Spring Visit: Canterbury Windows in New York

View from The Cloisters
across the Hudson River

Up in Fort Tryon Park, in northern Manhattan, we have a very special place that appeals to so many of us New Yorkers. It's The Cloisters museum and gardens and it has just completed the celebration of its 75th anniversary.

And it's been a splendid celebration, complete with a beautifully written and produced issue of The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin devoted exclusively to the history of the Cloisters. "Creating The Cloisters" by Timothy B. Hubbard provides a wonderfully detailed description of this branch of The Metropolitan Museum of Art specially devoted to the art and architecture of medieval Europe. The collection was assembled from architectural elements, both domestic and religious, largely dating from the twelfth through the fifteenth centuries.

Not surprisingly, the collection is full of many artifacts that each evoke a particular response from visitors (and it doesn't matter whether you are a believer or not - this is great stuff to look at and think about). I have a couple of favorites, but I'm not a scholar. So I've never taken the time to study the official guidebook or delve deeply to find out more about them (should do that one day). I just like them.

Wise old people

The first is what I like to think of as a group of kings or prophets or something like that, but who knows? Perhaps they are just wise old people (I started to write "wise old men" but I don't think the figure second from the right would be very happy about that!). I'm specially taken with the last figure on the right, as he seems to be pondering some special problem that is going to be very important to everyone who knows him once he solves it (and don't you sometimes sit with your cheek against your right fist while you trying to solve a problem?).

Two ladies

Then there are the two ladies topping off a column and providing substance to its capital. Just what is the lady who in not front-and-center thinking about? Could it be something along the lines of "Just who does she think she is, getting out front and getting all the attention when I'm the one people should be looking at?" I love that stone carvers in olden times could incorporate their own sense of humor in their work.

Now, with the 75th Anniversary celebrations ended and life for visitors to The Cloisters back to normal, we've just had another special treat. [And when I say "back to normal" I'm simply referring to life as "normal" as it can be for visitors - New Yorkers and out-of-towners alike - who thrive on learning all they can about New York's history and how it attached to special interests like those of John D. Rockefeller Jr. - who built The Cloisters - and George Grey Barnard, the person who brought together the original items that became the first collection at The Cloisters.]

Jared (left) and Phalec (right)

The special treat I'm referring to is this: In a special arrangement with Canterbury Cathedral, we've just had a wonderful opportunity to view six Romanesque-period stained glass windows that have never been away from the cathedral grounds since they were created in the 1178-1180 period. At Canterbury, the stonework surrounding the windows is being restored, and while the restoration work is being done, the windows have been on loan to us.

The exhibition was called Radiant Light: Stained Glass from Canterbury Cathedral at The Cloisters and there's this from a nice published description at the museum site:

Thara

"The windows are from the clerestory of the cathedral's choir, east transepts, and Trinity Chapel. The six figures—Jared, Lamech, Thara, Abraham, Noah, and Phalec—were part of an original cycle of eighty-six ancestors of Christ, the most comprehensive stained-glass cycle known in art history. One complete window (Thara and Abraham), rising nearly twelve feet high, is shown with its associated rich foliate border."

I'm not an expert in cathedral windows, but I did enjoy the exhibition (sorry I couldn't write about it before it was over) and I was delighted to learn about a book on the larger subject of the saints depicted here: The Ancestors of Christ Windows at Canterbury Cathedral, by Jeffrey Weaver and Madeline H. Caviness describes some eighty-six near-life-size figures of the male ancestors of Christ that once could be seen in the choir and eastern extension of the medieval cathedral and priory church of Canterbury.

With the windows here with us in New York, I recently took a day go to The Cloisters, to visit the windows to delight not only in the windows themselves but just to have another visit to The Cloisters, one of the highlights on any list of unique New York experiences. The visit also gave me the opportunity to have a delightful trip down memory lane, for earlier in my career I had been introduced to a delightful lady - now gone, sadly - who was something of an expert on Canterbury's windows. She came to America frequently to lecture to museum friends groups, civic associations, church and literary historical societies, and the like (not surprising that the list should be so long, since Canterbury Cathedral's history is so long and so connected to all Christendom).

On one of her lecture tours, I got to know her and of course, just by some sort of osmosis process I suppose, found myself interested in cathedral stained glass windows, cathedrals themselves, and - considering my profession then - cathedral libraries. I was extremely lucky, for just a few years after meeting Mrs. Brooks I was granted a sabbatical from my then employer to go to England and study English cathedral libraries with the goal (according to my book agent) of producing the definitive book on English cathedral libraries, a large coffee-table type book to be filled with splendid illustrations of artifacts held in the cathedral libraries. As it turned out I was in England for 18 months, living at Mrs. Brooks's house in Canterbury (although I was of necessity required to travel all over England and visit all the cathedral cities as I pursued my research). An ambitious project, and one I was delighted to undertake.

