Esa Ráfaga
Saturday, March 26, 2016
 |
| Tango |
I love the Spanish word despilfarro from the verb
despilfarrar. It translates (not very well) as waste. Think of throwing money
out of the window with a smile on your face. This verb is exhuberant.
Thought when one is busy is difficult and a luxury. Thought
when one is finally retired (and avoiding thinking that what it really is, is “waiting
to die” is almost a despilfarro. I instantly think of the lyrics of Captain
Beefheart song Ashtray Heart, “somebody has had too much to think”.
I now do a lot of this. My thought involves places,
Argentina, Mexico, Texas and Vancouver. It is about my friends and relatives,
the ones who are dead and the ones still with me. It is about gardens had and a
new one to be worked on and seen. It is about the loss of my darkroom and the
excitement of a now functioning inkjet printer. It is about my body’s faulty
plumbing and the exploration of eroticism only with the mind. It is about
sharing what’s left with my Rosemary and our cat Casi-Casi. It is about
bringing warmth to my youngest daughter and her youngest daughter with a meal
and movie in our new Kitsilano home.
But the most troubling kind of thought is determining where
I belong. Vancouver to me is an unfriendly place. I long for hotter climes and
my family in Argentina. I want to drink a mate but this is not done alone. I
miss my Argentine artist friend Nora and her new partner Roberto. With them we
would share a mate and converse in Argentine Spanish.
In my thoughts I want to be in Buenos Aires, I want to be in
the Veracruz of my mother in the Austin of Brother Edwin Reggio, in the home of
my departed friend Abraham Rogatnick, going to see an Italian film with my
mentor and friend Raúl in Mexico City and listening his describe beautiful
music as “bello”.
I am now listening to more records and CDs in my comfortable
living room/dining room. Of late it has been Hampton Hawes on the piano or
Astor Piazzolla on the bandoneón.I have been thinking of the pleasure of having danced the
tango (almost well) and how Argentine I felt (and how I seemed to belong to
myself) when I did so.
Tango music takes me to places, streets and, corners of my
former life in Argentina. I smile when I read that Obama in his recent trip to
Buenos Aires danced the tango. What a classy man. Imagine a Republican doing
the tango!
Jorge Luís Borges wrote a lovely poem, El Tango. I have it
in my collection of Borges books. There is no translated version of it in the
internet (or surprisingly one in Spanish). So below you will find a Youtubeversion of Borges himself reading his poem. And there is that line that makes
my skin crawl with nostalgia:
Esa ráfaga, el tango, esa diablura,
Los atareados años desafía;
Hecho de polvo y tiempo, el hombre dura
Menos que la liviana melodía,
That Unkind Cut - II
Friday, March 25, 2016
I have stressed in these blogs that whenever I am faced with
a lovely landscape I control myself and buy a postcard. My days of street
photography (so popular right now) were over in the beginning of the 70s.
My interest has always been with the portrait. In fact my
most popular course that I taught at the now closed Focal Point School was
something I called the Contemporary Portrait Nude. No matter what I do I must
in some way incorporate or suggest the human face.
One big problem (for me) is that there are certain parts of
that human body that are anathema. I would include neck folds (ugh!), the
little creases when an arm is held tightly to the body (near the shoulder) and
for many years the foot. Since then I found ways of including the foot. With
hands I always want to show them in grace and this usually means to show the
front of the hand in some sort of curled position. Ballet dancers know about this.
Lastly when I crop a photograph I never crop at the knee. I
crop a bit over the knee making sure both sides of the thigh taper. If they don’t
they will suggest thick Steinway legs unseen. Cropping arms can only be done if
you crop not quite at the elbow and never (never!) at the wrist. Hands have to
be show or you crop above the elbow. And of course you don’t crop at the
ankles. You show the foot (or shoe) or you crop above the knee.
These are my personal rules and anybody who might disagree
can disagree to their heart’s content.
When I was taking photographs of Andrea some weeks ago (I
suspect she may be a spy as she disappears for prolonged lengths of time with
no explanation given) I knew I was making a mistake with that left arm raised.
It would have worked just fine with a black long sleeved top. Note how in the
first photograph you see a bit of the elbow. That is a definite mark against my
photo. If I cut that elbow dimple then Andrea’s head is much too close to the
top edge of frame. That is another portrait no-no and particularly since in my
past as a magazine photographer, art directors liked lots of space above should
the photograph appear on a cover.
In the second variation of my photograph I have attempted
to minimize that guillotined limb by using a photographic technique called vignetting.
But I must add that it is very difficult to take a bad photograph of Andrea. And this one, in my books, is an example of a good one in spite of...
