Opera Chic

Fondazione Prada vi presenta "On Otto"

Fondazione Prada held an invite-only event at their via Fogazzaro exhibition space last night, to give those lucky invitees a sneak preview of German artist Tobias Rehberger's newest installation, "On Otto". The exhibition was commissioned as one of the two annual offerings by the foundation, which was established in 1993 by the saint of all that is holy in fashion, Ms. Miuccia Prada (and chief executive of Prada, Patrizio Bertelli). 

 

The exhibition elements have been erected in the giant warehouse space on the first floor of the foundation, and features four large, free-standing, walk-through pavilions. The concurrent themes of the exhibition spaces are evocative of mazes, and you stumble in half-darkness towards movie screens, mirrored rooms, and lucite corridors lined with screenplays and storyboard sketches. Outside of each pavilion have been stationed large movie screens, where images of solitary spectators are projected. The spectators are manifestations of IRL Kim Basinger, Willem Dafoe, Emmy Rossum, Justin Henry, and Danny DeVito. Oh hay. In all honesty, I looked at the screens and didn't gauge the likeness of anyone, but that could have been all the champagne imbibed.

 

I personally found it too conceptual to digest, and disliked being herded into the maze-like, hot, claustrophobic ensconces of space while sounds of alarm clocks and dripping water were piped-through the low ceilings (thanks to Ennio Morricone’s attribution of sound and music). As an exploration of film, architecture, and design, it was intended as a demystification of the filmmaking process, which I didn't quite "get". LOL ART R NOT 4 TEH DUM LOL!!11 It was ambiguous, and just too disjointed to follow.

 

If you’re in Milan and have a fetish for Rehberger’s work, the show opens today to the public, and runs until June 6, 2007. The Fondazione is easy to find, and a 20 minute walk from il Duomo.

 

Igor Stravinsky Exhibition in Salzburg

Whilst in Salzburg a few weekends ago, in-between lounging at Tomaselli (the oldest cafe in the Western World, frequented back-in-the-day by Constanze Mozart who lived right next door) and snacking on the miniature slices of Esterhazy torte at Demel, I had an hour to check-out the Igor Strav(w)insky exhibition at the museum der moderne rupertinum. Titled "Ich muss die Kunst anfassen" ("I Need to Feel Art"), the occasion of the exhibit is the 125th birthday anniversary of the Russian composer/conductor. Opera Chic gave readers a little teaser here, when we published one of the awesome exhibition images: an Igor Stravinsky gangsta mugshot taken in Boston on April 15, 1940.

The exhibit is huge, occupying two gallery floors (see image above), with the works arranged chronologically through the life and career of Stravinsky (throughout all the various musical periods), and with plenty of wall-text and exhibition guides (in English). Most of the images are on loan from Paul Sacher Stiftung in Basel.

The first room was filled with photographs from Stravinsky’s early childhood, which were passed in the fin de siècle haze of an outlying city of St. Petersburg, spent with his parents, Prussian nanny, and three brothers. (See teh baby Igor to the left, in September 1883, and click for bigger.)

The second room followed his career into the 1920s with "Le Chant du Rossignol", media from "Renard", followed by his only work witha sociopolitical commentary: World War I with "A Soldier’s Tale". (Stravinsky said, "'The Soldier's Tale' remains my only work with a current contemporary reference.") The narrative of the exhibition continued to chronicle Stravinsky’s encounters with Picasso, Man Ray, and Edward Weston.

With his first wife, Stravinksy had two sons named Theodore and Soulima Svjatoslav, and two daughters named Ludmilla and Maria Milene. Since the exhibition was multi-media, and there was an ersatz theater that projected a biopic (Tony Palmer’s “Once at the Border”) interviewing both Soulima and Milene on the lasting impressions of their father. There were also scores, photographs, drawings, and many listening booths with large LCD panels, where one could listen-to and watch selections of his composition and conducting (one such was a documentary on his contribution to Walt Disney’s "Fantasia" with parts of "Le Sacre du Printemps"). (See funny mistake in English-translation exhibition text below. TEH SCARE OF SPRING!)

