I was looking at this painting, Soup, by Miquel Barceló the other day and was reminded that I had not yet written about last Friday's concert by the Knoxville Symphony Orchestra.
Somehow the idea of soup seemed relevant to me at the time, referencing the idea of art as a soup, as an essential form of nourishment but one that is a melding of all the interests and influences that go into the pot, yielding something that is shaped by and yet not necessarily completely defined by its parts. Friday's concert, titled "Schumann's Circle of Friends" was in its own way a different soup, each work created by an individual, but also existing within a relationship of creative ideas and influences bubbling through the lives of a group of friends, music of a time and a place and a milieu, and yet, at least for some of that music, something that also transcended the limitations of that very culture which shaped its creation, in short, soup.
The concert opened with Felix Mendelssohn's Overture to a Midsummer Night's Dream, written when the composer was 17. It was followed by Clara Schumann's Piano Concerto in A Minor, Op 7, completed when she was 14. The piano concerto was beautifully played by Gabriela Martinez. Clara Schumann was a virtuoso pianist and the piece was written to show off her talents; Martinez seemed to capture this spirit of youthful exuberance beautifully, and the piece was elegantly and harmoniously played, especially in the solo cello passages played by Andy Bryenton.
But I felt the first half of the program was the weaker half. The Clara Schumann work was lovely, extraordinary really for a 14 year old girl, but although it seemed to capture and coalesce all the themes of the moment, it struck me as just that, a perfect pulling together but ultimately without anything new to say. The Mendelssohn overture was also lovely, well-known and beloved by the audience, but the performance felt out of sync at times, and, at least as heard on Friday night, I felt the Mendelssohn did not hold up to the works that followed the intermission.
The second half of the program opened with Fanny Mendelssohn-Hensel's Notturno in G minor. Originally written for solo piano, this arrangement was for flute and strings. I felt the music was truly gorgeous; lyrical, tender at times, but also lush with a great balance of emotion and restraint. I don't know enough about the music of Fanny Mendelssohn, but this concert led me to wonder what might have been had she lived in a different time, with more opportunities for women, led me to wonder if perhaps she was the more talented composer.
Certainly the Notturno held up against Robert Shumann's Third Symphony, "The Rhenish", a work that could be both grand and solemn, yet also lightly lush and lyrical. I was impressed with the performance of a beloved piece that I have admittedly not listened to in a very long time. The guest conductor, Eric Jacobsen, appeared to be adept at balancing this work, which can sometimes feel heavy with conflicting themes, in balance with the mood of the evening. I felt like I was listening with fresh ears, carried away by the music, a feeling only magnified in the final piece, Brahms' Hungarian Dance #1. In fact I think the entire audience, or at least a significant portion, was dancing in their hearts and heads by the time the music ended, and the audience rose up in one swell of joyous applause. Most admirably was how these three pieces, so very different from each other, also were pulled together to create a sense of their own space, of something greater than any single one.
And so I am back to the idea of soup. I saw Barceló's painting at a small museum, the Meadows Museum, on the campus of SMU. I went to see a particular exhibit, which I will write about later, but I was entranced by other pieces in the museum's collection, including this sculpture by Jaume Plensa outside the main entrance. I was taken by its huge scale, and the way its size and construction play with weight and transparency. Perhaps this work too, reminds me of how I felt leaving that concert a week ago, thoughts expanding with the music but also with a sense of transparency, of the light of seeing something familiar in a new way.
But let us enter the museum. Immediately, we proceed up the stairs to the second level, where the main collection and special exhibits are housed. I am as intrigued by the view as I climb, and the glimpse of a twelfth century Spanish painting of The Three Marys, entering the tomb of Jesus.
On the landing are four works, offering a glimpse of the breadth of the museum's holdings. Opposite that first piece is another twelfth century work, this one of the last supper. I love the way the art is positioned so that I cannot get a photo of any one piece without partial glimpses of other works, I love the reflections in the mirrored doors. Alas I was so entranced by the multi-dimensional reflections of he works that I forgot to note anything about the sculpture in the center.
Representing the 20th Century, and bridging the passageway between the two galleries is this sculpture, titled In Between, by contemporary American artist, James Surls. I went to the right, where I found 20th century Spanish art, including the painting at the top of this post, and the special exhibit on Dali, which I hope to be able to tell you about soon.