Monday, July 20, 2009
Sappy Summer.
I’m not really a crier. At least, I don’t think I am. But this summer, something seems to be getting to me. Maybe it’s just stress, or lack of sleep, or general sentimentality, but I’ve found myself getting misty, and sometimes outright weepy, especially when something reminds me of the power and meaning of art in our lives. So, I present to you, Laura's List of Things that Made Me Cry this Summer:
Heart of the Beast May Day Parade – parades always get me choked up, something about all that community spirit, pride and spectacle. This one in particular is such a big, beautiful mess – a miracle that such beauty and collaboration can come from such free spirited chaos, a delightful challenge to my micro-managing instincts.
Paperbag Princess at Stages Theater – plays with young people in them are another easy way to get me going, especially the curtain call. I know firsthand how formative and life-changing the experience of being an artist at a young age can be. To realize your own power and ability, to experience the camaraderie and friendship that grow so quickly from collaboration, to hear the appreciation of the audience’s applause—what tremendous gifts for a teenager. Oy, makes me well up just thinking about it.
South High Community Band at the Minnehaha Bandshell—we’ve been taking our 3 year old to lots of these free outdoor concerts this summer. This one in particular was on a perfect Minnesota summer evening and something about the gentle breeze, the warm dusk, the canopy of trees and the idea of this music being played by people of all generations (the band is made up of current students and alumni of South High in Minneapolis) as a gift to their neighborhood…I had to pretend my eyes were watering from the wind.
Caroline Or Change at the Guthrie—lest you think I am a hopeless softie, I can be pretty critical, too… I am frequently that annoying theater snob who stays seated while everyone else is giving a standing ovation. Because it really does mean something to me to stand. I've experienced a few of those truly spontaneous standing ovations and it has reinforced my feeling that standing ovations should be reserved for performances that are so moving, so wonderful, so hilarious, so virtuosic, or so "something" that you simply cannot stay in your seat. You are compelled to stand. The night I saw Caroline (as part of the Guthrie’s Kushner Festival), it was one of those amazing events, where the audience felt like one body, we remained seated and then leapt to our feet when Greta Oglesby, who played Caroline, came out for her bow--I also burst into tears. I was really surprised by this quiet show, I didn’t really feel bowled over until the end and then the cumulative effect of a finely crafted story, beautiful performances, critical and thought provoking themes, and the sheer stamina and skill required of the artists for a performance like that did me in.
Fourth of July parade, Land o’Lakes, Wisconsin—another in my continuing affection for parades. This is a tiny parade in the small town near my family cabin in Northern Wisconsin. Usually this parade doesn’t even have a band, because there’s no high school in Land O’Lakes. This year, though, in front of one of the “floats” (which are usually more “trucks with some streamers on them”) was a solo trumpet. He couldn’t have been more than 12 years old, walking completely alone, playing Grand Old Flag on his trumpet. I’ll spare you the moving backstory I immediately invented for this poor kid, but whatever his reasons, it takes real guts to commit to a hour long solo gig in front of, literally, everyone you know.
Kooza, Cirque du Soleil—this was the fifth time I’ve seen Cirque du Soleil. Always an impressive spectacle, during this show I was especially struck with the way that Cirque can combine what has become a huge, for-profit, concession and merch selling machine with the distinct, intimate, artistic integrity that made them successful in the first place. There was a man sitting behind us, a loud-talking, suburban, 40-something…my husband and I exchanged looks as we sat down, “Great, that guy.” But in the end, I kind of loved him. He and my 3 year old were equally awestruck by the acrobatics, equally delighted by the clowns and both enjoyed screaming and clapping at the end of each act.
Maybe it's the pressure of "the economy these days" or the chance to experience art through the eyes of my child, or perhaps I am just overtired. But something about this summer has felt different, and I've realized in a new way that even as we are bombarded with images and messages of fear, instability, disaster and crisis – it is art that provides hope, joy, community, understanding and spirituality to my life.
See you out and about…I’ll be in the one weeping in the corner.