His segue into success began at an early age by collaboration with Ballets Russes -- the Sergej Diaghilev-organized ballet troupe -- who was responsible for the eventual commission of Stravinsky’s first work, "L’Oiseau de Feu". Soon followed "Pétrouchka" one year later in 1911, and then in 1913, the riotous lol "Le Sacre du Printemps".

Room three further expands on his work, and famous photograph portraits by Henri Cartier-Bresson and Richard Avedon dot the walls (the triptych above is Richard Avedon from November 1969 in NYC) in this packed exhibition, battling wall-space with a pencil sketch by Alberto Giacometti from 1957. Most of the images and mementos here were from after 1941, when he had moved to Hollywood, California and married his second wife, Vera Soudeikina. There are more images: his encounters with Georges Balanchine in New York, and their collaboration for "Apollon Musagète", as well as photos with Walt Disney. The numerous Cartier-Bresson photographs capture the nuances of his life, which ended on April 6, 1971, and where according to his wishes, he was buried in Venice.

A German-language exhibition catalog is available. Also, I remained in the exhibit only one glimpsing, ungenerous hour, and was uninterrupted with any other guests the entire duration. yay. It was a beautiful respite that is highly recommended if you find yourself in Salzburg. The End.

(above: museum der moderne rupertinum in Salzburg, Austria, where the Stravinsky exhibition is found.)

(A photo album can be found here with many additional photographs from the exhibition.)

Stravinsky in Salzburg

"I am not a composer of music, I am an inventor of music" - Igor Stravinsky

Salzburg, where Opera Chic sometimes spends the weekend (not at Riccardo Muti's villa, unfortunately, at least for the moment) and where a certain composer with terrible manners and a funny wig was born 251 years ago, has a very good little museum of modern art, where the exhibit "Stravinsky: I Need To Feel Art" for the 125th anniversary of the composer's birthday has just opened.

Full review and big flickr album tomorrow.

A sneak preview of our review: suffice to say that Stravinsky is gangsta. Photographic evidence below.

Maria Callas’ Bling at the NYC MET (yah, I know “bling” is sooooo very 2001, deal with it)

At the NYC MET Opera house, if you enter the "Maria Callas & Swarovski: Jewels on Stage" exhibit from the outside doors (across from the gift shop on the subterranean level), make sure to first go to the exhibit space on the left. That way, the full impact of the stunning jewels on the other side of the exhibit will leave you reeling. Think of it as low-key (but elegant) aperitivo at Fioraio Bianchi Caffè before an unhurried dinner at the fabulous da Giacomo.

From her debut on August 2, 1947 singing the lead role in Ponchielli’s La Gioconda in Verona, Maria Callas rawked Swarovski onstage in over forty-two different operas (four more recorded in the studio), and six-hundred performances, until her final appearance in 1965's London Tosca. Since Swarovski is so inextricably linked to the Callas legacy, they have brilliantly commissioned a stunning exhibition that showcases more than forty pieces (forty-three says the MET) of jewels that Callas wore throughout her career.

Although the exhibit has been swapped around Europe for a few years, this is the first time the jewels have been displayed in the USA, and currently runs until March 3, 2007 in the NYC MET Opera House's Founders Hall (in the subterranean basement where the little bronze head of Bing and Wagner's lonely neckbeard usually take-up residence). Admission is free, and you get an awesomely designed/printed catalog.

For eighteen years, brilliant Milanese craftsman Ennio Marino Marangoni (founder of Atelier Marangoni), used only Daniel Swarovski's jewels for his Maria Callas creations. As Marangoni crafted the jewels, the designers were mostly Nicola Benois and Lila DeNobli, but there were additionally a few designs by Callas hang-ons Visconti and Frengo. (The Zeffster designed la Callas' jewels for the April 15, 1955 Rossini Il Turco in Italia at La Scala.) See below:

The exhibit features a smattering of full-panel etched glass mirrors stamped with Callas' ghost captured in various roles. Trapped behind the glass are displayed the corresponding bling, which illuminate via lights on timers. Callas is represented democratically throughout all stages of her career: fat, bloated, tapeworm-thin, haughty, elegant...the chameleon Callas.

