TRAVEL TUESDAY 432 - FLAMENCO, SPAIN

“The flamenco of the Gypsy has nothing to do with the flamenco for tourists. Real flamenco is like sex.” - Klaus Kinski

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Flamenco is an artform native to the Spanish regions of Andalusia, Extremadura and Murcia. It includes cante (singing), toque (guitar playing), baile (dance) and jaleo (vocalisations) and palmas (handclapping) and pitos (finger snapping). First mentioned in literature in 1774, the genre originates in Andalusian music and dance styles.

Flamenco is strongly associated with the gitanos (Romani people of Spain) - however, unlike Romani music of eastern Europe, the style is distinctively Andalusian and the fusion of the various cultures of southern Spain is clearly perceptible in Flamenco music.

Although there are many theories on its influences and origins, the most widespread highlights a Morisco heritage, the cultural melting pot that was Andalusia at the time (Andalusians, Moors, Castilian settlers, Romanis and Jews) fostering its development over time.

Flamenco music, as a theatrical representation of Andalusian musical tradition, was first recorded in the late 18th century but the genre underwent a dramatic development in the late 19th century.

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ART SUNDAY - MINAS AVETISYAN

“I think that the memory of Armenia’s genocide opened my eyes at an early age to the existence of political cynicism.” - Serj Tankian 

Minas Avetisyan (July 20, 1928 — February 24, 1975) was an Armenian painter, graphic artist and theatrical artist. Avetisyan was born in the village of Jajur, Soviet Armenia. His mother, Sofo, was a daughter of the priest from Kars. His father, Karapet, was a smith from Mush. His wife was Gayane Mamajanyan.

Avetisyan studied at Terlemezyan College of Fine Arts in Yerevan (1947–1952), Yerevan Fine Arts and Theatre Institute (1952–1954), and the Painting, Sculpture and Architecture Institution ‘Ilya Repin’ in Leningrad (1955–1959), where his main teacher was Boris Ioganson. From 1960 on Avetisyan lived in Yerevan.

The main theme of his works was Armenian nature, the nature of Jajur, religious subjects, the life of the poor people, mountains, fields and the changes of landscape in the various seasons. Avetisyan emerged as an artist at the “Exhibition of Five” in Yerevan (1962). Numerous specialists and visitors to the exhibition appreciated his work greatly.

Avetisian’s technique differed from the method of plein-air painting which was once widespread in Armenian art. For him working from nature was no more than a preliminary stage, and the main portion of the work on the canvas being done in his studio. In 1967, he first appeared on film in the censored and suppressed documentary “The Colour of Armenian Land” by his friend Mikhail Vartanov.

In 1975, Avetisyan died under the wheels of the car, which stopped off at the sidewalk. Although the official versionof his death was quoted as an unfortunate accident, some sources maintain that he was murdered by the KGB.

Avetisyan’s work is characterised by seemingly wild brush work and strident colours, inspired by the work of the fauves. Some South Caucasian Medieval traditional art can also be seen to influence his work. In his canvases, one sees intense colour saturation juxtaposed with dramatic and bold shapes.  Even when painting landscapes, Avetisyan broke through to q freedom of aesthetical self-expression, approaching the contemporary Russian “rough style”, even though in general he was more sympathetic to to the French modern and early avant-garde style of the early 20th century. Minas was also a success as a theatrical artist (theatre set design of Khachaturian’s “Gayane” ballet at the Opera and Ballet Theatre, 1974) and as a monumental painter (factory interior wall-paintings in Leninakan- Gyumri, 1970-1974).

The painting above from 1961 is titled “Toujours vie” (Still Life) and shows the fauve/expressionistic style of Avetisyan’s work. Unfortunately, many of the artist’s paintings were destroyed in a fire in 1972. On January 1 during the night, while Avetisyan was in Jajur with his family, his studio in Yerevan burned down, along with many of his best canvases. Three years later, in 1975 part of his wall-paintings were destroyed during the earthquake in Leninakan (Gyumri) and also destroyed the Minas Avetisian museum in his native Jajur village.

