Budapest Monday

June 9, 2014

Working with H is interesting because our methods are so different and yet our aims similar. We want the beautiful thing, but have radically different ideas on how to get it.  When she explained this project (fourteen years ago, not the twenty I had remembered) I recall swallowing back my impulses and going along with what she wanted, desiring to be part of the project no matter what. She was more specific than the imagination will allow. She doesn’t really do anything, no particular art of her own, but she has definite ideas of the outcome she wants–an impresario? In any case her process involves a whole lot of explaining. She tried to explain–several times– to the chorus, in English, the rather ethereal concept of the project, thinking it would direct their performance. They listened politely and did what they were going to do anyway. The director ignored most of the changes she wanted. Whether she noticed this or not, I don’t know. I think he didn’t understand them because they were not down on the score. The idea that explanation would have any part in the artistic process never crosses my mind, though, of course, communicating outcomes may. She was prostrate with disappointment because we couldn’t get singing bowls in Budapest (I bet we could) and had to be convinced (though she was not convinced) that the piece could be conceived, for the moment, without them. She wanted to explain how the singing bowls sound, so the chorus could somehow have them in mind as they sang. Try to explain a sound. There were parts of the quite beautiful music she wanted to change because it was “so important,” it was “vital” that things conform exactly to her original vision. I don't mean to say any of this is wrong, only that I would never, ever think of it. In all my years of collaboration I have never asked for changes because something departed from my concept. A concept is a seed and the grown tree may look quite different indeed. I think I can be a frustration to a director because when a question of taste comes up, I usually say, “whatever you think best.” But, in fact, I mean exactly that. When I read the text, I see all the things I would NEVER have done if H hadn’t wanted them that way, and, by and large, they are fine with me now. I found a way to incorporate them into my aesthetic view. Her vision altered mine, and that’s fine. The outcome is, I think, quite beautiful, though we’ve not heard it all put together. If she can be induced to leave it alone, to let it have its own life, it may be better than any of us conceived. Getting your way means things will only be as good as you imagined. Letting them free may mean they could be better.  D, her husband, runs elegant interference between her sometimes difficult-to-communicate vision and the practicality of the moment.

Today is Pentecost Monday, a bank holiday in Hungary, and the desk clerk told me everything would be closed. That was not true, but I took the big bus tour and saw the sights I might want to add to my itinerary. It was 37 celsius in Budapest today. I will remember this city in blazing light. The bus accomplished the rather amazing deed of having my seat in the blazing sun all the time, whenever we stopped, whenever we turned. I paid real attention after a while. It was quite miraculous.

The great hill above the city is the witches’ hill, where the witches danced in ancient times. The Hapsburgs built there, and the Hapsburgs fell. The Soviets built there (a monument to Liberation which the Hungarians renamed Lady Liberty) and the Soviets fell.  Sometimes it is better to let the Old Ones alone. I think of the Irish never touching Knocknarea. It is wisdom.