The exhibition has been carefully and thoroughly designed: silicone grey busts rest inside glass cubes, which are draped in Callas’ stage jewels. Behind the displays are black and white photos of la diva Callas in said jewels performing (or socializing) within the designated roles. At the base of the glass-stands are placards from the venue. There are also tons of archival photos and other Callas memorabilia -- from her Milan home on via Buonarroti, to a Western Union Telegram from Callas to Bing.

Then there's the wall text: it is well-thought-out, and packed with rare anecdotes, but with over-usage of the word “magnificent”. I have no idea why, but in one panel, the word "magnificent" appears like seven times. The writers used every imaginable thesaurus entry for “shiny” in the copy -- gleaming, dazzling, twinkling, electrifying, and glassy -- dot the text like ants at a picnic. Some of the lingo was just too much, such as that for the bustier necklace from the May 1955 La Traviata. It reads, "The jewelry, encrusted with magnificent Swarovski crystal stones, captured and refracted the light, just like the thousand different facets of Maria's portrayal of Traviata”. heh.

If you follow my instructions, and start to the smaller room on the left, you begin humbly with Callas' jewels from the April 14, 1957 La Scala Gavazzeni-conducted Donizetti's Anna Bolena; then the November 19, 1953 Trieste Votto-conducted Bellini's Norma; then the March 5, 1955 La Scala Lenny-conducted Bellini's La Sonnambula; then the February 26, 1947 Roma Teatro dell'Opera Serafin-conducted Wagner's Parsifal; ending with the very first Callas/Swarovski teaming of the August 2, 1947 Verona Serafin-conducted Ponchielli's La Gioconda...infinity jinx jinx jinx...I mean, I could go on, so you should prolly just check it out yourselves.

The necklaces, earrings, and bracelets are so convincing of real gems, as opposed to the crystal they are crafted from. Stage jewelry never looked so real. In fact, there are quite a few anecdotes verbalized how Callas was continually stopped at border crossings by incredulous border control, refusing to believe that the costume pieces were not real jewels.

What I found so amazing about the exhibition is that each piece of bling bears witness to a slice of Callas (and therefore, operatic) history that is only evident through these curated pieces. It was written in the exhibit text that such tangible things, like the scenery and costumes, have since been lost, so the jewelry is the last remaining historical evidence of many of the productions. Very very :coal:

One sore point: there is a "conceptual work" that shows on a large plasma screen at the crux of the exhibit space: The video loop is a tedious, three-part work, featuring a cello overture by Michael Hammers, which is followed by a super-lame and annoying heartbeat interlude. The last is a statement recognizing validity of Masuru Emoto, a Japanese scientist. Emoto observed that the structure of water turns crystalline when water is exposed to the voice of Maria Callas, so there's a materialization of a close-up of water under a microscope slowly crystallizing, as Callas' “Casta Diva” plays in the background. Lame, lame and lamer.

A few of the outstanding pieces: There is a huge cross from the May 21, 1956 La Scala Gavazzeni-conducted Giordano's Fedora, with this anecdote:

"Aware of the intense rivalry between Maria Callas and Renata Tebaldi, Benois contrived to have the women both appear on stage at different times wearing the same jewelry. So the Orthodox cross of Fedora was worn by Callas at La Scala in 1956, and then, shortly afterwards by Renate Tebaldi at the Teatro San Carlo in Naples. The two artists never discovered who had played the practical joke on them.

In fact, we can never be sure whose idea it was to trick the two women into wearing this magnificent piece. It could have been the great costume and stage designer Benois, who clearly adored the magnificent piece of jewelry. Or it might have been the craftsman Ennio Marino Marangoni who, excited about his creation, also wanted it to be work as a brooch by Renata Tebaldi, the singer that Arturo Toscanini had christened, "The Angel's Voice". This anecdote remains one of the enduring secrets surround [sic] the history of theses two magnificent rival opera singers.”

Then there’s the gigantic, um, monstrosity at the very back wall from the May 28, 1955 La Scala Giulini-conducted (YES!!) Verdi’s La Traviata.

Last I checked, the MET Gift Shop had copies of curator/designer Rinaldo Albanesi's book, "Maria Callas: Gioielli di scene".