That 18 months was a spectacular time for me, living in Canterbury, traveling all over the country, spending enormous blocks of time at the British Library and even, when required, at the London Library - which I learned to love as a sort of "library home away from home." I even took digs in London for a brief spell, since I was so captivated by being in London and have available to me all that - as for many Americans - London "life" represents. Whether real or fantasy, that environment charms many of us, so to have the opportunity to enjoy London as a real person and not as a tourist was a special treat. I've never forgotten that time in my life, and for me London and Canterbury (and yes, to a certain extent other places I visited in England as well) are a big part of my adult "memory book".

And they were fun times. I made many friends - some of whom I keep up with and who will be reading this post - and I experienced so many good stories that I can't begin to tell them all. I will, though, close this post with a typical story, connecting the visit to the Canterbury windows in New York with Guy's life in Canterbury nearly thirty years ago, a very happy time indeed. And some of my friends will recognize this story, for I used to tell it often.

Kathleen Brooks was a delightful and always cheerful good friend. Whether she was one of the "typical" English eccentrics or not is beside the point, but she definitely had her ways. And often, with a total lack of self-consciousness, she would describe a situation that - for some - might be considered self-deprecating. Didn't matter. Whatever the story was, she described the situation and, with her listeners, laughed heartily.

One day, at the cathedral, she had been called to guide a group of visiting businessmen, all from Northern Europe. Protesting that she did not know any Scandinavian languages, she tried to decline but was told that the men all spoke perfect English, so she agreed to do the tour.

As was her usual habit, she walked the group (a pretty large one - about thirty people) about the cathedral, telling all the stories and of course, with her specialty, focusing on the stories illustrated in the magnificent stain glass windows.

Also as was her habit, she always tried to have her listeners stop from time to time for a few moments, just to take in the enormous space of the cathedral and all that it represented to society and to history. And to have a bit of a rest.

After the men were all seated, Kathleen herself decided to take a rest, so she sat down in the pew just behind the last few of the visitors. They were deep in conversation, and did not notice that she had sat down behind them. As it happened, she was so close that she could not help but hear their conversation, which was all about the tour and all that the visitors were seeing, and especially about her enthusiasm as a guide.

And then one of the men turned to the others and, without missing a beat, said, "And did you ever meet a lady with so much useless information?"

She told the story often, always roaring with laughter, and seeing the Canterbury windows in New York made me realize just how much she would have loved seeing them here.

End of day -time to head
back to mid-town Manhattan

So it was a special day at The Cloisters. Here's an end-of-the-visit photo. You can see it's still a winter's day - not quite the springtime warmth we would like to have had for an April visit to The Cloisters but, yes, down in the shadows is a crocus or two trying hard.

And a very nice day anyway, a day for re-visiting Canterbury Cathedral windows, a day of re-living special Guy-in-England memories, and a day for about thinking about a very special lady, a wonderful influence in my life. She taught me much, and gave substance to my love of English cathedrals.

Oh, and all that research about English cathedral libraries? I ended up following in Kathleen's footsteps and giving lots of lectures and telling lots of stories and having a few articles published. The proposed book that sent me on my journey? Didn't happen. Now generally referred to as "Guy's famous unpublished book on cathedral libraries." It was a grand idea, had lots of support from people I knew in America, including a very hard-working agent, and support from folks in the Anglican church (some, not all). My agent really tried had to sell the project to the art publishers but it wasn't to be. When my research work in England was finished with no publication in sight, it was time to move on.

Ah, Paris: Pierre Cardin's Art Nouveau Museum at Maxim's

In a recent post, I commented that I would be writing about subjects that are of particular interest to me (well of course, Guy - isn't that what a personal blog is all about?). I noted that among these special interests was l'art nouveau, the great design style that began in the so-called belle epoch and quickly spread throughout most of the western world.

Ever since I first learned about art nouveau, I've loved all the sinuous botanical lines, the curved wood, the often-overly elaborate fabric designs and draperies for clothing styles, and, well, just about anything that evoked that period when - despite all the bad things that happened in the world - there was (among those who had money, as in all periods of history) a great deal of beauty. L'art nouveau was often embraced to express that beauty.

I once did a little study of my own, just to learn what I could about art nouveau. I had come to love the idea that one design "type" (we might say) had so caught the attention of society that it showed up in just about everything. Not just furniture and objets d'art as I noted above, but in architecture, interior design, commercial designs, printing and book design, construction elements (especially Métro entrances and apartment-house balcony railings and other building ornamentation in Paris and, of course, in many other cities as well), and just about everything else. It was, it seems to me, a great attempt to make just about everything look beautiful.