-laura
I’m not really a crier. At least, I don’t think I am. But this summer, something seems to be getting to me. Maybe it’s just stress, or lack of sleep, or general sentimentality, but I’ve found myself getting misty, and sometimes outright weepy, especially when something reminds me of the power and meaning of art in our lives. So, I present to you, Laura's List of Things that Made Me Cry this Summer:
Heart of the Beast May Day Parade – parades always get me choked up, something about all that community spirit, pride and spectacle. This one in particular is such a big, beautiful mess – a miracle that such beauty and collaboration can come from such free spirited chaos, a delightful challenge to my micro-managing instincts.
Paperbag Princess at Stages Theater – plays with young people in them are another easy way to get me going, especially the curtain call. I know firsthand how formative and life-changing the experience of being an artist at a young age can be. To realize your own power and ability, to experience the camaraderie and friendship that grow so quickly from collaboration, to hear the appreciation of the audience’s applause—what tremendous gifts for a teenager. Oy, makes me well up just thinking about it.
South High Community Band at the Minnehaha Bandshell—we’ve been taking our 3 year old to lots of these free outdoor concerts this summer. This one in particular was on a perfect Minnesota summer evening and something about the gentle breeze, the warm dusk, the canopy of trees and the idea of this music being played by people of all generations (the band is made up of current students and alumni of South High in Minneapolis) as a gift to their neighborhood…I had to pretend my eyes were watering from the wind.
Caroline Or Change at the Guthrie—lest you think I am a hopeless softie, I can be pretty critical, too… I am frequently that annoying theater snob who stays seated while everyone else is giving a standing ovation. Because it really does mean something to me to stand. I've experienced a few of those truly spontaneous standing ovations and it has reinforced my feeling that standing ovations should be reserved for performances that are so moving, so wonderful, so hilarious, so virtuosic, or so "something" that you simply cannot stay in your seat. You are compelled to stand. The night I saw Caroline (as part of the Guthrie’s Kushner Festival), it was one of those amazing events, where the audience felt like one body, we remained seated and then leapt to our feet when Greta Oglesby, who played Caroline, came out for her bow--I also burst into tears. I was really surprised by this quiet show, I didn’t really feel bowled over until the end and then the cumulative effect of a finely crafted story, beautiful performances, critical and thought provoking themes, and the sheer stamina and skill required of the artists for a performance like that did me in.
Fourth of July parade, Land o’Lakes, Wisconsin—another in my continuing affection for parades. This is a tiny parade in the small town near my family cabin in Northern Wisconsin. Usually this parade doesn’t even have a band, because there’s no high school in Land O’Lakes. This year, though, in front of one of the “floats” (which are usually more “trucks with some streamers on them”) was a solo trumpet. He couldn’t have been more than 12 years old, walking completely alone, playing Grand Old Flag on his trumpet. I’ll spare you the moving backstory I immediately invented for this poor kid, but whatever his reasons, it takes real guts to commit to a hour long solo gig in front of, literally, everyone you know.
Kooza, Cirque du Soleil—this was the fifth time I’ve seen Cirque du Soleil. Always an impressive spectacle, during this show I was especially struck with the way that Cirque can combine what has become a huge, for-profit, concession and merch selling machine with the distinct, intimate, artistic integrity that made them successful in the first place. There was a man sitting behind us, a loud-talking, suburban, 40-something…my husband and I exchanged looks as we sat down, “Great, that guy.” But in the end, I kind of loved him. He and my 3 year old were equally awestruck by the acrobatics, equally delighted by the clowns and both enjoyed screaming and clapping at the end of each act.
Maybe it's the pressure of "the economy these days" or the chance to experience art through the eyes of my child, or perhaps I am just overtired. But something about this summer has felt different, and I've realized in a new way that even as we are bombarded with images and messages of fear, instability, disaster and crisis – it is art that provides hope, joy, community, understanding and spirituality to my life.
See you out and about…I’ll be in the one weeping in the corner.
-laura
# posted by laura @ 1:15 PM 