The jewels themselves are not allowed to leave the exhibition space (so a glass-cutter, Taser, black ski mask, and a large canvas sack with "$" painted on it is optional). Discretion is advised.

Pictures at a Toscanini Exhibition

(From Arturo Toscanin's collection: Giovanni Boldini's "Child’s Face", 1860. With certain, um, Boldini embellishments.)

Before Opera Chic departed this weekend for Massachusetts to spend time with more of her lovely family, the Muti concerto at Lincoln Center allowed a nice opportunity to scope the Toscanini exhibition currently showing at Avery Fisher Hall.

It has been named “Maestro's Secret Music: The Artwork Collected by Arturo Toscanini” (La Musica Segreta Del Maestro: La Collezione d'Arte di Arturo Toscanini). Ewww. The exhibition sounds like it was cribbed from a Hallmark movie about a high school conductor who teaches a deaf student how to play the violin or something.

It is curated by Renato Miracco, who chose the works to represent Toscanini’s "versatility and vibrant receptivity to modernity,” as a majority of the oil work are representative of 19th century avant-garde.

The second goal of Miracco was to highlight the conductor's multifaceted embrace of culture, which was reflected in his collected artwork, and hidden from the public for a long time.

Of course, the real occasion of the exhibition is remembrance of the fiftieth anniversary of Toscanini's death (January 16, 2007). All artwork anecdotes are provided from the Maestro's late son, Walter Toscanini. However, the works are currently owned by Walfredo Toscanini, the Maestro's grandson. The artwork was last seen in New York by the public in 1972 in an exhibit called, “Nineteenth-century Italian Painting".

(Grand Promenade of Avery Fisher Hall, where the Toscanini exhibt currently resides.)

All of the artwork (oil, watercolor, pencil, bronze, and ceramic) was stationed throughout Toscanini's house in Milan on via Durini, and then brought to Villa Pauline in Riverdale, New York. Though the exhibit has roughly sixty works, Toscanini’s collection fluctuated between one hundred and two hundred pieces.

Italian artist and father of Italian Divisionism, Vittore Grubicy de Dragon (RAWR RAWR!), became Toscanini’s critical advisor and purchaser for procuring new art, and the maestro additionally collected quite a few of de Dragon's (rawr) works.

The collection boasted tons of bucolic landscapes, most of them small oil paintings. There was a reliance on Italian 19th century masters such as Umberto Boccioni, Giovanni Fattori, Silvestro Lega, and Gaetano Previati. Landscapes of Lake Maggiore was a recurrent subject in many of the paintings. Toscanini favored the Pointillist style, and early romantic artists that paved the way for impressionism (I’m looking at you Joseph Turner). There were a few works from Ashcan skoolers George Inness and Alfred East in the collection as well.

Outstanding works?

 

Enrico Caruso (yes *that* Enrico Caruso) made himself (and then gave to Toscanini) a "Self-Caricature as Laughing Buddha", 1909 statuette in bronze (seen above). It's really quite spectacular.

Also significant: Riccardo Pick Mangiagalli's "Painting of Cia Fornaroli Toscanini" from 1918. Toscanini's daughter-in-law was a successful ballerina, and the maestro was proud of her. Toscanini had half-a-dozen mixed media representations of Miss Cia in his collection (painting, sculpture, and sketches), with this oil painting (to the left) as the most stunning.

It is stated in all exhibition media that to view the works, the “gallery” is only open to the public on Thursday afternoons, with two viewing sessions (2:00pm and 4:00pm). But here's what I don’t understand: if you go to a nighttime event at Avery Fisher Hall, the works are hanging right there on the walls, because the exhibition is located specifically in the viewing spaces that encircle the Grand Promenade and the First Tier of the concert hall (in plain view)!

The only incentive to follow the tour is that the $20 exhibition catalog (I was told) can only be purchased via the tour guide. The catalog is in English and Italian, has pictures of all the artwork in the exhibition, and half a dozen introductions/essays by family and friends closest to the maestro.

You can call (212) 875-5930 for an appointment or email [email protected]. After the NYC tour, the next stop is in September, at the Teatro Goldoni in Livorno, Italia.

