Circus Flora

It was a warm sunny day last Saturday as we made our way to the parking lot behind Powell Symphony Hall in the downtown St. Louis arts district where a beautiful circus tent awaited. Outside there was a modest pony ride, a concession stand, and an old automatic player circus organ. Inside the tent a wonderland awaited.

Circus Flora made St. Louis its home in 1987. http://www.circusflora.org/ It only runs for a few weeks each year. Every year there is a theme around which the acts are loosely assembled. This year the theme is “Medrano” drawn from the historic Cirque Medrano a/k/a Cirque Fernando that first set up at different locations in Paris in the late 19^th Century and continues as a traveling circus throughout Europe today. The basic story of this year's Circus Flora show is that the beautiful star of Medrano is a sought after socialite who attracts high society to the circus as well as some of the great artists of the time. In fact, famous paintings inspired by Cirque Medrano were done by Toulouse-Latrec [Jane Avril], Degas [Miss La La a la Cirque Fernando] and Renoir [Jugglers at the Cirque Fernando].

The big tent with four tall peaks is night blue inside with crystal chandeliers. At one end of the ring an elaborate red and gold pillared entranceway is capped by a band box where the five person circus orchestra sits. We sat in the box seats next to the ring, but not close enough to get squirted by the clown. The crowd numbered about 1000, with adults outnumbering children two to one.

This one-ring circus strives to be true to its European roots. Throughout the show a narrator in whiteface wearing a gold and sequin embroidered costume roams the ring telling the story and introducing the acts, weaving them into the story. Some acts fit the story better than others, but I don't want to quibble. For the most part the story line enhances a non-stop display of traditional circus skills. No lions, tigers or elephants, just ponies, stunningly beautiful horses, a goat, one main clown, and a comedy dog act with a dozen mixed breed rescue dogs. Interspersed with modest juggling and clown acts are world class performances by The Flying Wallendas on the high wire, Cossacks performing at full gallop on horseback, and The Flying Pages on trapeze. Because the story was set in 19^th Century Paris there were numbers incorporating the can-can and an astounding hoop act where the star encased herself in about fifty rotating hoops at once. Most acts somehow incorporate Nino the Clown (Giovanni Zoppe, one of the producers), in little red knit hat and the obligatory red bulb nose. Nino sometimes has a shadow, a very small child dressed in exactly the same costume.

We were very taken by the local teen acrobats, the St. Louis Arches, who train year round and also perform at the City Museum. http://circusday.org/News.html These kids are of different genders, ages and abilities; all beautifully full of spirit. They jump and tumble and build impossible human pyramids. We were immediately reminded of our teen gymnast neighbor from Syracuse, Taniya Williams, who we both felt would fit nicely into a Arches costume.

After a couple of hours we sauntered back into the sunny afternoon humming circus music. Overall the effect was like a dream play; not exactly a story, no moral or message, just the sights and sounds of a modest and wonderful circus. Circus Flora is theatre at it's best, original, accomplished and completely absorbing. It's a treasure waiting for everyone to discover.

Dr. Who at the Pulitzer

On Wednesday evening Merry and I set out for the Pulitzer Foundation for the Arts in the teeth of a threating thunderstorm to hear a New Music concert in that wonderful space. The Pulitzer was created especially to exhibit contemporary art but the current exhibit is a selection of old masters. The unique twist is that the art is hung without exhibition lighting. The Pulitzer has lots of natural light so the effect is eerie, somewhat like seeing the art in a contemporary cathedral. The overall effect is one of profound dislocation. See for yourself at www.pulitzerarts.org.

The Pulitzer has a contemporary chamber concert series designed by David Robertson, the music director of the St. Louis Symphony. Robertson is a devotee of contemporary classical music and programs it often for the Symphony. We wanted to attend this concert because it featured Andrew Russo, the talented young Syracuse pianist I know from my work with the Society for New Music.

There is no other art space like the Pulitzer. It's built entirely of polished concrete with soaring open spaces as well as wonderful quiet corners. The main hall is two stories high ending in a set of steps leading to a lower level. The far end of this space, now three stories tall, is dominated by Blue Black by Ellsworth Kelly. As we sat down on clear plastic folding chairs near the top of the steps Blue Black set the mood by echoing the early evening near darkness with the impending storm.

About 100 people arrived. At the bottom of the steps was a grand piano, a tangle of computer equipment and about six guys dressed entirely in black wandering around with no obvious purpose. Six loud speakers ringed the space. When the well-dressed patrons of the series took the front row of reserved seats we knew the concert was about to begin.

