House.  It opened on the site of a former church just two years after America declared its independence from Britain, and barely survived World War II bombing.  



Admission to the museum included a quick peek at the stage from inside one of the boxes.


I was struck by an 18th-century "Portrait of a Singer" when I entered the museum. We'll have to take the artist's word for it; no opera was recorded before 1889.  


Adolpho Wildt sculpted this bust of Arturo Toscanini.  Long before he became famous in the United States as the music director of the NBC Symphony Orchestra, he performed the same role at La Scala until his refusal to support Mussolini forced him to flee Italy.


Puccini died before finishing Turandot which premiered, with Toscanini conducting, at La Scala in April 1926. Although another composer completed it, Toscanini laid down his baton at the last note written by Puccini, a touching tribute that continues in the current production a century later.


Even someone as ignorant as I about opera found plenty to appreciate in the museum's rich displays of musical instruments and more than two centuries of memorabilia, much of it donated by die-hard aficionados.





Verdi's fingers tickled these ivories.


A rather macabre display case includes a photo of the composer on his death bed along with sculptures of his head and hand.

 

There also are set designs, props and costumes.



Rudolph Nureyev wore this jacket in The Nutcracker.


An entire room is devoted to the Commedia dell'Arte.


Pantalone & Arlecchino
I enjoyed the portrait galleries, filled with silent ghosts, the most.


Gaetano Donizetti
Adelina Patti
Jules Massenet
There's both a painting and a bust of Eleonora Duse whose mononym was once as famous as Madonna's.



My father wasn't an opera buff either but he spoke more than once of Enrico Caruso's powerful voice.  He must have heard it on recordings which made his talent timeless and immediately accessible today.  Ken was just two when the tenor died more than a century ago.


Ballet dancers were more my thing.  

Nureyev and David both died of the same disease on January 6, 1993.  It was a brutal time, just before protease inhibitors saved the lives of so many people with HIV.


An upstairs gallery featured the work of a French photographer who was given backstage access to La Scala's corps de ballet.


It also included an avant-garde video called "Beyond The Veil"


. . . and an exhibit called "Paper Ballerinas."


Who knows what this tableau was supposed to signify.


If only I'd visited eight years ago when the museum honored Callas with an exhibition in the same gallery on the fortieth anniversary of her death. It looked pretty fab.


Sunday, September 21, 2025

Hot Commie Summer

After Zohran Mamdani won the Democratic primary in June, a hedge fund manager forecast a "hot commie summer."  It's about time--as a registered Independent, I can't wait to vote for a guy who belongs to the Democratic Socialists of America!


The level of support for Zohran became unusually evident when JoAnne and Mia were visiting from Colorado.  His canvassers approached Mia and I multiple times on upper Broadway before the polls closed and I put her on the subway.  After a couple of days, she had mastered it well enough to be her grandmother's MTA whisperer.

Thankfully, propaganda like this doesn't seem to have gained much traction in spite of attacks by an authoritarian president, a disgraced former governor and a corrupt mayor. But who knows what the future holds? I can't forget the young Andrew Cuomo's dirty tricks when he tried to get his father Mario elected Mayor in 1977 by distributing fliers that declared "Vote for Cuomo not the Homo." 


You know summer has arrived when outdoor dining begins.  A restaurant on Columbus Avenue sported wildfire colors.


JoAnne treated me to a tour of Radio City Music Hall where we escaped the summer heat and met a Rockette.


I also visited another, even older New York City landmark for the first time thanks to Tim. He's embroiled in a battle with the new owners of the Chelsea Hotel to keep his home of nearly three decades.  Art works once bartered for rent still hang in the halls.  BTW, would you believe his mustache measures 13" from tip-to-tip?  Too bad the Coney Island Mustache Contest didn't happen this year.  You know there would have been a blog post . . .


My home has been undergoing some changes, too, although my landlord recently assured me he has no intention to sell. 


After nearly a year, the scaffolding used to resurface the facade of 47 Pianos was removed. The Bangladeshi crew, who weirdly called me "boss," did a terrific, painstaking job!  When I asked one of them if he learned his trade at home, he answered "No.  Everything I learn, I learn in America."


The scaffolding protected my bike from the weather, if not thieves.   The stolen seat and mount cost more than $100 to replace and I'm forced to once again carry it up and down two flights of stairs nearly every day.  My knees are crying, especially coming down.




En route home, we pulled up behind a truck driver crazy about Puerto Rico.


New York's skyline continues to offer endless photo ops, old and new.





The occasionally jokey pleasures of my city walkabouts remain undiminished

"Don't ASK" by Alison Katz
. . . and believe it or not, meatpacking hasn't entirely been replaced by retail on the far west side of downtown Manhattan.


Central Park has experienced some significant upgrades since last summer.  The gorgeous new Gottesman Pool can accommodate a thousand New Yorkers, free of charge.  However, it's only three-feet deep which definitely increases the pee-to-water ratio.


The Conservatory Garden is blooming again after being closed for two years.



The restoration of Gothic Bridge included new seating areas just north of the Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis Reservoir.  It crosses the bridle path where Audrey rode horses back in the day.



Beginning in late August, hundreds of people queued up daily to see Twelfth Night at the Delacorte Theater which had been closed for renovation since 2023.  Recycled wood from water towers was used in the construction.  How cool is that?


Nearly every article about the re-opening mentioned the presence of raccoons either during performance or back stage.  "All right, Mr. DeMille, I'm ready for my close-up."


As I sat on my favorite bench in the Ramble reading, I heard a father describe the scene in front of me to his amazed young son as "Central Park's very own little ecosystem" while warning him not to get too close to the rat.  Does it count as an ecosystem when well-meaning people dump bird seed on the walks?  In any case, I'm not in favor of feeding the animals.




Apparently, I'm not the only art lover in the city--Vermeer, Van Gogh & DaVinci on a single t-shirt!





Woman in a rose hat, New York City (1966)

"Young Man in Reverie" (ca 1876-78)

"A Midsummer Afternoon Dream" by Amy Sherald (2021)

"La Patriarche n°1" by Michel Bassompierre

Unidentified Work by LA2
. . . renewed my appreciation for Beauford Delaney at the Drawing Center

Self Portrait (1964)
. . . and raised an eyebrow about two men that the long-married Jamie Wyeth painted almost obsessively.  Their portraits, mostly from the Seventies,  comprise nearly an entire show at the Schoelkopf Gallery on lower Broadway.

"a.w., Ill at Ease" (2016)
"Hands on Hips, In Fur, Nureyev (Study #25)" (1977)
The Q train took me across the Manhattan Bridge for a well-attended memorial service at the Grecian Shelter in Prospect Park on a drizzly Sunday. 



Victor eulogized his beloved sister Joyce.  She fought 39 months before finally succumbing to glioblastoma, even managing to translate a book during that time.


It reminded me that my own clock is ticking, as did a cake with seven candles (one for each decade) in North Andover.  Apparently, members of the 223 Club didn't get the memo that I stopped celebrating my birthday the year after I became a septuagenerian.


Florian sent me Gustave Caillebotte: Painting Men, a joint publication of the Art Institute of Chicago and the Getty Museum.  It made a tasteful addition to the coffee table at 47 Pianos.


"Soldier" (ca 1881)
Self Portrait (ca 1892)
Meanwhile, he and Arko are prepping for Halloween.