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It's all go. I love it when it's all go; at least until I fall apart with tiredness. Haven't reached that stage yet, though.
Finished writing "Gold Hawk", first draft, and have begun on revisions. Went to a terrific Royal Ballet triple bill and a terrific play. Went to the first rehearsal for the Kew Christmas choir. Had a blood sample taken (actually that wasn't much fun, but then it never is; c'est la vie). Booked a week in Cyprus for my birthday. Discovered that the delicious vegetarian dish called Civilised Swede is better if you don't put it through the blender. Had a cool idea at work and got the go-ahead to work on it (to start with it involves compiling a large spreadsheet, which is boring boring boring, but I hope it will be worthwhile in the end).
And I've got on fine so far with the "500 calories a day, 2 days per week" diet. I'm finding it's surprisingly easy to make it work and it doesn't lead to horrible feelings of deprivation. I was very happy to see this post on Helena Halme's blog, outlining exactly the same eating system and giving some useful tips to make it work. Clearly I have a way to go, but unlike every other diet I've ever tried I am not already thinking "wtf am I doing, life is too short for this misery..." So am hopeful, for now.
The ballet was a mixed bill of new + fairly-new pieces by wunderkinds Liam Scarlett, Wayne McGregor and Christopher Wheeldon. Three fantastic young choreographers, all at the top of their game. Three fantastic modern-but-deeply-rooted ballets; each one abstract but with a core of emotional sincerity; each with a fine pas de deux, or a series of them, as the central image. The middle item in particular, a revival of McGregor's best piece "Infra", absolutely knocked my socks off. And a host of my favourite dancers were in action the night I went. Good to see the RB get off to a fine start this season, then!
The play was the revival of "Constellations", transferring from the Royal Court to the dinky little Duke of York's Theatre in St Martin's Lane. Wow. A really fascinating, thought-provoking play, both funny and deeply moving - but moving without being simply press-your-buttons-emotive. I'm still toying with it in my mind and taking delight in remembering the skilful and touching performances of Rafe Spall and Sally Hawkins. It's a gift for the actors, though I'm sure it would be horribly tricky to learn! Have a dream US cast in mind, of course! >sigh<
Choir practice went well, and it looks as though I'll spend the carol service in my usual state of nervous tension, wondering if I can keep to my own vocal line and not digress up into the soprano line (which does sound v odd in an alto) or down to join the tenors (which seems to take them aback badly).
And feeling really rather happy and excited about making steady headway on the latest magnum opus. I'd like to finish revisions before I go to Paphos if possible, so that I can relax and do s*d all for a week; just walk and swim and look at archeological sites, and drink brandy sours!
Showing posts with label Liam Scarlett. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Liam Scarlett. Show all posts
Friday, 16 November 2012
Thursday, 6 May 2010
Some kind of wonderful...
I was at the ballet last night. It was a triple bill, with two pieces I’d seen before, one of which (Christopher Wheeldon’s “Electric Counterpoint”) I love and the other of which (Mats Ek’s “Carmen”) worked a lot better for me on the second viewing. The third piece was new, and terrific; Liam Scarlett’s “Asphodel meadows”. One of those occasions when you come out of the auditorium thinking “Wow!” because your expectations have been so greatly exceeded. “Asphodel meadows” is full of images of love and loss, yearning and rejection, grief and death but also of life being held to and entered into with joy (being danced to Poulenc’s gorgeous, jazzy, haunting Double Piano Concerto is a plus, too). On this evidence, Mr Scarlett will go far.
His work is deceptively simple; lyrical, nuanced, emotionally truthful and visually delicate. Traditional in layout and content, it is profoundly not deracinated, but draws on tradition and moves forward in its company without either sneering at it or cringing to it (oh dear, please excuse that ugly metaphor).
I suppose it's partly the result of five years at Art School, but I am deeply suspicious of iconoclasm. So often it seems to me that the iconoclast has nothing else to say beyond their challenge to convention; they are relying on the deification of the rebel in contemporary culture to make their name and swing their fame. But challenge without content is ultimately meaningless, and is dependent on an acceptance of the (crass and false) notion that the past must, by its very nature, be no good.
Mr Scarlett takes the harder but infinitely better path, not denying the worth of his antecedents but developing his work from the roots of what has come before, unafraid to be himself and to use his own ideas and language, as these grow out of that rootstock. With young choreographers like him and Wheeldon around, contemporary ballet can look to a future both secure and deeply exciting.
As regards the other two pieces, I’m still a bit distracted by the recorded voices in “Electric Counterpoint” (Ed Watson doesn’t like his hands? Silly him. He has very nice hands) but the dancing is simply thrilling. “Carmen” remains a bonkers, but surprisingly effective, distillation/revision of the Carmen story. Interestingly, it is a good contrast to Liam Scarlett’s work, illustrating almost exactly the point I was trying to make about tradition and iconoclasm. The least interesting parts of “Carmen” are the most deliberately challenging elements; all the shouting (boring idea), the image of Carmen pulling a red silk ribbon out of Escamillo’s crotch, the comically overt sexuality (all those men rolling around the floor playing with their giant cigars – oh please [not, I hasten to add, that I’d object to Gary Avis rolling on my floor playing with his giant cigar] – it’s just so childishly obvious as a theatrical metaphor). But on the topic of José’s violence and his neuroses, Carmen’s passionate wilfulness, Micaela’s mixture of possessiveness and idealistic romanticism, it hits the spot. And the cast were top notch. Tamara Rojo just is Carmen, Thomas Whitehead’s José is appropriately scary, and it’s good to see the lovely Bennet Gartside getting to show off his bravura chops as Escamillo – and to wear gold lurex, which probably also doesn’t come his way every day.