That unkind cut
Learning to crop wikth Lorian
Los Zapatos de Charol
Thursday, March 24, 2016
Not all tangos are just tangos. Some have an almost samba rythm and are called candombe. My Wikipedia says of the candombe:
Candombe is an Uruguayan music and dance that
comes from African slaves. It is considered an important aspect of the
culture of Uruguay and was recognized by UNESCO as a World Cultural
Heritage of humanity. To a lesser extent, candombe is practiced in Argentina [Paraguay) and Brazil.
A candombe can be an almost voodoo gathering. I was taken to one when I was around 8. At that time in Buenos Aires we had a live-in couple. Zelia was our cook/housekeeper and her husband Abelardo had a day job I have no memory of what it was. They were black. I had very blond hair. Zelia asked my mother if they could take me to a candombe so they could show off my looks. I remember a big fire, lots of drums and a legion of black people staring at me and smiling.There was dancing.
All the above is but an excuse to run a picture of one of my former tango partners. Her name was Gabriela. She was almost six feet tall. She wore long black (and tight) dresses with a slit (very high) on the side. When we danced nobody noticed me (that was good) because all eyes were on Gabriela (and that was good, too). So this efficient Argentine tango dancer could pass muster on her (ahem!) coat tails.
There is more of Gabriela here. And of course she always wore patent leather tango shoes, zapatos de charol. The lyrics of that famous tango candombe
Charol
Candombe
Música:
Osvaldo Sosa Cordero
Letra:
Osvaldo Sosa Cordero
¡Charol!
¡Charol!
Como
noche sin luna,
como los
cuervos,
era
charol.
En la
piel, pinta bruna,
y en
todo el cuerpo
fiebre
de sol.
Como
noche sin luna,
como los
cuervos,
era
charol.
¡Charol!
¡Charol!
No
conoció su cuna
y en la
recova
se hizo
mayor.
Nunca
tuvo fortuna
ni tuvo
amigos,
ni tuvo
amor.
No
conoció su cuna
y en la
recova
se hizo
mayor.
¡Charol!
¡Charol!
Cuidando
las carretas,
Charol
mataba
su frío
y su hambre.
Hondas
eran sus penas,
hondas,
tan hondas
como los
parches.
Cuando
el candombe rojo
con su
retumbe
rasgaba
el aire.
¡Ay
Charol! ¡Pobre negro Charol!
¡Ay
Charol! ¡Pobre negro Charol!
¡Ay
Charol! ¡Pobre negro Charol!
Nadie
asomó a su sueño,
pero él
soñaba,
¡Pobre
Charol!
Y era la
de su ensueño,
de tez
de nieve
y bucles
de sol.
Nadie
asomó a su sueño,
pero él
soñaba,
¡Pobre
Charol!
¡Charol!
¡Charol!
Negro
como su cuerpo,
fue su
destino
de frío
y de hambre.
Hondas
eran sus penas,
hondas,
tan hondas
como los
parches.
Cuando
el candombe rojo
con su
retumbe
rasgaba
el aire.
¡Ay Charol! ¡Pobre negro Charol!
¡Ay Charol! ¡Pobre negro Charol!
¡Ay Charol! ¡Pobre negro Charol!
Evgeni Onegin & That Bond Girl
Wednesday, March 23, 2016
 |
| Marina Hasselberg in The Dress |
This last Sunday my Rosemary and I attended a matinee
performance of Amiel Gladstone and Veda Hill’s Onegin at the Arts Club
Theatre Company’s (Shared with Bard on the Beach) new digs called the Goldcorp
Stage At The BMO Theatre Centre (that name is not Twitter friendly!).
Right off the bat I was confused. The actors on stage
(all consummate actors) did not seem to talk. They only sang. At the interval I
decided to consult with an expert who was on the other side (in this
configuration and I believe that it could also be transformed into a
theatre-in-the-round) of the stage. This was my friend Peter Birnie former
theatre critic of the Vancouver Sun. Off the bat he told me (with a twinkle in
his eyes), “I am the Theatre Critic Emeritus.” I asked him why it was that in
this musical the actors did not talk. His answer was succinct, “You have Onegin
in the wrong classification. This is an opera.” Knowing what to expect I
settled down to enjoy the opera.
I was not too sure of the play's resolution as my last experience
with Onegin was in 2008 when I saw the Vancouver Opera’s Eugene Onegin (the one
with music by composer Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky). I did not know the victor of
the duel that is central to Pushkin’s story.
There was another wait and see factor (and yes suspen se) for me. Hanging
with a couple of assorted string instruments by orchestra percussionist Barry
Mirochnick was a balalaika. Was he going to play it? He did. When? Towards the end.
I could write a rave review on how much fun I had and how
catchy and wonderful the music was. That was so and I won't. But what hit me hard with
complete amazement was the versatility of the actors who acted, sang, danced
and played various musical instruments. The orchestra, Veda Hille on piano and
keyboards, Barry Mirochnick percussion and Marina Hasselberg (more on her
later) cello “only” had to play and sing!