One of our great goals, with our recent visit to Paris, was to dive in and, once again, immerse ourselves (well, immerse Mr. Guy) in the Paris version of l'art nouveau. It's always a great adventure in Paris, and while I've had quite a few opportunities to explore this lovely style in that splendid city, this trip was particularly planned for seeing as much art nouveau as possible. And we did see a lot, and, yes, I'll probably write about some of the other art nouveau things I saw in later posts. For now, let's just focus on one special treat. It was a visit to Pierre Cardin's Art Nouveau Museum, and it came as a complete surprise.

Our visit came about in a sweet coincidence. When I mentioned my interest in art nouveau to the one of the staff I befriended at our hotel, she immediately asked if I knew about the museum (it happens to be just around the corner from the hotel where we were staying). I did not, so she gave us all kinds of information and we were able to make an appointment for a private visit (well, private only in the sense that we were in Paris in late November, with few tourists, so no one else had signed up for the visit - I presume anyone can call and reserve to visit).

As it turns out, I know little about Pierre Cardin and his personal life. Or his tastes. But apparently he has been fascinated with art nouveau, as I have been, since he was a young man. He began collecting a long time ago (I don't collect, except for a few scattered items that I either inherited or for one reason or another were made available to me).

With his success in his career, Cardin was able to branch out in a number of different areas, and it's no surprise that when Maxim's - the great (and much beloved) Paris restaurant - was for sale, Cardin bought it. That was in 1981, and in the years since, he has continued Maxim's great tradition as the place to go for an evening's entertainment.

It didn't start out as much. The story goes that the business was launched in May 1893 as a sort of meeting house (probably along the lines the coffee houses in different parts of Europe that had been around since the late-17th century or so and, later, in North America). The owner was a former waiter named Maxime Gaillard, who was given to encouraging beautiful ladies to sit in the place to add to its charm. A little later, Eugene Cornuché - the next owner - brought in the art nouveau decorations, all the rage at the time (as can still be seen all over Paris) and encouraged even more beautiful women to come in and "decorate" his establishment. So the stage was set, and Maxim's became the splendid place to be and be seen with the beautiful women of the day.

Cardin did more. When he purchased Maxim's, of course the famous restaurant continued - and does today - but he also used the building to house his collection of art nouveau artifacts, furniture, and design, combining the art nouveau items with other materials of particular and personal interest, including a considerable number of pieces relating to Colette and her writings and life. It's a fascinating place, and we highly recommend it for a visit, if l'art nouveau is of interest.

We were charmed. It's hard to describe all the beautiful things to see in the collection. There are several rooms - on several different floors - and the idea seems to be to arrange the rooms as they looked when one of the famous courtesans of those Paris days lived there (think Dumas' La Dame aux camélias or even Verdi's La Traviata). The grandeur is there, and some of the pieces on display are as good as any seen in any museum anywhere.

Part of the charm, for us, was our luck in our guide for the visit. She was Véronique Fourcaud-Hélène, an actress and singer and - I gather from the similarity of the names - connected in some way with the Art Nouveau Museum Director and art historian Pierre-André Hélène. While we're sorry we didn't have a chance to meet Pierre-André (I've viewed his introductory film which is very good - you can see it here), we were delighted to spend time with Véronique, and she went out of her way to make us welcome and to provide us with so much information about the collection and about the overall Maxim's environment. A distant cousin of painter Toulouse-Lautrec, Véronique performs at Maxim's, both in an original play by Pierre-André, connecting with Cardin's interest in Colette, I gather, and in musical evenings presented at Maxim's. Indeed, in one section of earlier promotion film clips at the Maxim's site, Véronique is referred to as "The Lady of Maxim's" and her musical performance ("The 1900 Spectacle") looks like a delight. I'm just sorry we could not attend a performance while we were in Paris.

I'm happy to share some of our photographs (Véronique graciously allowed us to take photographs, "as many as you like"), and you can see them here. You can also access the Maxim's site itself, especially for the beautiful photographs of the museum and its collections. We did not take photographs of the restaurant as it was not open when we were there and it was too dark (too late in the day) to photograph. Nevertheless, we had a lovely tour of the restaurant rooms, and it provided a very fine conclusion to our tour and our visit with Véronique).

So. Mr. Guy's advice for anyone going to Paris: Reserve some time for Pierre Cardin's Art Nouveau Museum. It's very special.

Kenya: Guy and The Old-Lady Elephant

It wasn't an empty threat.