BELATED ART SUNDAY - BAKST

"The art of becoming wise is the art of knowing what to overlook." - William James

For Art Sunday, the art of Léon Bakst who spent most of his life working in the world of costume and stage design. Léon Bakst (born February 8, 1866, St. Petersburg, Russia - died December 28, 1924, Paris, France) was the pseudonym of Lev Samoylovich Rosenberg. He was a Russian artist who revolutionised theatrical design in both scenery and costume.

Bakst attended the Imperial Academy of Arts at St. Petersburg but was expelled after painting a “Pietà” that was deemed to be too-realistic. He went to Paris to complete his studies and returned to Russia where he became a court painter. He was a co-founder with Sergey Diaghilev of the journal Mir Iskusstva (“World of Art”) in 1899. Bakst began to design scenery in 1900, first at the Hermitage court theatre and then at the imperial theatres. In 1906 he went to Paris, where he began designing stage sets and costumes for Diaghilev’s newly formed ballet company, the Ballets Russes.

The first Diaghilev ballet for which he designed décor was Cléopâtre (1909), and he was chief set designer thereafter, working on the ballets Scheherazade and Carnaval (both 1910), Le Spectre de la Rose and Narcisse (both 1911), L’Après-midi d’un Faune and Daphnis et Chloé (both 1912), and Les Papillons (1914).

Bakst achieved international fame with his sets and costumes, in which he combined bold, innovative designs and richly sumptuous colours. His attention to minutely refined details conveyed an atmosphere of picturesque, exotic Orientalism, well-suited to the works he designed. In 1919 Bakst settled permanently in Paris. His designs for a London production of Tchaikovsky’s Sleeping Beauty in 1921 are regarded as his greatest work.

Scheherazade is of course a retelling of the famous story of the Arabian Nights and the stirring, exotic music of Rimsky Korsakov (1844-1908) provided the artistic stimulus that Bakst required in order to produce some opulently magnificent oriental costumes and sets for this ballet (1910). Two costumes shown here: The “Blue Sultana” and an “Odalisque”.

LITERARY TUESDAY - TRAGEDY

“Tragedy is a representation of action that is worthy of serious attention, complete in itself and of some magnitude - bringing about by means of pity and fear the purging of such emotions.” - Aristotle

In its strictest definition, a tragedy is a play dealing with disastrous events that have an unhappy ending, especially one concerning the downfall of the main character. Furthermore, in these plays, the tragic figure of the protagonist can see the danger and catastrophe looming ahead and is powerless to act, or choose not to act, in order to avert it. Thus, tragically, he or she marches onto the precipice of fate and is hurled down to self-destruction.

The word is derived from the Greek word “tragos” meaning a he-goat, and “aoidein” meaning to sing, as the first such plays were celebrations to honour Dionysus, god of wine and theatre. Dionysus’s followers were the satyrs, half-goat and half-man creatures and these were imitated by the players on stage in the first “tragic” plays, which were not tragic, but rather more comic! The word comedy in turn is derived from “komos” = revel, and “aoidein” meaning to sing. There was a lot of singing in ancient Greek plays and the Italian opera of 16th century was an attempt to recreate ancient Greek drama on stage.

Greek tragedy reached its apogee in the 5th and 6th century BC with Aeschylus, Sophocles and Euripides. Of the extant plays of Euripides, “Hippolytus”, which took the first prize at its production in 428 BC, ranks very highly. It is a play of forbidden love, torrents of passion, jealousy, a catty goddess, a chaste youth and, you guessed it, tragedy…

In the prologue, Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty, declares that she will punish the chaste Hippolytus, son of Theseus, who spurns her by not loving anyone, and who worships Artemis, the virgin goddess of the hunt. Aphrodite will put into the heart of Phaedra, the wife of Theseus, an immoral love for her stepson. Theseus will learn of this, and then will destroy his son by one of three fatal wishes, which Poseidon (god of the sea) has promised to fulfil. This will involve the ruin of Phaedra too, but that is inconsequential as the goddess cares first for her honour and for herself.