Faster Muti Kill! Kill! With the New York Philharmonic

Opera Chic had quite a day today buzzing around Lincoln Center, while sampling all the delish treats of the Gelb Revolution. Btw, the Gelb Revolution will not be televised (and y'all know you're gonna watch it!) I'll get to the auxiliaries tomorrow, including the "Maestro's Secret Music" (Arturo Toscanini artworks collection in Avery Fisher Hall), and the dazzling "Maria Callas & Swarovski: Jewels on Stage" exhibition from the subterranean dungeon of the MET Opera house.

But first: Guess what?? I've got a fever! And the only prescription is...MORE MUTI!

Although it is cold as balls in New York City, that didn't stop Opera Chic from braving the razor-sharp winds to support Maestro Muti, who appeared earlier this evening with the New York Philharmonic at Lincoln Center's Avery Fisher Hall.

Since I hate traveling with my vintage pieces, and I prefer to pack my luggage lightly, I had to fall back partially on my cache of clothes and accessories that I had left behind with family when I moved to Italy. Therefore, I set out for my adventures today in a curious mélange, wearing nothing terribly exciting save a high collar, black cashmere lady coat from Armani, and a Loro Piana gray cashmere winter cape.

 

Tonight’s program at Avery Fisher Hall at first seemed disjointed, curated from composers Giuseppe Martucci, Giuseppe Verdi, and Ottorino Respighi. Aside from the fact that they are all Italians, they actually are all linked tenuously through Martucci, which was explained in the program notes from the evening.

The concert opened with Martucci's "Piano Concerto No. 2 in B-flat", with the brilliant Gerhard Oppitz flawlessly playing the cadenzas. The grand piano was situated stage center, flanked by the orchestra, which stood between Muti and the audience. A Muti sandwich, if you will. But the positioning was teh suck for me (as I was in orchestra front) because Muti was blocked behind the giant hull of the piano lid. But the awesomeness of that proximity paid-off, and I was able to hear Muti sigh and wheeze, and fret about the music, stomping his feet across the podium during the crescendi. Pretty f**king sweet!

The first movement of the Martucci piano concerto, Allegro giusto, was lol giusto lol. No. It was actually a very symphonic, big sound. The second, Larghetto, was astonishingly lyrical. The finale was adequately bright. Gerhard Oppitz played blithely, and had no problem keeping up with Muti's tempi. Fun fact: The New York Philharmonic's previous performance of this work was only twice: February 21 & 24 in 1911. Go Muti Go…with your obscure and esoteric snobbery!

 

Muti was suited in delicate eyeglasses, frac, and that lovely shade of dark grey that he is currently rawking on top. Muti unfortunately seemed distant and a bit aloof. This was a different Muti that I had seen in Ravenna just last month conducting Don Pasquale. He was detached and somber, a little lethargic. And the overall sound was a bit on the muddied spectrum. Of course, he still conducted flawlessly (as always).

Then intervallo: *reads program* *checks mobile phone* *txts Italian friends: OMG MUTI IS ALL UP IN THIS PIECE*

During the intermission, the piano was wheeled away. Yay! Muti's podium was pulled shallow, leaving il maestro in plain view. The first work after intervallo was Verdi's "Ballet Music" from Macbeth. As the story goes, Verdi had written the opera in 1864 without any sort of ballet. However, the French publisher Léon Escudier, in anticipation of the April 21, 1865 la prima at the Théâtre-Lyrique in Paris, asked the Italian composer to add a ballet. The playbill goes on to say, "In 1865 the composer revised the opera to include a ballet — de rigueur for anyone who had aspirations of producing an opera in Paris. The members of the infamous Jockey Club who attended the ballet called the shots: they wanted to see their favorite dancers on stage—and backstage after the performance as well." Well, Verdi obliged, and we now find the ballet early in Act III. Fun fact: The New York Philharmonic only played this once before—on April 3, 1957 with Mitropoulos conducting.