Most of my friends know that I fell in love with the elephant when I lived in Kenya several years ago, and I've been promising to tell elephant stories since our return from the big safari last summer.

While we went to do other things, I'm not shy about admitting that my focus was on the elephant. My friend Jerry is a serious bird watcher, and Kenya is reputed to be the best country in all of Africa for bird-watching, so Jerry was a happy man. Andrew is known among his Africa friends as Bwana Punda milia, since the zebra is his favorite African animal (Charles is Bwana Simba, for the same reason). And, as reported here some months ago, I'm called Bwana Tembo, after a barely - but sweetly - mentioned character in Isak Denison's Out of Africa.

So it goes. And as you can imagine, there are lots of elephant (bird) (zebra) (lion) stories, and I would be writing too much if I tried to tell them all. And others on the safari all have their own stories - and favorite animals - so while there will probably be more elephant stories, I'm happy to start with this one.

Among our more exciting adventures was our safari into Tsavo East, one of the largest of the national parks in Kenya and one of two or three most hospitable for the elephant. As a result, Tsavo East is managed by Kenya's National Wildlife Service to ensure that visitors get to spend as much time as they like with the animals, and especially with elephants (spend time, that is, from a distance - these are animals in the wild).

As it was not too long after the birthing season when we were at Tsavo East, there were plenty of large elephant families wandering about, both in the forest and along the open fields.

Our lodge, the Voi Safari Lodge, was beautifully positioned high on a hill, and we could look down on the savannah and see the elephants. We were amazed at the spectacle, both from our room in the lodge and from the dining room. On arrival in our room, about noon, I stepped out on the balcony and looked down and couldn't believe the number of elephants. The savannah was huge, with forest very far away (several miles across from us), and elephants were everywhere. Just for fun, I started counting and quit when I got to 140! Amazing!

Being on such a high spot, overlooking so much space, the developers of the lodge had created a path (pretty steep, but with secure railings) and guests can walk down toward the elephant water hole. About half-way down, there's a sign posted, urging - in several languages - silence, as the wild animals would be frightened from too much human noise. Next to the sign you enter through a gate in a concrete wall and proceed down a solid stairwell, well carpeted (again for the quiet). You enter a bunker, standing below ground with openings for viewing the animals, exactly at the level of the elephants' water hole.

From within the bunker, we could observe the elephants more closely than I ever could have imagined possible. We could sense how they were communicating with one other - or with the group. Sometimes one of them would roughly push this one or that one out of the way, and once in a while there would be a typical "elephant" call, as the animals vied with one another for attention or had this or that message to communicate. Or simply wanted to get closer to the edge of the water hole (and sometimes stepping down into it, not at all reluctant to do so).

There was also a considerable amount of very gentle touching and a sort of soft nudging and rubbing between some of the elephants, of all ages and sizes, and among groups of them. Oftentimes it would be clear that there was a big bull or a matriarch in charge, but most of the time all the interactions between the animals was very soft and sweet, and they clearly respect one another.

After we had watched a while, about an hour, we sensed that some of the elephants were moving away from the water hole, not surprising since it was getting late, nearing sunset, and we kind of suspected that the elephants would move off after dark. We were very quiet in the bunker, and while we could see out very well, we had no idea of how well the elephants could see inside the dark bunker (it wasn't lit, and elephants aren't known to have very good eyesight). On the other hand, every once in a while one of the elephants would walk along in front of us, and we thought we noticed a glance or two in our direction but we were pretty sure they could not see us.

Or could they? As it began to get later, we noticed a great huge dark grey lady elephant come along, around the water hole, waddling over toward our side of the water hole, where we were in the bunker.

Oh, she was huge. And she was old. We could tell because of the way she moved, the way she had no tusks (I had been told that sometimes really old elephants lose their tusks, just like old humans sometimes lose their teeth), the way her breasts hung down loosely. We figured she must be really old, possibly as old as 70 or 75 years of age.

And this was what was so amazing. The old-lady elephant ambled on around the water hole, coming over to our side (the bunker side) from our left. Andrew was snapping photos like crazy. I was leaning on the frame of the opening, resting my chin on my hands, my elbows on the frame. As she moved forward - I'm not making this up - she walked right up in our direction. She got closer, looked through the opening right at me, right into my eyes, and she slowed down. She was less than ten feet away, and she stopped walking altogether. And then she leaned over a little, resting against the big "scratching rock" just outside the opening where we were standing.

And she would not stop looking at me. After a minute or two, she raised her trunk and rested it on the rock and continued looking at me. And continued looking. I looked back, not moving a muscle, not saying anything. Just looking into her eyes as she was looking into mine. We were obviously caught up in some sort of communication with each other, some sort of bonding. I found it hard to believe what I was experiencing.