Matthias Waschek, director of the museum, and Robertson appeared at the base of the steps. Dr. Waschek talked for a few minutes about how the old masters in the exhibit represented the tension between an emerging technology (oil painting) and an old technology (egg tempura painting). He claimed the artist's task is to find a way to preserve what is best of the old while adapting what is best of the new. Maestro Robertson explained he chose Pluton, the piece of the evening, because it represents how the older technology of the piano was preserved and transformed by electronics. This entire introduction seemed unnecessary and strained to me, but it did demonstrate just how silly serious people can be when trying to justify their entertainment.

Robertson introduced world-famous electronic music composer, Philippe Manoury. Manoury is a small, unprepossessing Frenchman with shoulder length wild white hair. He explained that all of the sounds in the piece would be produced and modulated by the performer at the piano, but would then be manipulated by the computer to produce an improvisational interaction unique to each performance. I instantly liked him.

Andrew Russo came on stage without introduction and sat down at the piano. Pluton was composed in 1988 making it a pretty early piece of electronica. Unfortunately, it shows its age. The music is utterly atonal, loud and difficult to listen to as it lacks any obvious rhythmic or melodic structure. The five movements with titles that suggest theme and development are utterly indistinguishable. In the midst of all this sound and fury Russo's piano technique was incredible. He put on his usual virtuoso show, but after ten minutes I longed for it all to end.

When trapped in circumstances like this I often close my eyes and try to imagine what movie would have this music as its score. At once I saw Dr. Who [http://www.bbc.co.uk/doctorwho/classic/] emerge from his Tardus and sweep around the room accompanied by electronic squeaks and whooshes. His archenemies the Daliks armed with toy pianos assault him from every angle. Their tinkling shots bounce off his hat, coat and long scarf and scatter everywhere. The music gets louder and more dissonant as the battle rages, then . . .

I couldn't keep going. There was no sequence to the sounds or the progressions. It fell back in a rain of academically driven technical experiments with no obvious regard for the sensibility of the listeners. I started counting page turns and hoped it would end soon. Finally, after about 50 minutes the lights dimmed, Russo rose from the piano, but even then the computer was not finished. Finally, and mercifully, it died.

Believe it or not, a question and answer period followed. It was respectful and fairly short.

I went back stage to briefly talk to Andy Russo. I'm not sure he really remembered me, but he greeted me warmly. He agreed the piece showed its age. I asked him how he got the call to do this concert and he noted he is perhaps the only person who has rehearsed this piece enough to perform it in concert. He came to St. Louis at Robertson's invitation and was headed back to Syracuse the next morning.

On later reflection I realize I had enjoyed the experience, if not the music.

Prospect.1

Happy New Year

One of the reasons I wanted to go to New Orleans for our Christmas break was to visit “Prospect.1,” a city-wide exhibition of contemporary art featuring work by 81 artists from 39 countries at more than 23 locations. This show takes some space in every art museum in the city as well as parts of many other venues such as the Old Mint, the African American Museum, many art galleries, and some abandoned buildings; see, www.prospectneworleans.org/. There was no way to see it all. We decided to spend one day at the Contemporary Art Center where the show is headquartered, one day at the New Orleans Art Museum and one day on the free shuttle bus visiting the venues scattered across the Lower Ninth Ward, the area most devastated by Hurricane Katrina.

For those of you who want an overview of the show as a whole I recommend the reviews from the New Yorker (http://www.newyorker.com/arts/critics/artworld/2008/11/24/081124craw_artworld_schjeldahl) and the NY Times (www.nytimes.com/2008/11/04/arts/design/04pros.html?fta=y ) I want to share my own views on just a few pieces I like, with an emphasis on the pieces in the Lower Ninth.

We spent the first day exploring the Contemporary Art Center (CAC). This is a relatively new museum built in an old warehouse downtown within walking distance of where we were staying. Prospect.1 (a/k/a P.1) has taken over all four floors of the museum. There are numerous video pieces, some sculpture, some two dimensional pieces, one “virtual” piece and a few installations. When it comes to contemporary art, I prefer sculpture. Sculpture demands personal interaction. At a minimum you walk around it; at best you get to play with it. On the top floor in a room by itself we found a piece I like a lot by Pedro Reyes called Leverage (photo below). Essentially it is a giant orange see-saw made from tube steel with ten small wooden seats on one side and only one on the other. When we got to the room two adults and a child were sitting on the seats on one side but their combined weight had absolutely no effect. Gradually more folks climbed on, but it still didn't tip. When I tried to climb on I gently pushed down and the whole thing started to move slightly. The child climbed off and moved to the single seat on the other side. Merry took his place. Now that there were ten adults on one side and one kid on the other the thing worked like a charm. We rocked up and down each time a little faster, the kid shot toward the ceiling his arms outstretched. That's art.

