Art on Park

Les Baigneuses, above, a sculpture by Niki de Saint Phalle, is currently reposing on the traffic island at 57th Street and Park Avenue. It's one of the reasons why a stroll up or down Park can be so pleasant. Other reasons that walking on Park can be a good experience include much wider sidewalks and some really high-end shops. (O.K., there's a Staples too, and, farther up, a Duane Reade among other interlopers.) The sculptures displayed on Park over the past few years have included the giant roses, which I commented on a while back, and even some Boteros, favorites of mine. Those giant plastic or acrylic or whatever-they-were roses looked especially nice when they had snow on them. Wonder if we'll ever see real snow in NYC again.

Here's another one, by Niki—a Totem to something or other. The other attraction on the traffic islands is the lovely floral display, donated by affluent civic-minded people. Right now it's miniature begonias.

And, finally, here's what's in front of the Seagram Building, one of my favorite edifices. Didn't get the artist or the title. Maybe it's more Niki. You tell me.

Santa Fe Dispatch

Dr. Johnson, who in his Dictionary famously defined opera as "an exotic and irrational entertainment," might still have enjoyed himself at the renowned Santa Fe Opera this (nearly) past summer. Everything there conspires to the enjoyment of the art, including the setting, as the view of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains in the background to the far left confirms. Sometimes the effects of the excellent performances are enhanced by non-musical meteorological contributions such as thunder, lightning, and winds during a battle scene in Rossini's monumental Maometto II, a rediscovered masterwork.

The well-behaved and appreciative audiences are another Santa Fe advantage. Heard no cell phones go off, and very few excessive program rustlers. It helps that the beautiful program book is on heavy, rustle-proof stock. Also, we don't have early departures rushing to catch the commuter train to Westchester dashing up the aisles or, as was the case with the final performance of Billy Budd at the Met last spring, getting out of a row, stepping on feet, and ruining the last moments of Captain Vere's moving final monologue at the very end. I'm still angry about that!

Another oft-quoted opera description is by the late Ed Gardner on his hilarious 1940s radio program Duffy's Tavern ("where da elite meet to eat"): "Opera is when a guy gets stabbed in the back and, instead of bleeding, he sings." In Tosca, of course, Scarpia gets stabbed in the chest and is only able to croak out, "Soccorso—muoio," etc. (In Santa Fe's production he was then dragged through a doorway and you could just see his feet sticking out to indicate that there was a body lying there.) On the other hand, Rodrigo in Don Carlo does fulfill Gardner's description quite well, though we wouldn't want to miss his gorgeous aria.

Backing Into Pushkin

Planning to attend American Ballet Theatre's new production of John Cranko's ballet Onegin in a couple of days got me to thinking that I've never read Pushkin's Byronic verse novel Eugene Onegin, though I've read much about it and am a devotee of Tchaikovsky's actually perfect opera despite my failure to have learned more than a few words of Russian. In fact, the only Pushkin I've read, in translation of course, is his short story "The Queen of Spades" ("Pikvaya Dama") also because of an almost-as-wonderful Tchaikovsky opera.

The above portrait from Moscow's Pushkin Museum doesn't show any indication of Pushkin's partial noble African ancestry. Some sources indicate that this was a source of pride, while others maintain that there was some prejudice against him because of it.  Here are statues of Alexander and Natasha Pushkin in Moscow. A duel with a would-be admirer of his beautiful wife brought about the revered poet's death at age 38. Took this photo a few years ago when a tourist there.

And here is Pushkin himself—did his friends call him Sasha?—sitting at a table in what purports to be his old Moscow hangout. Eat your heart out, Madame Tussaud!

Couldn't resist snapping this on my way out of the restaurant. Anyway, at last I'm going to go at least part way to the source. Since I can't read Russian, I've just downloaded an Onegin translation on my Kindle and will read at least some of it before the ballet. Even though I know what's in Tatiana's letter and how it all ends (sniff!).

In Pushkin’s footsteps | Russia Beyond The Headlines

"On the Head"

Yes, there's a teacher shortage and probably always will be. In what now seems a past life, I was a member of that much undervalued profession. Too many non-teaching duties are involved, and frequently administrators have no idea of actual subject matter and don't "get" what you're trying to do.

However, one frequently hears the bromide that "if you can reach just one student...." And this did happen to me. It's one of a very few instances when a reward of the job can be reaped.

A young student, Frank, had been absent and missed some of our lessons on—what else—Hamlet. I went over a few passages, and at one point—it doesn't matter which, as almost every line is great—Frank remarked, wide-eyed, "Gee,  he really hit the nail on the head, didn't he?"

Azaleas "R" in Season!

More pink! As is the case with most spring flowers, you have to look sharp to catch the azalea crop. Fortunately, these pleasing specimens are right here in East 50s Manhattan, and you don’t have to go to a botanical garden to enjoy them. 

Ballerina Fashionista

Entering the elevator on my way to a professional-level ballet class today, I encounter this tiny tot, who is also on the way to her class. Her beautifully coordinated ensemble puts me in mind of the "What I'm Wearing" features in the style section of the Times. Starting at the top, we have a charming pink knitted beret, under which, when she removes it, we can see that her hair is held neatly in place with a frilled pink barrette. Her jewelry features a mixture of pink beads and sparkles. The tutu (also pink, if I haven't mentioned the color before) has a ruffled neckline and a multilayered skirt of tulle, each part of which is bound in pink edging. Pink tights and sparkly pink Mary Janes finish the outfit. Doubtless she'll change those before class for miniature ballet slippers, pink, needless to say. A really zippy touch is added by her heart-shaped  sunglasses with frames in the obligatory color. Apparently, a lot of thought has been given to dressing up to meet an appreciative audience this morning.

April on East 55th Street

No lack of variety in NYC! Walking east of Fifth Avenue on East 55th Street, what do we see parked in front of the St. Regis hotel but a Lamborghini!

I may have seen one of these impressive cars before but can't remember having done so. Walking farther, to Park Avenue, we come upon a lush stand of yellow tulips at the absolute peak of their blooms. Nature and technology are both enhancing the attractions of Gotham today. I assume that one of the St. Regis attendants is watching the Lamborghini, as I don't imagine it can be parked there legally. Unless someone has a lot of influence or has greased the appropriate palms. As for the tulips, they are definitely legal.