June 3, 2024 Issue

Notes on this week's issue:

1. Jackson Arn, in his absorbing “The Perfectionist,” writes,

Nearly as revelatory is the show’s collection of Brancusi’s photographs, many documenting his work, though what they reveal is still an open question. His friend Man Ray scorned them. Peter Campbell, the longtime art critic for the London Review of Books, thought them more enduring works than the sculptures themselves.

Brancusi a photographer? I didn’t know that. Arn’s reference to Campbell sent me looking for his article. I found it in the July 20, 1995 London Review of Books. It’s titled “Inconstancy.” Campbell calls Brancusi’s photos of his studio “considerable works of art.” He says that Man Ray was “dismissive of the quality of the pictures but Brancusi was, in fact, a much better photographer, not only of his work, but of himself, than his friend was.” 

What? Brancusi better than Man Ray? I don’t think so. The Centre Pompidou website, where the Brancusi retrospective (the subject of Arn’s review) is on display, shows only two Brancusi photos, neither of them all that remarkable, certainly not in the league of Man Ray’s great “La Révolution Surréaliste” (1930). Or am I missing something? This subject merits further study. 

2. Alex Ross has done it again. He’s seduced me with another of his exquisite music descriptions. In his “Thoroughly Modern,” a review of a recent Yuja Wang recital at Disney Hall, in Los Angeles, he writes,

After intermission came Chopin’s four Ballades—if not the highest summit in the piano repertory, then one of its hairier ascents. Mastering the exuberantly moody First Ballade is one of the age-old tests of conservatory training: on YouTube, you can find Wang giving an excellent, if somewhat studied, performance of it at her Curtis Institute graduation recital. The other three Ballades move beyond the familiar welter of Romantic emotion into zones of volatility and violence. The Second Ballade—which may or may not have been inspired by an Adam Mickiewicz poem about Polish maidens fleeing from Russian soldiers—begins with a pastoral siciliano in F major. Wang lingered over the passage with unaffected tenderness, giving just a twinge of emphasis to its bittersweet chromaticism. It trails off with a series of A’s that, in Wang’s hands, rang like a distant bell in a valley—the prelude to a brutal A-minor assault.

That “Wang lingered over the passage with unaffected tenderness, giving just a twinge of emphasis to its bittersweet chromaticism” is superb. But Ross is just getting started. His description of Wang’s rendition of Chopin’s Fourth Ballade is inspired:

The Fourth Ballade stages a climactic collision of extremes. It begins with seven bucolic bars in C major, which turn out to be a prelude to a mournful F minor. At the end of the initial passage comes a solitary, exposed C: Wang rendered it with a sudden coldness, signalling the transition to the minor. Such nuances of articulation are essential to persuasive Chopin playing. The oasis of C major returns just before the coda, this time reduced to five pianissimo chords. Wang struck the first of these with a dry, plain tone; then her touch softened, so that the chords subsided into a somnolent haze. After a split-second pause, the coda exploded with concussive force. These events didn’t feel plotted in advance: Wang seemed lost in the music, in the best way.

Wow! I’m not a classical music fan. But Ross has a way of melting my resistance. After reading his superb review, I spent the evening blissfully watching YouTube videos of Wang performances. She’s absolutely mesmerizing! I think I'm falling in love with her.