Also in the CAC tucked in a corner is a shiny seven foot tall black plastic lump looking a bit like a giant deformed Darth Vader helmet. This turns out to be Bunker-M. Bakhtin by Lee Bul. The whole thing sits on a floor of mirror tiles. On the far side is an opening. Inside hangs a set of headphones. Put the headphones on. Every sound is amplified and reverberated. The tiles underfoot are connected too so every shuffle or step is an explosion. Dancing is essential, as are silly sounds. Anyone watching can't hear what you hear, only the silly sounds with no echos. People entering this piece are tentative at first, then get wilder and sillier until someone comes along and they stop in embarrassment. I went back four times. It's very hard to embarrass a trial lawyer.

The next day we went back to the CAC and looked at a few pieces a second time while waiting for the shuttle bus to the Lower Ninth Ward. As we crossed the bridge over the Industrial Canal the entire cityscape abruptly changed. On one side, most of the buildings had been rehabbed or at least boarded up. On the other, most of the buildings were just gone, replaced by tall grass. A little further from the canal we pulled up to a house that is now the L9 Center for the Arts where we switched to a small van for a tour. Across the street sits a bare foundation with a rough outline of a house made by strings of lights. The owner paid her savings to a contractor who stole the money; now her home is an art project with hope. Another partly destroyed home in the immediate neighborhood has been completely covered in flame orange – art as a warning. We drove to a mostly destroyed furniture store. Now it's called Lower 9^th Ward Village. It contains two small galleries of paintings by people from the neighborhood, a police substation and three installations for P.1. The largest of these is a full size metal boat hull. When you climb the scaffold you see the top of the boat is a shallow tank of water. The hull slowly tips and a small wall of water slides back and forth. We walked down the street to the Tekrema Center, a former hardware store. The walk was more sobering than almost anything else we saw that day. A few houses are occupied. Many are boarded up, some too far gone to save. The weather was balmy, but few people were around other than the P.1 visitors. Upstairs at Tekrema the walls of the rooms were completely covered by a realistic mural of the bayou country. The message was clear: nature is returning to claim the waterlogged land the humans appropriated.

We drove closer to the canal where almost everything was totally annihilated. A former public restroom standing by itself in a weedy field has been turned into a quiet meditation spot with bubbling fountain, but the water marks from Katrina are clearly visible high on the walls. In an abandoned church we visited Diamond Gym, the piece described in the New Yorker article. All around we saw the various rebuilding projects but the effect on me was one of despair. The scale of destruction is too large, the effort to rebuild too small. The art was particularly moving because it was intended to be seen in this context. It brings a lot of people to the Lower Ninth and shows them what happened there complete with emotional content. I don't know if this will ultimately help the people of the Lower Ninth, but taken as a whole it is a successful art experience like none I've experienced before.

On our last day, we visited the New Orleans Art Museum, the city's most formal gallery and home of a terrific contemporary sculpture garden. It sits in City Park, another area completely inundated and largely destroyed by Katrina. Much of the park and surrounding area has been cleaned up, but reminders are everywhere. The last P.1 piece we saw before leaving for home was Paul Villinski's Emergency Response Studio. This rebuilt travel trailer, superficially like the infamous FEMA trailers, sits on the lawn in front of the museum. (www.emergencyresponsestudio.org/) For me the piece raises the question of whether artists need to rush to respond to natural disasters. At first glance it seems to be all about rushing to the scene of future disasters in ecological comfort, but is it? When Merry looked at it she laughed out loud since the concept of the piece seems so totally off base it has to be an elaborate joke. The artist statement makes it clear that he is not joking, just nuts. To me the piece points to the irony of trying to make art out of people's suffering. Transforming and commemorating suffering is one of the central roles of art. The problem presented is how to make art from suffering without at the same time exploiting the victims. To my mind P.1 succeeds in this effort by never letting the visitor forget the context of the art.

Go see it if you can.