Hippolytus enters the stage and he prays to his protectress, Artemis consecrating to her a garland of flowers. A servant suggests that he should also honour Aphrodite, whose statue stands at the entrance to the palace. Hippolytus, persists in ignoring the goddess of love, and hence his religious offence seals his fate. Phaedra enters the stage with her nurse, to whom, with great difficulty, she is induced confess her love for Hippolytus, declaring to the chorus her wish to die. The nurse tries to comfort her, and advises her to give her love free rein, rather than let herself be consumed by frustration. She promises to support and help her.

“O love! O love! whose shafts of fire
Invade the soul with sweet surprise,
Through the soft dews of young desire
Trembling in beauty’s azure eyes!
Condemn not me the pangs to share
Thy too impassioned votaries bear,
That on the mind their stamp impress,
Indelible and measureless.
For not the sun’s descending dart,
Nor yet the lightning brand of Jove,
Falls like the shaft that strikes the heart,
Thrown by the mightier hand of love.”

Phaedra anxiously asks the nurse not to tell Hippolytus of her love, but the nurse hurries to Hippolytus and she betrays Phaedra’s secret. Hippolytus receives the news with horror and dismay and he chastises the nurse, cursing the female sex. Phaedra sees that the misplaced zeal of the nurse has ruined all; she covers her with reproaches, and again resolves to die. Her resolution is instantly fulfilled.

Theseus enters and is told the news by scurrying servants. He sees the corpse, and in Phaedra’s lifeless hand there is a letter, which represents Hippolytus as the cause of her death, Phaedra an innocent victim of his lust. At once Theseus mutters the fatal wish for his son’s death. Hippolytus now appears and sees what has happened. From his father’s mouth he receives at once a declaration of the suspicion resting on him, and a sentence of exile. Hippolytus is too generous to tell his father the truth and accuse a dead woman, as death rights all wrongs. Theseus mistakes his son’s plain words for artful lies, and thus provokes the tragic retort, that, were he in his place, he should think nothing could expiate such a crime but death.

With an appeal to Artemis, Hippolytus departs into exile. A choral ode intervenes, and then a messenger arrives with news of the disaster that has overtaken Theseus’s son, for he has been dashed to pieces by his own steeds, frightened by the sea-monsters which Poseidon has sent against him at Aphrodite’s request.

“… At last upon a point of rock,
Dashing its wheel, the car was overturned.
Then all was wreck and ruin; from the wheels
The naves, the linchpins from the axles flew,
While hopelessly entangled in their reins,
Was dragged along the luckless charioteer,
Dashing his head against the cruel rocks,
Tearing his flesh and uttering piteous cries.”

The beauty of the whole play is remarkable and the poetic expression near perfect. Euripides is subtle as he avoids delicately any unpleasant confrontation between Hippolytus and Phaedra, allowing the audience to draw their own conclusions. The hero preserves to the last the charm of his innocence. Instead, the playwright gives free rein to the torment of Phaedra’s struggle with passion, and the shame with which she at length suffers. Her humiliating death is avouchment of her guilt, but together she drags down the honourable youth, Hippolytus.

There is pity in Euripides’ writing not only for the youth who is needlessly killed, but also for Phaedra, who has been chosen as the instrument of the goddess’s revenge. The final scene where Theseus is absolved of his guilt for Hippolytus’s death through the intercession of Artemis is very touching and the message of the play is manifold: Piety towards all the gods (which action would have prevented the tragedy in the first place), the value of nobleness and honour, and the consequences of trust that is misplaced. Euripides views neither Phaedra nor Hippolytus favourably, but doesn’t condemn them either.

Hippolytus is presented in the play as a misogynist (some would maintain that this is Euripides’s own misogynism finding vent), but at the same time he is showing having honour, a commendable virtue. Phaedra is at once noble in that she dies once her secret is disclosed, but her specious accusation against Hippolytus makes her less heroic in our eyes, becoming rather a weak and vindictive character. This is a complex and fascinating play. The whole of the play is available on the net at the Project Gutenberg site:

http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/etext05/7urip10.txt

The Hippolytus-Phaedra story has been told and re-told several times since Euripides time. Hippolytus was first performed in 428 B.C. Among the most notable re-workings of the mythological material are Seneca’s “Phaedra”, Jean Racine’s “Phèdre”, and Eugene O’Neill’s “Desire under the Elms”. Notable also is the modern retelling of the story in Jules Dassin’s 1962 movie “Phaedra” with Melina Mercouri and Anthony Perkins.