And so did Andrew, who was so moved by watching her and me that he had to move away, over to the other side of the bunker. And when he came back and stood beside me, the incredible bonding continued, for what we later estimated was another 25 minutes or so.

But we had to go. Darkness had started to fall, and despite the fact that she continued to look at me, I knew I had to start back up to the lodge.

So I said something innocuous to her, speaking very quietly. I thanked her for coming to find me, said a few more soft phrases, and then I started toward the stairs. I turned around to look, for one last look, and she was still there, watching through the opening, watching something, feeling something.

An experience I'll never forget.

[The photos (with captions) of our time with the elephants at Tsavo East can be seen at Tsavo East National Park (AB) - the parenthetical initials simply mean that these were taken by Andrew, as I was too busy communing with the elephants.]

Looking Forward? Naw. Let's Look Back - We Can Do Forward Tomorrow (Or the Next Day - Or the Next)

The clock is ticking, and in New York we have about an hour-and-a-half to go.

I don't think I'll rush over to Times Square to watch the ball drop. I've never done it, despite having lived in New York for longer than I'm willing to admit, and I don't see any reason to begin tonight.

So how to observe this important annual transition? Marking the turn of the year is such an important ritual in our society, do I dare ignore New Year's Eve?

I'm having fun reading what other people have to say. So far today we've had a splendid column by Frank Bruni advising us to read more and tweet less. A hilarious bit by Peter Funt (The Year That Will Be), with my favorite of his predictions: "Delta Air Lines clarifies that standing room at airport boarding areas 'will remain free for the foreseeable future,' but that seats for passengers waiting to board will now cost $25." OK. I get it.

And getting closer to home, to people in my line of work: An important reminder from McKinsey (Big Data: The Next Frontier for Innovation, Competition, and Productivity).

Don't say you haven't been warned, knowledge strategists.

But those "get-prepared" pieces are a little too serious to suit me. Let's get down to what interests me, and instead of writing about how things might be in 2014, let me share a few thoughts about what I experienced in 2013.

"And what is it that interests you, Guy?" you ask (as well you might).

Most of my best friends - the folks who know me well - can tell you that I spend a lot of time thinking about:

1. opera
2. art nouveau as my personal concept of beauty (one definition: "an international philosophy and style of art, architecture and applied art—especially the decorative arts")
3. elephants in Africa.

Can't tackle all three tonight, so let's think about opera in 2013 (if I can stay with this theme, I'll try to do some opera-specific looking forward another time).

In many respects it was a remarkable year but I'm not necessarily using the term "remarkable" to refer to excellence. Of course there were high - even great - moments. And certainly well-performed, splendid evenings at the opera house. There were also, I have to admit, several difficult situations and I guess that's coloring my thoughts as I try to look back on opera in 2013.

As I say, we had splendid performances. We subscribe to the Met, and  - musically speaking - that great house (pictured here) is truly a "home away from home" for us. I look back over my calendar for the past year, and I'm truly impressed by some of the wonderful experiences we had.

Glaringly, the greatest amount of thought (and conversation) for many of us opera lovers was given over to non-Met issues. Following years - one commentator says "decades" - of financial mismanagement, New York City Opera went out of business. Bankruptcy was declared in the fall, after some 70 years of performance. Established as "the people's opera" back in 1943 and so described by almost every New Yorker, the company had its highs and its lows but overall it was incredibly important in our city's (and the region's) cultural life.

I'm missing NYCO already. The memories I have of some of its performers (Domingo, Sills, Ramey, Malfitano, Troyonos, Milnes - oh the list is too long!) won't go away. And some of the productions stand out, such as Tito Copobianco's magnificent and unforgettable "Mefistofele" and Sarah Caldwell's pink-tinged "Der Rosenkavalier" (it might not have been Sarah Caldwell's but I remember how pink it was). There were so many more, far too many to remember, and I also long for some of the more experimental attempts that were made, often very successfully. For example, a splendid and almost avant-garde production of Korngold's "Die tote Stadt" was mesmerizing - and this was back in 1975 (see production photos here - I never again saw anything like this, except perhaps - in an entirely different vein - the Met's recent production of Shostakovich's "The Nose"). We had a lot to be grateful for, when we had NYCO around.

Now that NYCO is gone, one trend we're seeing in New York (apparently having begun over the last few years, but all of us didn't notice) has been the growth of tiny, more experimental opera companies, some with no more ambition than to enable New Yorkers to hear works that might not show up at such an opera house as the Met. That seems to be the goal, for example, of the Gotham Chamber Opera, which from 2001 until last fall was the Henry Street Chamber Opera. And there are others like it.