 

Now onto the final work: Respighi's Feste romane, a quirky highlight of the evening. A colorful story evolves through the music, which is easily followed via the personification of the instruments. There’s the drunk guy, the witch, the lions, etc. This work is just so much fun, and a complete orgy of brass. It's a dirty, ugly, brash sound, which begins in the visceral first movement, Circus Maximus. Brass-heavy composition, this work is more like a trumpet concerto (three trumpet players were stationed up in the second tier balcony, which were supposed to be an ancient Roman brass/horn instrument called buccine.) Through the next three movements (The Jubilee, Oktoberfest, and Epiphany), there was a dizzying array of instruments, including sleigh bells, a glockenspiel, two pianos, and a mandolin. It was insane. Muti was very deft at weaving it all into a coherent pallet. He took away the sappiness and sentimentality of the composition, and gave it dignity and grace. He suffused it with depth. Muti rawks my socks. Fun fact: The world premiere was with the New York Philharmonic on February 21, 1929 in NYC, conducted by Toscanini.

 

The reception after the finale was lukewarm. Is it the Carlo Fontana fall-out? The Muti backlash? A standing ovation…but really what doesn’t get a standing ovation these days? The New York audience can suck it. WTF NYC? This is pandemic! First Darfur, now Muti. I fear what is next!

Well, whatevs. I dosed on Muti cowbell, suckas!

Things to do at Teatro alla Scala (aside from falling asleep in the nice cushy, private palchi during the intermissions.)

Teatro alla Scala has announced today a new exhibition at the Museo (alla Scala), which opens to the public on December 15, 2006. But since you are all lucky enough, blessed enough, and special enough to know the elusive, extraordinary, well-connected-to-Milanese-insider-happenings Miss Opera Chic, I am privileged to let you all have a wee-sneak-peak and a clandestine preview of what’s going-on behind the heavy velvet curtains of Teatro alla Scala.

For one month, the opera house will host a new exhibit, “Aida, l'invenzione del vero (1871-1933).” (For you English-only speakers, it is translated as, “The Invention of the Truth”.) Unfortunately, the official press release is, at this time, in Italian-language only. You can run it through Bablefish for a very mixed-up version…but remember that, “Verdi” translates literally in English as, “Greens”. lol the greatest Italian composer of the 19th century is named like American baggies of frozen veggies lol.

The occasion for this exhibition collaborates with official, trademarked omg LA PRIMA omg, which is the legitimate inauguration of the Teatro alla Scala season beginning every year on December 7 (which is also Milan’s Festa di Sant'Ambrogio). And guess what? La Prima this year is Verdi’s Aida, with a brand-new, spiffily re-designed version by our favorite fave sweetheart Franco Zeffirelli (YAY FRENGO!), who last designed the Aida run in Milan from 1976 – 1985. Also awesome is that we have Violeta Urmana as Aida, and Roberto Alagna as Radames. (btw, when I was at the salon a few days ago, I picked-up the Italian Vogue, which had a feature on Urmana.)

Also significant of this event is that Casa Ricordi will use the exhibit to publicize and celebrate their bicentennial, as they had originally published Verdi’s scores (and later his records, and later his 8-tracks, and later his tapes, infinity infinity forever: JINX) two-hundred years ago.

The press release goes onto explain that the Museum of Teatro alla Scala will be hosting various autographs and manuscripts of Verdi. Also part of the exhibition will be loads of sketches, figurines, and photos that he used to study his first representation of Aida in 1872, because he became quite a collector of Egyptian archeological relics to aid his research for visualizing Aida. But the most super-sexy part of the exhibit will be a virtual reality time-machine (1.21 gigawatts!!), where you can go back in time to Cairo, 1872, and wander around the antiques and archeological findings of ancient Egypt. The significance of the time-machine is that Verdi never actually went to Egypt to study the staging and direction for Aida; instead, he used his imagination to, "inventare il vero" (to invent the true).

And then, the press release goes on and on and on about all the kewl things you'll be able to do in the time machine. I personally think someone’s flux capacitor is wound a little too tight. Time-machines make me think of some smelly, stale, outdated Natural Science Museum, and god knows that anyone under the age of sixteen is just not allowed inside Teatro alla Scala anyway.

(btw, click here for the Opera Chic flickr photostream set of “Aida, l'invenzione del vero 1871-1933".)