…And Yet…

In my March blog, I wrote about the irreproducibility of art—how the “real thing” is the only “real thing”. Well, I stand by that 100%…and YET…

A very dear commenter left me a note suggesting leaving a bit of space for the “slightly-less-real”, yup, let’s just call it REPRODUCED art. And, well…(I’m ok admitting it) he is right.

I mean, while attending a concert live is surely the ne plus ultra, I am not about to toss my CD collection into a skip! (Spotify? Skip ye to the skip—I’ve truly had it with you! But that’s another blog…or two).

Because reproduced art is, above all, useful. It’s not the real thing, but it reminds us of the real thing. It can substitute for it, if imperfectly. (This recovering perfectionist recognizes the immense pull of the “perfect” at play). If we accept the imperfection, we can accept the reproduction.

Perhaps even my love for Rothko’s color-drunk canvases began…gasp!…with seeing them reproduced in a book? Or…two gasps!…on a POSTCARD! (Who doesn’t love art postcards? Alas, it’s not like most of us can buy an original Rothko).

Contemplating this, or rather, jerked into this self-confession by my dear commenter, I remembered the curious aphorism coined by the great physicist Niels Bohr:

“The opposite of a profound truth is also true” (don’t shoot me, this is an imperfect reproduction of his statement…).

This seems absurd, but take these examples:

The mobile phone is a blessing—The mobile phone is a curse.

The internet is a blessing—The internet is a curse.

Religious figure X brought peace and healing into the world—Religious figure X brought war and suffering into the world.

Pretty cool how that works, no? (I don’t know if all of these are profound truths…but they do flip nicely!)

For musicians, we have, among many others:

I need to practice—I don’t need to practice.

Sure, we need to practice. But sometimes (frequently?) it does more damage than good. Sometimes we need to just “do the thing” — perform—and stop the (wrong-headed) preparation. Sometimes, we just need to… do anything BUT practice!

In the case of Rothko et al, we have:

Art is irreproducible—Art can be reproduced.

The point is, the reproduction is just that. It is an approximation, a shorthand, a portable or affordable version, a cipher. In the case of recorded music, it is a disembodied, frozen, fixed version of one performance —that nonetheless can spark a mood, make you want to get up and dance, or even move one to tears … Go figure! It’s basically all wrong and yet so terribly USEFUL!

This, in turn, reminds me of Holbein’s portrait of Henry VIII’s 4th wife, Anne of Cleves. Here, the painting itself was the reproduction—of a person—a representation that Henry fell head over heels in love with…only to discover that the “real thing” was not at all to his taste! Holbein’s painting was thus both useful AND all wrong…

(Luckily for Anne of Cleves she got an annulment instead of a beheading!)

In light of this messy paradox, wherein the reproduction both IS and ISN’T “the thing”, perhaps we can agree that every version of art has its purposes—and its limitations.

Put that CD to play, and enjoy. Or stream disembodied, jumbled-up bits and pieces of the Western musical tradition (hello, Spotify), and enjoy. Bring out your art postcards, posters, and coffee-table books, and enjoy. But ALSO…get up off the sofa and make contact with live, unmediated art: direct to your eyeballs, to your ears, to your whole being.

If you suspect I’m walking back on last month’s blog, well…

My blog always tells the truth—My blog…

For the Total Artistic Experience…

Did I hear Rothko? Did I hear Retrospective? Did I fly to Paris?

Yes, times three.

(There’s magic in off-season fares, and friends with sofa-beds!)

I’m so color-obsessed I actually got out of bed early (ouch!) and made my way to the far edge of Paris to see paintings by Rothko—a master of color, and much else— in person. (I hereby give thanks to the Fondation Louis Vuitton for this splendid opportunity—never before have obscenely-priced handbags seemed so…justifiable!)

I was expecting a huge hit of COLOR; I was expecting to steep my eyeballs in his stacked threesomes of color-blocking; I was expecting genius.

What I got was: all that, PLUS a total artistic experience, a visual delight that developed over time, as if “listening” to visual “music”. The human brain cannot truly see these (or other) masterpieces in a brief glimpse, or even a lingering glance. It requires a good stretch of time to soak it all in, to feel the colors and shapes vibrating and pulsating, forward and back, drawing you into some other dimension. Details become prominent, then recede into the whole.

What I also got was: a “compendium” of great art across the ages. Not an art lesson, but covert references to what justifies mankind’s presence (so often nefarious) on our small "blue marble”: Chinese calligraphy, Turner’s skies, Homer’s seascapes, Rembrandt’s monumentality, Rembrandt’s dark depths, the patina on a Roman terra cotta wall, the rain depicted in Japanese ukiyo-e woodblocks that in turn inspired van Gogh, Mondrian’s grids, Breughel’s hellscapes…

All these, and even more, to my way of thinking, were assimilated by Rothko, as he transformed them—more magic!—into his undeniably original oeuvre.

So why was I so blown away to see Rothko’s work up close and personal? I mean, his paintings and his powerful use of color were already familiar to me…

Because art simply cannot be REPRODUCED, it must be experienced.