When one of the actors was dispatched at the duel he
stayed at the keyboards for the rest of the opera. I was amazed to see Meg Roe
(she has never been seen as a tall girl) strap on a large electric guitar and
sing at a mike. Caitriona Murphy who plays Madame Larin (and others) was a most
efficient violinist, too! Just about every actor had to play a
set of vertical bells at least once.
The audience was asked to participate as a 19th
century Russian postal system (which obviously had Sunday delivery) and a few lucky blokes on the front row were
given glasses with booze (vodka?).
It took this Latin American some time to adjust and learn
to like musicals. I never understood the concept of talking and then suddenly
singing. Thanks to years of attending Arts Club Theatre musical productions I
am now well-versed in the musical. I remember fondly some years ago when that
actress of actresses Jennifer Lines in an Arts Club Theatre play pulled out an
accordion that was hidden under a sofa and played it superbly. She was
definitely ahead on this actor-versatility-sort-of-thing.
In the beginning of the opera Alessandro Juliani (not yet
wearing that handsome top hat) was on my side of the stage standing on the isle.
The opera had not begun so I told him I knew the cellist. His immediate comment
was, “That Bond Girl.”
I cannot end this review without mentioning the real star
of the opera. This has to be Costume Designer Jacqueline Firkins. Her costumes
were very good.
But the one Marina Hasselberg was wearing (and the
costume jewelry) was superb (one word will have to suffice as there is no room
here for all the superlatives in my head). My only regret was the dress was too
long to show off Hasselberg’s trademark fishnets and Marlene Dietrich legs.
Marina Hasselberg is perhaps ample proof that versatility
is in the air. She plays the classic cello and its classic repertoire. She
plays the baroque cello (no end pin) with a repertoire of early 17 th
century music. And she also plays new music and has just about every local new music
composer creating music for her. That was a good call Veda Hille.
Warning: Should you want to take the elevator up to the Hamilton Lounge or to visit either the Bard on the Beach office or the Arts Club Theatre one I would take the stairs. A plaque by the elevator says "This elevator supported by Mr. & Mrs...."
More Veda Hille
The Wonders Of Restrictive Limitation
Tuesday, March 22, 2016
 |
| Andrea Stefancikova |
We live in a world of over choice. I am from a generation where all phones were black.
I am in
firm belief that in photography and the arts to be limited is the fastest
avenue to startling creativity. Amedeo Modigliani who died when he was 35 is
one of many artists who produced unusual stuff before they died.
As a an
arts photographer for the Globe & Mail in the 90s I was always faced with a
few minutes to photograph actors, musicians, film directors and politicians.
Since the writer for most of these sessions was the now highfalutin lawyer
Christopher Dafoe I was given the privilege of sitting in on his interviews
before my photographic session at the end of it. In that time I would quickly
eliminate what I could not do because of time and then I knew that there was
only one approach left. For me this was liberating challenge and when I was
given more time I always said I was done. In some cases (and I did this to
satisfy my inner self) I might take three exposures in a ten exposure roll and
quit right there.
Five years
ago I had a lovely and large (with a very high ceiling) studio on Granville and
Robson. I had a huge variety of lighting systems but I limit myself to shooting
against a middle gray wall. By placing my lights and or subject near or far
from the wall I could make the background go black to almost white.
Once I left
my studio I placed a gray backdrop ( reduced in width) between my living room
and dining room in the Athlone house. It served me well and that is where most
of my red shawl series were taken.
In our new
Kitsilano duplex the garage was converted by the former owner into an office.
But he left 40% of it into a storage area too small for a car (a bike
perhaps?). The storage area and the office are separated by a wall and door.
I had a
rubber matt with a carpet installed in that storage area. Three of the walls
are now white and my shooting wall is middle gray. I was pleased to find out
that the wall is much wider than my Athlone Street gray backdrop!
The studio
is intimate (a euphemism for small) and I like the restrictions on what I can
do in it. It reduces my choices. I like that as I have pointed out above.
Here is a
scanned Fuji FP-3000B (3200 ISO) instant print. Alas it has been now long
discontinued but I have a few boxes left and I use this film gingerly. Because
it is so fast I do not fire my lights as flash but use the quartz modeling
lights that are built in. Here in the snap of my new muse Andrea Stefancikova I
used a Chinese-made beauty dish with a grid. The grid is what produced those
little squares of light in the background.
I am most pleased
with this shot and I look forward to further creative restrictions in my new
studio with the help of my muse.
In the Athlone house the guest bathroom was close by. I liked taking my subjects there where I would take a snap and include myself in the mirror. The bathroom was narrow in depth but wide. The new guest bathroom is smaller in every way but that did not prevent me from taking Andrea and shooting our selfie.
|