At the same time, because we have such high-quality music schools, we get good opera there as well. We were fortunate last spring to be invited to Manhattan School of Music for their production of "The Rise and Fall of the City of Mahagonny" and it was spell-binding. I haven't checked out Julliard and Mannes yet, but I expect the quality to be as high.

So there's good opera to watch for, if we just take to time to see what's available.

And the Met? Well, I'm a subscriber and I can't complain. I get to hear at least eight performances a year and the standards are high, perhaps the highest in the world. Certainly there's no opera orchestra or opera chorus that even begins to compare with what we have at the Met, and the international roster of performers is certainly in a class of its own. You don't hear bad singing at the Met.

While I sometimes disagree with some of the decisions about production design, I hardly ever disagree with the musical values at the Met. And in a funny sort of way, I relish the move - with some operas - from the more standard designs to new concepts - I was delighted to discover that the so-called "rat pack" version of "Rigoletto" (set in Las Vegas in the 1960s) worked, and worked very well. So did the new "Falstaff" (and that one was particularly difficult for me, as the earlier, long-time Franco Zeffirelli version had become almost iconic for me, and for many other "Falstaff" lovers as well).

And then there are the standards that I don't want to ever go away, but they do. The Met's old "Parsifal" is the production I cut my teeth on for that opera, and I heard (and saw) it so many times I felt personally slighted when it was replaced. Fortunately, that replacement didn't last long, and now we have a daring new production. Not as up-lifting, perhaps, as what I grew up on, but good nonetheless, with fine musical values and artistically, some very reasonable - and believable concepts have been brought out. 

And now we're losing the iconic (there's that word again) production of "Der Rosenkavalier" - we were fortunate to be present at the very last of its nearly 200 performances (it premiered on January 23, 1969) and we'll live without it. We won't forget what we had for these many years - it was, there's no question about it, a gorgeous production - but I for one will be anxious to see what comes next. I guess more than anything, with this particular opera so highly regarded for its subtlety, I don't want it to be trivialized or that beautiful music distracted from.

As for losing the absolutely sublime and - at the same time - rousing production of "Die Meistersinger" for a production created for Salzburg and coming in a couple of years, well, I'm trying to withhold judgement. That production - like the old "Parsifal" - meant so much to me, and I'll try to be open-minded when we get the new one, but it will be hard.

And in any case, for many of these that we're losing, we have them available through the Met on Demand program, which for a very small fee allows people like me to live and relive favorite operas and favorite productions. 

2013 brought us a great level of satisfaction with the return of Strauss operas to the Met. We had not had them for a while - after all, there was the new "Ring" and the Wagner and Verdi bicentennials so something had to be set aside. Now we have them back. Not my luscious favorite ("Capriccio") but we'll have that back soon enough (I'm hoping). We do have "Arabella" coming in April, and just three weeks ago we had a splendid revival of another Strauss favorite, "Die Frau ohne Schatten," wonderfully performed and in the glittering (literally - many mirrored walls) production that is a true stunner. 

Let me sign off with a few words of praise, both to the Met as an opera company and to young composer Nico Muhly for bringing "Two Boys" to the house. Modern, a little scary for some folks (vaguely reminiscent of Britten's "Turn of the Screw"), and full of teen-age nastiness, the opera was beautifully performed, splendidly staged, and very, very satisfying. Muhly is a talented composer and his combination of many different styles and types of music (meaning: his originality), especially his skill with choral music, makes listening to his work a remarkable experience. In the big scheme of things operatic, if "Two Boys" is any sign of things to come, the Met is on the right track, and I think we folks in New York are pretty lucky indeed.

Finally, I will share one other operatic experience, this one not from New York at all, but giving me the opportunity to share a comparison that I don't often experience. In late November, we were in Paris and attended a performance at the Opéra de Paris Garnier. A beautiful experience, and as always when attending opera in another country, it's great fun to observe not only the performance and design styles, but the audience reactions. I loved it all. The opera was La Clémence de Titus in a stunning and thought-provoking production, and it was evident that great talent had been brought together to put together this evening at one of Europe's great opera houses (I've pictured the roof-top Apollo here). A great opportunity to see how well opera is performed outside of New York. 

Now if I could just find the time to travel all over America to see how opera is performed in other places in my own country.

Marriage Equality: It's How We Define Ourselves as Americans

When we, as Americans, seek to define what it is about us as Americans that makes us different, doesn't it come down to human rights? To our respect for each other, as citizens? Our respect for one another as fellow human beings?

And (whether one is a "believer" or not), isn't it all summed up in the Golden Rule?