Ah, you might say: if only you had a book that was not A4 or A3 size, but as large as Rothko’s paintings—often something like 2 meters by 3 meters—then they would reproduce.

No, they would not.

There are too many details of texture, sheen, opacity, and optics in Rothko’s originals. Simulate, yes, equal…no. The layering of colors, the brushwork, the splotches, the evidence of spontaneity, the sheer physicality of large paintings—all this and much more just do not translate to the printed page.

And guess what? You simply cannot REPRODUCE music, either!

Ah, you might say: if only you had a very, very good stereo! It is as if (I emphasize your “as if”) the performers are there in the room!

No, it is not.

Because each performance is as unique as a painting. It is always a one-off. Your stereo system (and I was extremely lucky to receive a great system recently as a present, and am enjoying it tremendously) will at best “perform” a facsimile of ONE version of said performer playing said work of music. Over and over. This may be an extremely good version, ideal, even, but artists evolve. Artists are flighty. Unpredictable. Spontaneous. (And when they aim for consistency—as in most orchestra jobs, dare I say—some kind of death is often the result). And I will leave the question of “embodiment" for another essay…

Don’t box us in!

(And don’t pay Spotify to stream us, either! I recently learned that the owner of Spotify earned more in 2022 or 2023 than ALL THE MUSICIANS WHOSE PERFORMANCES SPOTIFY DISTRIBUTES PUT TOGETHER. Cogitate upon THAT, as my dear high school physics teacher, Mr. Cooper, RIP, would say).

Please don’t go to concerts hoping for the perfected balance of a CD unless you are willing to hear a stale performance! Don’t go to a concert to count “clams” (wrong notes). They are the price of being alive as an artist.

Go to a live concert to witness a one-off, to be part of the experience, to see musicians “decorating the passage of time”, as my Chinese friend XD explained once.

The pandemic took a bite out of the concert-going public. We need you, we love you. Let us play and be human—I promise it will be worth the trouble! On a good day, you might come upon a total artistic experience.

I promise to go to more galleries, museums, and live concerts, too! And I won’t leave it just for my fanciful Paris life; Lisbon is also chock-full of wonderful art and music.

Deal?

P.S. - Please DO still buy my CD!

LIVE-STREAM of the Launch Concert! - Thursday, Feb. 23, at 7:30pm GMT (2:30pm EST)

Join us in celebrating the official launch of the CD (flut)uações via this link:  https://m.youtube.com/@misomusicportugal . The hour-long program showcases recent music for flutes, percussion, and cello by prominent Portuguese composers.

PROGRAM

Ivan Moody - Istella - for bass flute, vibraphone and crotale

Anne Victorino de Almeida - Três Poemas e um Violoncelo - for solo cello

Carlos Marecos - Five for Two - for piccolo, C, alto and bass flutes, vibraphone, marimba and percussion

Katharine Rawdon - Places I Go in my Sleep - for solo flute

Andreia Pinto-Correia - Sobre um Quadro de Júlio Pomar - for C and alto flute and cello

Alexandre Delgado - Suite “O Doido e a Morte” - for bass and C flute, marimba and vibraphone

PERFORMERS

Katharine Rawdon, flutes

Catherine Strynckx, cello

Francisco Cipriano, percussion

Enjoy a free concert online of some of the best, most atmospheric music from the musical hotspot that is LISBON!

For more about the program, click through to this article in Serenade Magazine, and about the (flut)uações project, click here.

See you there! All Photos © Manuel Luís Cochofel

Catherine Strynckx, cello

Francisco Cipriano, percussion

Katharine Rawdon, flutes and Catherine Strynckx, cello

Tomás Quintais and Eduardo Mota, of Neper Música editors

Remembering…Steven Wasser, CEO of Powell Flutes

There’s really nothing so wrenching as discovering that a friend has been sick and passed away, without you even knowing. Such are the trials of living overseas, I suppose…the Atlantic ocean… the pandemic…traveling—not much.

So it was with shock on top of great sadness that I belatedly happened upon the news (scrolling Instagram, of all places) of the passing of the truly amazing person that was Steven Wasser.

Steven Wasser was the owner and President of Powell Flutes for 30 years, a friend, and might I say a fan of mine going back many years. His obituary reads like the achievements of five very accomplished men—in business, philanthropy, mentoring, and community and family life.

My remembrance here is more personal: what it means to a musician to have a true supporter, and what it meant to flutists to have a real music lover as head of the flute company.

Steven and his wife Stephanie visited Lisbon back in 1994, and we connected as I had recently bought a (newer) Powell in Boston. We visited the Jerónimos Monastery (a World Heritage site) and guess what? Steven told ME all about it! Hmm, I’d lived in Lisbon already for 5 years but no, HE was the one who’d done his homework. Vintage Wasser!

This was the same curiosity and intellect he brought to Powell Flutes, where he championed all sorts of innovations (in a tradition-bound industry) for thirty years, keeping Powell well on top of the totem pole of flute-makers. He turned the shop into a mini-United Nations, bringing in formidable talent from across the globe. The loyalty he inspired was in itself inspiring; I later met the senior artisan who had made my flute; he had been at Powell for over 20 years. Success in handcrafted instrument-making depends on this kind of dedication and continuity, and Steven assembled the most wonderful team.