The painting above is by an artist of the German School, 18th Century, depicting Hippolytus, Phaedra and Theseus. Oil on canvas, 24.43 X 31.12 cm.

MOVIE MONDAY - THE TROJAN WOMEN

“What greater grief than the loss of one’s native land.”  - Euripides

One of the most amazing things about ancient Greek plays is their relevance to today’s world, even though they were written nearly two-and-a-half millennia ago. They deal with human situations that are familiar to us, and their characters are oddly modern in their emotions and the ideas that they struggle with. The tragedies in particular, can wreak havoc with our emotional stability as the raw power that they are packed with makes us participate in the plot’s twists and turns and we can only but sympathise with the vicissitudes of the protagonists’ lives.

Greek tragedy on the stage can be extremely powerful and well-produced, but it can also be ridiculous. Film adaptations of Greek tragedy are not common, and can also fall into these two extreme groups – the excellent or the very bad. Yesterday we watched Michael Cacoyannis’ excellent 1971 filmic adaptation of Euripides’ “The Trojan Women”. I was glad to say that it was a magnificent adaptation. The film was entirely stripped of its supernatural baggage (for example there is no prologue by Poseidon, god of the sea and no introductory episode with Athena and Poseidon talking about divine punishment), and thus was made entirely human and we could concentrate directly on the tragic situation of the fall of Troy.

Euripides’ play “The Trojan Women”, is not so much a tragic story as a portrayal of a tragic situation. Euripides dramatises the postwar conditions of the women of Troy, who become spoils of war. They are assembled in front of the ruins of their once-great city and await to be shipped to Greece where they will become slaves and concubines to the victors. The protagonists are Hecuba, the widowed queen of Troy; Cassandra, her half-mad daughter and seer; Andromache, Hecuba’s daughter-in-law, widow of Hector; and of course, Helen of Troy.

The play was produced in 415 BC shortly after the capture of Melos by the Athenians, in what was a particularly terrible time as far as hostilities between Athens and Sparta are concerned. Euripides’ purpose for writing this anti-war play is patent in the context of the brutal destruction of Melos and enslavement of its population. Euripides’ plays are largely a departure from the typical tragedies of Aeschylus and Sophocles. Euripides is often revolutionary in that he chooses to dramatise unconventional views, he takes the part of the underdog, exposes nobility of character in the humblest individual. In “The Trojan Women” this is exemplified, as he shows that slave women possess a nobility of mind that stands in striking contrast to the inhumanity of the victorious Greek warriors.

The ruthless drama portrays hope as self-delusion and folly, and the doomed women are shown as being resigned to their fate, with forbearance and acceptance of an injustice they see as their abandonment by their gods. Hecuba and the Trojan Women have to deal with the brutality of war and the irrefutable lack of compassion by the victorious Greeks. The callous disregard for the lives of innocent women and children is highlighted by Euripides. Hecuba is a woeful woman in a postwar environment full of terror and destruction. She never considers the possibility of female rebellion against corrupt yet superior male forces, although Cassandra may be said to do so, but is driven by vengeance.

The film has a star-studded cast led by Katharine Hepburn as Hecuba, Vanessa Redgrave as Andromache, Geneviève Bujold as Cassandra and Irene Papas as Helen. All act superbly and the film is carried by each of these spectacular performances that dovetail into one another and enliven wonderfully Euripides’ play. Brian Blessed as the messenger and Patrick Magee as Menelaus, Helen’s husband, have good supporting roles. However, this movie is an ensemble piece for the actresses who carry it off with great panache and talent.