From what I've learned over the years - since earliest childhood - that has been the real "American way," taught to us as our single established American quality and believed in throughout our nation's history.

And now we're seeing - in what one of my friends refers to as "the final battle for civil rights" - the move to marriage equality. We're breaking down the barriers to marriage equality, and when this great force becomes a single driver in American society, all Americans will have the right to marry the person they love.

It's an awesome (literally) time for Americans, a time all of us will look back on and be proud we were here, happy to have been Americans when marriage equality became our country's norm, for all Americans.

As we move into the final few days of this historic year, I'm particularly blessed to be able to write about marriage equality. We just celebrated our second anniversary, an anniversary full of joy and love and happiness that - had things stayed the way they were and had we not been New Yorkers in 2011 - would never have happened.

We chose to celebrate in Paris, since that seemed to sweetest place to be for a second anniversary (indeed, one friend, writing from Germany to congratulate us, suggested we create a new tradition, that the wedding-day anniversary always take place in Paris). And now we're home, wrapping up the year with much thanksgiving and looking forward to a 2014 with happy anticipation of more of the same.

As part of our celebration, we have pledged our support for marriage equality. We did it through the American Foundation for Equal Rights because we believe every American should be able to marry the person they love. We joined AFER and we support their mission to achieve full federal marriage equality.

The American Foundation for Equal Rights took the challenge to California’s Prop. 8 all the way to the Supreme Court. Their case permanently brought marriage equality to the nation’s most populous state and now AFER is joining a federal case in Virginia because no state government should limit the personal freedoms of its citizens. As a former Virginian, this case has special resonance for me, and I will anxiously await the outcome.

But no matter what happens in Virginia, marriage equality is on its way. If you don't believe me (or agree with me), take a look at 2013: A Historic Year for Marriage Equality. It's a terrific video, very short (just 3.36 minutes) and it will give you all you need to know to join me in my optimism - cautious optimism, yes, but optimism nonetheless.

[The Virginia case itself is described in a separate video (also short). Watch AFER's Work in Federal Court for Marriage Equality Continues in Virginia.]

We will have marriage equality in America, and we'll have it sooner rather than later. I firmly believe that, and I am very happy in my belief.

Go here and pledge your support for marriage equality. It's a very simple act, and it shows that you stand up for equality for every American and for the countless couples who want to get married.

It's time.

A Good Time for Thinking about "Favorite Things"

No, don't panic. I'm not going to try to connect with Mary Martin or Julie Andrews (or the positively hilarious version when Julie herself teamed up with Carol Burnett at Carnegie Hall - that wasn't just a spoof of the original - it was one of those positively one-in-a-lifetime experiences!).

But, no, that's not the kind of "favorite things" I'm thinking about. At the moment I'm more caught up in how the holidays put us in the mood for thinking about things that have meant much to us over the years, and how some of them linger in the memory.

Although I'm a big talker and not someone who avoids silence (as a general thing - when I'm studying or concentrating it's a different story), one of the nicest things about Christmas in New York is the quietness of Christmas Day. I happen to live at one of Manhattan's busiest intersections, and while we and our neighbors talk a lot about the noise, in reality we've all become accustomed to it and we don't really notice it. And the windows are closed most of the time anyway.

On Christmas Day the city takes on a whole new ambiance. Later in the morning I suppose things will pick up, as people go out to walk along Fifth Avenue to enjoy the splendid window displays in the shops. Or they'll head out to church.

But it will still be quiet because - for some reason - New Yorkers have decided that Christmas Day is a "quiet" day. Of course there are the "real" reasons for Manhattan's quietness today: shops are not open, few theaters have performances, even many of the restaurants and coffee shops close, giving employees the day off.

I like to think it's more than that, though. With the exception of one church in our Murray Hill neighborhood that's become famous (infamous?) because the rector has - without warning anyone - decided to blast out the church's electronic chimes 13 times a day instead of the usual twice a day, peace and quiet reign in our city today. [If you're interested, you can read about that little contretemps here.] I think our Christmas quietness comes about because there's a sort of civic (not religious - certainly not in New York City!) wish or desire or even responsibility to respect the legacy and long history of Christmas Day in New York as a special day for all citizens, and we just give ourselves a quiet day because, well, it's something nice to do.

Other favorite things? Here's one more example: the various "flash mob" singing that's started to pop up in different places. As anyone who knows me knows, I love classical music and, in particular, choral music (a big part of my life when I was younger). I was delighted last year, early in the Christmas season, when a friend sent me the link to the Hallelujah Chorus being performed to startled lunch-time folks at a huge shopping center. It had been done a couple of years earlier and it was great fun, much appreciated. Of course the video went viral (watch it here). I wish I had been having my lunch in that mall that day! What an experience for those folks!