In the foyer on the way out I saw Edward Watson talking to Christopher Wheeldon. I’m afraid I did a double-take and grinned at them both like an idiot. Mr Wheeldon noticed (he got that “oh sh*t do I know this woman?” expression for a second), so I hurried off before I embarrassed myself any further.
It reminded me of the thing I’m always touched by about great performing artists. They do their thing, and knock my socks off, and then they shower and put on street clothes, go and get a bite to eat and go home on the tube, and feed the cat, or take the dog to the post box for a late-night pee; and so to bed, just like anyone. Yet up they get in the morning and go to work, and prepare to knock my socks off again. What can it be like, to have that sort of talent, and for that astonishing ability to be just part of one’s normal life, the way working at Kew is part of my normal life these days?
This morning I had to queue for ten minutes to vote. I’ve never queued before, and nor had any of the other people in the line – we were all talking about how unexpected it was (in between cooing over a very sweet dog who was accompanying his mistress and heaving huge theatrical sighs while he waited). Everyone said things like “This time it might matter” and “I want to make a point” and “I think this could be an important election”. I find this pleasing. I realise thirty ordinary Chiswick citizens is hardly a representative section of society, but they all seemed to be quite fired up about people-power. If nothing else, this sort of feeling may mean a slightly better turn-out than in recent years.
The results, of course, are in the hands of god. As is the question of whether I get a Greek holiday this year, what with volcanoes and general strikes and all… We live in interesting times.
His work is deceptively simple; lyrical, nuanced, emotionally truthful and visually delicate. Traditional in layout and content, it is profoundly not deracinated, but draws on tradition and moves forward in its company without either sneering at it or cringing to it (oh dear, please excuse that ugly metaphor).
I suppose it's partly the result of five years at Art School, but I am deeply suspicious of iconoclasm. So often it seems to me that the iconoclast has nothing else to say beyond their challenge to convention; they are relying on the deification of the rebel in contemporary culture to make their name and swing their fame. But challenge without content is ultimately meaningless, and is dependent on an acceptance of the (crass and false) notion that the past must, by its very nature, be no good.
Mr Scarlett takes the harder but infinitely better path, not denying the worth of his antecedents but developing his work from the roots of what has come before, unafraid to be himself and to use his own ideas and language, as these grow out of that rootstock. With young choreographers like him and Wheeldon around, contemporary ballet can look to a future both secure and deeply exciting.
As regards the other two pieces, I’m still a bit distracted by the recorded voices in “Electric Counterpoint” (Ed Watson doesn’t like his hands? Silly him. He has very nice hands) but the dancing is simply thrilling. “Carmen” remains a bonkers, but surprisingly effective, distillation/revision of the Carmen story. Interestingly, it is a good contrast to Liam Scarlett’s work, illustrating almost exactly the point I was trying to make about tradition and iconoclasm. The least interesting parts of “Carmen” are the most deliberately challenging elements; all the shouting (boring idea), the image of Carmen pulling a red silk ribbon out of Escamillo’s crotch, the comically overt sexuality (all those men rolling around the floor playing with their giant cigars – oh please [not, I hasten to add, that I’d object to Gary Avis rolling on my floor playing with his giant cigar] – it’s just so childishly obvious as a theatrical metaphor). But on the topic of José’s violence and his neuroses, Carmen’s passionate wilfulness, Micaela’s mixture of possessiveness and idealistic romanticism, it hits the spot. And the cast were top notch. Tamara Rojo just is Carmen, Thomas Whitehead’s José is appropriately scary, and it’s good to see the lovely Bennet Gartside getting to show off his bravura chops as Escamillo – and to wear gold lurex, which probably also doesn’t come his way every day.
In the foyer on the way out I saw Edward Watson talking to Christopher Wheeldon. I’m afraid I did a double-take and grinned at them both like an idiot. Mr Wheeldon noticed (he got that “oh sh*t do I know this woman?” expression for a second), so I hurried off before I embarrassed myself any further.
It reminded me of the thing I’m always touched by about great performing artists. They do their thing, and knock my socks off, and then they shower and put on street clothes, go and get a bite to eat and go home on the tube, and feed the cat, or take the dog to the post box for a late-night pee; and so to bed, just like anyone. Yet up they get in the morning and go to work, and prepare to knock my socks off again. What can it be like, to have that sort of talent, and for that astonishing ability to be just part of one’s normal life, the way working at Kew is part of my normal life these days?
This morning I had to queue for ten minutes to vote. I’ve never queued before, and nor had any of the other people in the line – we were all talking about how unexpected it was (in between cooing over a very sweet dog who was accompanying his mistress and heaving huge theatrical sighs while he waited). Everyone said things like “This time it might matter” and “I want to make a point” and “I think this could be an important election”. I find this pleasing. I realise thirty ordinary Chiswick citizens is hardly a representative section of society, but they all seemed to be quite fired up about people-power. If nothing else, this sort of feeling may mean a slightly better turn-out than in recent years.
The results, of course, are in the hands of god. As is the question of whether I get a Greek holiday this year, what with volcanoes and general strikes and all… We live in interesting times.
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