Steven came to an orchestra concert here in Lisbon back in 1994, and in 2014 drove for hours to attend a Syrinx : XXII concert in Westchester, NY. He loved it so much he asked me to become a Powell Artist, and to give masterclasses for Powell—and he kept his word. This unexpected support, coming from someone who has fantastic flutists passing through “the shop” on a regular basis, was worth so much to me. Many years into an orchestra position, one starts to feel taken for granted…because…one IS taken for granted. It’s a job. (Only, music can never really be just “a job”!)

I last saw Steven a few months before Covid landed, in Midtown Manhattan—for him, another long drive to hear us play. “Making us look good, as usual” was his kind compliment. His being there was the main compliment, of course!

Steven was a Renaissance man—he also collected art by Jewish-American immigrants of the 1930s, and showed me the art he had up in his corner office at Powell. It was real luck for the company that Powell was purchased by Steven in 1986, only the second owner after Mr. Powell himself. A Harvard MBA “star”, he might well have bought a company with less tradition to navigate, and fewer nitpicky details of physical construction to deal with. But I suspect the challenges of balancing tradition with innovation, taking artistic decisions, managing artists, and hand-crafting beautiful objects were the draw for him. Visiting the shop in Maynard, on two floors of an old textile mill, Steven proudly told me “Powell is the only tenant that still makes things”.

I will remember Steven fondly and often—every time I pick up one of my Powell flutes. He was far too young, at 70, and I had looked forward to our meeting again. But I’m so grateful to have known him, and I extend my deepest sympathies to his family—and to the extended family of Powell flute players.

Tune in to WXXI - Syrinx : XXII and Sieg's "Inside Kampala" - re-broadcast

With concerts suspended due to the Coronavirus, Rochester’s “Live at Hochstein” series is in a holding pattern, Radio WXXI have chosen to re-broadcast concerts from the series at the usual hour, including part of Syrinx : XXII’s concert there in October, 2019.

Between 12 and 1 pm (ET; 17-18h in Lisbon) on Wednesday, April 29, the longest work from our program, Sören Sieg’s “Inside Kampala” will be aired. The piece is in three movements: “Boda-Boda” (which means rickshaw), a wild ride, indeed; “Beautiful”, which lives up to its name; and “Too Hot!”, full of spicy, jazzy moves. “Inside Kampala” was commissioned by Syrinx : XXII (António Carrilho, recorders, Raj Bhimani, piano, and myself on flutes) and was premiered while on tour in India in 2018, at the National Centre for the Performing Arts in Bombay.

Thanks so much to everyone at Radio WXXI in Rochester, and Mona Seghatoleslami, the fantastic host.

The link to Radio "WXXI Rochester and the broadcast is here. Look for the “Classical 91.5” arrow near the upper left corner of the screen. THANKS for listening, and ENJOY!

Mementos from a wonderful tour & performances

Doriot Anthony Dwyer, in memoriam (1922-2020)

How sad to report that one of the brighs test stars of the flute universe has passed away at age 98—the wonderful and unique Doriot Anthony Dwyer, retired Principal Flute of the Boston Symphony.

I had the great honor and pleasure to work with the inimitable Doriot at Tanglewood many years ago, as well as in a few illuminating private lessons, and a red-carpet-rolled-out visit to the Powell Factory in Boston, where she helped me pick out the flute that, 27 years later, I still love and play.

Aside from my personal connection, she was a force to reckon with, musically and personally. A direct descendant of the American suffragette Susan B. Anthony, she too broke barriers, namely in winning (and holding for 38 years) a Principal position in a major U.S. orchestra. At that time, 1952, there were few women in the top orchestras, and none in a Principal position. Doriot (“DOH-ree-oh”) earned her job after preparing, she told me, “as if it were for a doctoral dissertation”, memorising the entire list and basically blowing away the competition.

As flutist of the B.S.O. she recorded innumerable works in recordings that are now considered recordings of reference. Her style of playing was uniquely vibrant, flexible, expressive and extremely powerful. The last time I heard her perform—the Concerto written for her by Ellen Taafe Zwillich, at an N.F.A. convention in Boston, AFTER her retirement—she walked onstage, last on a program of flute concertos, wearing a bright-pink, floor-length gown (she was actually tiny), planted her feet firmly, and…projected the hugest sound I ever heard into the entire hall. 

(Do you even have to ask? Yes, she was a Powell Artist—performing on a Custom Platinum Powell.) What a woman, what a flutist, what a musician!

Indeed, her comment to a journalist after retiring from the B.S.O. was “now that I’m retired, I finally have time to practice!” And to record chamber music and concerto CDs, and to continue teaching.

She was fierce, in the best possible way, and she will be missed, but always remembered. Thank you, Doriot, for breaking through an important glass ceiling, and for all the artistry of your playing, for so many, many years. Now, finally, dear Doriot, rest in peace.

The young Doriot Anthony; photo courtesy of the Boston Symphony Orchestra