And there's more (is this a trend? if it is I love it!). Last October, in honor of the 200th anniversary of Verdi's birth, members of the WDR Radio Choir Cologne surprised shoppers at a mall with Verdi's Va Pensiero from "Nabucco" (an all-time favorite of many folks, including me). Maybe it was all part of a larger - I suspect informal - effort, since other such "flash mob" performances took place in other locations.

Perhaps the inspiration (aside from Verdi's bicentennial) came from Toulouse, where the same chorus had been sung al fresco, very informally, back in 2011 in what appears to be a park back (again, hear it here).

So maybe we're looking at a new form of participatory entertainment?

Perhaps not totally participatory, since surprise is a good part of the experience as well. And it's not necessarily classical music. How about classical art? Did you see the flash mob depiction of Rembrandt's "Night Watch" last April? What a way to announce the re-opening of the Rijksmuseum! And not totally without music, since we had Beethoven's "Ode to Joy" accompanying the action. Great fun (one version of the video - of several available - is here). Lots of candidates for one's favorite things.

And these photographs of spectacular Christmas trees? Nothing special. Just beautiful holiday snapshots I wanted to share, photographed at Vaux-le-Vicomte when I visited there last November. More about that later.

Yes, it's a good time of year to be thinking about favorite things. Merry Christmas.

Consider the Elephant: An Important Step Forward

For those of us concerned about the future of the elephants, there is good news from the United States.

Acting in response to an Executive Order from U.S. President Barack Obama, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service announced the destruction of six tons of illegal elephant ivory. The news release announcing this action was publishing on November 14.

I urge you to take a look at U.S. Destroys Confiscated Ivory Stockpile, Sends Message that Wildlife Trafficking, Elephant Poaching Must be Crushed: Following President’s Executive Order, U.S. Steps Up International Efforts to Fight Wildlife Trafficking.

The release describes in detail the efforts of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service in putting forward an American statement opposing this heinous crime. In the report, the service notes that 

Six tons of illegal elephant ivory confiscated by U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service law enforcement officers were loaded into an industrial-scale rock crusher and pulverized today at the Rocky Mountain Arsenal National Wildlife Refuge outside Denver, Colo. Officials from the departments of Justice and State joined Service Director Dan Ashe and leading worldwide conservationists in calling for global action to combat wildlife trafficking and stop the slaughter of elephants and other species.

This is excellent news indeed, and I send along all high commendations and the gratitude of this citizen for President Obama and his good will in signing the Executive Order. According to reports, the destruction of the ivory follows an announcement by the President establishing the first ever council to advise the government on ways to improve coordination and implementation of domestic and international efforts to fight poaching and illegal wildlife trafficking. The creation of the council stemmed directly from President Obama's Executive Order directing U.S. government agencies to ramp up efforts to stamp out the illegal wildlife trade.

As readers know (see my posts from March and April of this year), the poaching efforts seem to have reached some sort of awful heights in late 2012 and earlier this year (with elephant deaths reported at approximately 30,000 each year), and I was fortunate to be able to work with the Wildlife Conservation Society in helping support WCS efforts focusing on anti-poaching and the study of this magnificent species. Then, over the summer, friends and I were thrilled to spend time in the wild in Kenya, conducting our own observations (which I keep promising to write about - just haven't gotten around to it yet - but a few tempting photographs can be seen with this post and here). I'm very grateful to keen-eyed Jerry Jourdan, who traveled with me on our Kenyan safari during the summer, for spotting the report about the ivory destruction event in The Outdoor Wire last Friday.

And the event, naturally enough, puts me in mind of the very touching (and beautiful) memorial we saw in the Nairobi National Park, placed there by President Daniel arap Moi back in 1989.

I had first seen the memorial back in my earlier visits to the park, and it was my good friend and driver Charles Masese, noting my particular affection and interests in the elephant, who took me specially to the Nairobi National Park to see the memorial. Back in the 1980s, Kenya led the campaign against the slaughter of the elephants for their ivory, and it was there - in the Nairobi National Park - that Kenya destroyed its own captured contraband ivory. The massive pile of ivory ash still stands near the memorial, evoking very strong feelings and horror among all visitors, to think that human beings could be so cruel and so greedy as to undertake such massive slaughter of these beautiful and majestic creatures.

Thank you to the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service and to our President for taking this action. The destruction of the captured ivory is very encouraging. In my opinion we as a nation are now taking a strong first step in raising awareness about the horrors of ivory poaching by evil and ignorant people. We can only hope this action changes some minds.