De Ce Monde Secret de l’ Amelie Americaine

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Uploaded by denis_music

A few months ago, a fellow from my MyBlogLog community posted an advertisement for his project using my “prendre une photo” feature on my sidebar. I’m always one to support another artist’s project big or small, professional or amateur, parce que je suis une jeune artiste aussi! Little did I know that when the final product was released that I’d be very impress that this artist was lurking in my blogging world. Here’s to you! If you would like to read a review of the film, visit another MyBlogLog friend Titus, from Le Monde du Titus. (note, if your browser does not support the embedded video player above, please click on the link to view the trailer)

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One of the unexpected benefits of this blog is that it has actually brought me closer to acquaintances, old friends, and total strangers. A few days ago, I received an invitation to go to the Musee D’Orsay with someone I had never met before, (yes it was a boy).

In honor of Laurent and his friends who are…as I write this…visiting one of the best museums in Paris, I offer this humble video tribute to the art work you can see there.

 

 Art of the Musee D'Orsay [3:51m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

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There are certain figures and institutions who rise above criticism, even as we are shaking our heads asking why they chose to participate in the project. For example I muttered to myself, “You have got to be kidding me!” when I saw Catherine Deneuve in that awfully cheesy, tongue in cheek movie, “8 Femmes”…a musical murder mystery starring some of France’s most cherished leading ladies.

From the start, “Mother Courage”, playing at the Delacorte theater in Central Park, has garnered intense criticism both about the length, and the performance of its actors. Certain local gossip columns have reported that audiences are walking out on Meryl Streep and Kevin Kline. We have to ask ourselves, how could the actors who riveted us in Sophie’s Choice, fail to impress us?

Both actors have rightfully earned the respect of audiences for their long distinguished careers. Yet these are the same audiences who expect that every performance they give or role they choose, be Oscar worthy. While technically speaking I don’t know how I would have done it differently, something about it was just…not right. I know that I stand on the precipice of a cliff when I say that even Meryl is not capable of perfection.

Why is it this is statement taboo? It is not because she is one of those gross celebrities with an overblown ego. Quite to the contrary. She has an excellent, personable reputation.

I think it’s our fault. As an audience member, I expect that once an artist reaches a certain level of success, they’re never allowed to venture into territory where the odds of their success are uncertain. They always have to be geniuses or why else do they deserve the status given them by us mere mortals. Celebrities are our gods, our queens and kings, our saviors and our role models.

True the role of Mother Courage would have been better served by someone like Patti Lupone, who could have easily personified the strong gruff character and belted out the lyrics with the skill needed to carry the role. But what I took away from the preview performance of this play was that being a great artist is often an exercise in courage. We have to go beyond our own boundaries, and be willing to fail, so that we are NOT imprisoned by expectations. Then when we do succeed, our success does not become a trap where public opinion matters more than the act of creation.

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Every summer the Public Theater puts on a play written by Shakespeare or some other notable scribe, at the open air Delacorte Theater in Central Park. Unlike most New York activities…it is completely free, and it is usually performed by a number of well known celebrites. This year among others, Meryl Streep and Kevin Kline lend their talents to the anti-war play, “Mother Courage” by Bertolt Brecht.

If the weather is right, it is always one of the highlights of a summer spent in Gotham. Especially since part of the fun is spending hours in line. I mean it, and not in sarcastic way. Some of the best times I’ve had in New York were spent camping out on a city block downtown, or in Central Park the night before, to make sure that I could get my hands on my two free tickets.

You are never alone. You usually spend your time among at least five hundred others the night before, and a thousand more who show up early the next morning to wait in line.

There’s a lot you can see when you spend the night sitting on a sidewalk. Even if the heat and humidity are grueling, there a peace that decends when the street lamps go on. They just make everything look so much more vibrant and less harsh. You realize how much you miss when you are simply another hurried pedestrian trying to get somewhere. Day to day you don’t have time to take it all in.

You also get to know the people in line with you, and generally they’re nice, culturally aware folks like yourself. This year my friend Robin made friends with the two travelers from Spain, who later gave us their spare tickets so we could invite more of our friends. She in turn gave them a tour of the television studio where we work. They were thrilled to have another story to take back home with them.

However the best moment this year was the flute player who serenaded our line with songs from the soundtracks of several classic movies. My favorite was his rendition of “Eye of Tiger” from the early eighties boxing movie “Rocky”. Don’t worry if you have a hard time visualizing what that would sound like. I’m attaching a photo to this post as proof.

In the end, it was a gorgeous day to spend outside. The heated has finally abated and the trees provided all the shade that we needed. And although the play was painfully long (3.5 hours) and the dialog of the play was somewhat stymied by the sounds police helicopters and sirens on the upper westside, it could not have been a more perfect summer evening.

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This is me staring at the ceiling of my very nice, historic hotel in San Francisco. Presidents have been shot at on its steps. Celebrities have graced it’s corridors, and I had the very good fortune of staying here while working on a corporate show at the Moscone Center.

Everything was paid for. Food was brought to us every three to four hours. And not the usual craft service of weak coffee and packaged junk food. Instead I was treated to steak, fish, pasta, mexican, chinese, and there was always dessert: chocolate cake or chocolate moose. I was never hungry. It was there at my fingertips before the thought even crossed my mind.

I’m not use to my needs being anticipated. My bed was made for me and although the hallway on the fourth floor reminded me of the hotel in “The Shining”, I couldn’t of asked for a nicer experience. I was happy, grateful, and rested.
There was even time before work to walk around Union Square and take some photographs or stop by one of the several bistros that lined Powell Street and sip espresso.

However, here I was in what my sister called, “A cleaner New York.” A place that I had left ten years ago for the trenches of NYC, enjoying unusually balmy weather (mid-seventies), and every photo I took had the same over yellow, bland expression. Somewhere, I was “lost in translation”. It was beautiful. I was not the least bit stressed by either my surroundings or the job was on, and still I couldn’t find “it”. That part of me that zeros in on the moment and is able to capture it artistically.

What I had to ask myself…”Is my art rooted in my discontent?” And if so, what is going to happen to me or my work if I have nothing to complain about?

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