Cacoyannis wrote the scenario based on Edith Hamilton’s translation of Euripides and also directed and edited the film. There is a unity of vision in the finished product when this happens. A scenarist, director who also edits the film gives us a product of his creativity that is truly part of himself. A play is a vehicle for the actors’ art, with the director being reduced to a technician. A film allows the director to assume the role of the artist and the actors are his paints, with whom he can create the art on the screen.

The music is by Mikis Theodorakis and complements the action well. Maria Farandouri sings with passion and her contralto voice provides a strong support to the drama on the screen. The locations and cinematography are excellent and the parched, dusty landscape on which the towering ruinous walls of Troy lay is extremely evocative.

When you see this film, don’t expect an epic. There are no chariot races, no nail-biting gladiatorial combats, no battle scenes with thousands of extras. There is no sex, no special effects, no scenes of popular appeal or mawkish sentimentality. The film has in common with the play the basic elements of a Greek tragedy: The viewer is involved in the action, and together with the characters experiences a personal transformation. A great anti-war film with a powerful message delivered in a raw, emotionally charged and violent way. See it if you can lay your hands on it. 

MOLIÈRE'S PROSE

“Doubts are more cruel than the worst of truths.” – Molière

Molière (1622-1673) is the pseudonym of Jean Baptiste Poquelin, who was a French actor and playwright, the greatest of all writers of French comedy. Among Molière’s best-known dramas are “L’ École Des Femmes” (1662, School for Wives), “Tartuffe, Ou L’ Imposteur” (1664, Tartuffe, or the Impostor), “Le Misanthrope” (1666, The Misanthrope), “L’ Avare” (1668, The Miser), and “Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme” (1670, The Bourgeois Gentleman). His masterpieces are those plays in which, attacking hypocrisy and vice, he created characters that have become immortal types, such as the hypochondriac Argan, Tartuffe, the hypocrite, Harpagon, the miser, and Alceste, the misanthrope.

A certain word, “prose” seems to confound some people and only yesterday I read this word used in relation to a poem. I am quoting here a short extract from "Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme" that illustrates very nicely the word and resolves the confusion that M. Jourdain as well as some other people are suffering from. The conversation in this extract is between the hero of the play, Monsieur Jourdain, a shopkeeper who has made a fortune and wishes to be admitted into the aristocratic circles and a Professor of Philosophy that M. Jourdain has employed to cultivate his mind. M. Jourdain wishes to seduce a pretty woman of the aristocracy and make her his mistress:

PROF. PHILOSOPHY. Undoubtedly (it would be gallant to write her a letter). Is it verse you wish to write to her?

MR. JOURDAIN. Oh no; not verse.

PROF. PHIL. You only wish for prose?

MR. JOUR. No. I wish for neither verse nor prose.

PROF. PHIL. It must be one or the other.

MR. JOUR. Why?

PROF. PHIL. Because, Sir, there is nothing by which we can express ourselves except prose or verse.

MR. JOUR. There is nothing but prose or verse?

PROF. PHIL. No, Sir. Whatever is not prose is verse; and whatever is not verse is prose.

MR. JOUR. And when we speak, what is that, then?

PROF. PHIL. Prose.

MR. JOUR. What! When I say, “Nicole, bring me my slippers, and give me my night-cap”, is that prose?

PROF. PHIL. Yes, Sir.

MR. JOUR. Upon my word, I have been speaking prose these forty years without being aware of it; and I am under the greatest obligation to you for informing me of it. Well, then, I wish to write to her in a letter, “Fair Marchioness, your beautiful eyes make me die of Love”; but I would have this worded in a genteel manner, and turned prettily.

So our word of the day today:

prose |prōz| noun

1 written or spoken language in its ordinary form, without metrical structure: A short story in prose | [as adj. ] a prose passage.

• figurative plain or dull writing, discourse, or expression: Medical and scientific prose.

2 another term for sequence (sense 4).

verb

1 [ intrans. ] talk tediously : prosing on about female beauty.

2 [ trans. ] dated compose or convert into prose.

DERIVATIVES

proser |ˌproʊzər| noun

ORIGIN Middle English : via Old French from Latin prosa (oratio) ‘straightforward (discourse),’ feminine of prosus, earlier prorsus ‘direct.’