Lyrical: NY Upstate of Mind

First, somebody in Corning NY deserves a Nobel Prize in tourism promotion for the large share of visitors from China and the presentations in both English and Mandarin at the Corning Museum of Glass. Not quite a Michelin 3-star "worth a trip all for itself," but close, 2 stars: if you were doing an "all across America" vacation, definitely a rival to Niagara Falls or Frank Lloyd Wright's Fallingwater as something to see between New York and Detroit.

On Saturday 1pm ish, the hands-on "work your own glass" projects were also super cool (about 2000 degrees Fahrenheit).  Oldest daughter made a flower. Youngest daughter wrought a pendant. Youngest and I made a melt-and-fuse stained glass wind chime. All had to cool overnight (annealing), and we didn't make it back by 8pm Sunday for pickup, so they'll be cheerfully shipped to home for $19.

But the purpose of the trip was to retrieve daughter #2 at Chautauqua NY, which is also a pre-automobile Brigadoon worth seeing "in season" (June - August).  It's definitely a preserved slice of 1912 with a walkable, Victorian feel, such as The Music Man celebrates or such as Walt Disney referenced from his Kansas City boyhood. A set piece of Americana that Teddy Roosevelt described as "the most American thing in America" (speaking before Las Vegas assumed that role).

So, burying the lede, I saw my first Ballanchine-choreographed ballet, and it really was different and better. Think back to the first time that you (as perhaps a non-music person) could tell that Beethoven was different from anything that had gone before or since, and enjoyed by some fans as just better. Your heart said "wow" and your mind said "I can see what the fuss is about."

So there were two conflicting experiences I had in the amphitheater at Chautauqua

• The School Recital, and 
• The Direct Connection to Singular Art

The School Recital

If you have not been a parent at a School Recital, the Music Man's final scene does a loving/lampooning job of describing what it is like (see linked video), with parents standing and declaiming their internal thoughts: "That tuba is my Barney!  Linus! Play to me, son! Davey! That's my Davey!"

I think there's a universal experience of The School Recital as a parent: You sit down with the xeroxed program and look for your kids name, and hope it appears in at least 1/3 of scenes.

Blogger's tip: Pre-mark your kid's scenes with a Braille slash. Dig your finger nail into the program's margin at the left of any of your childen's names, and maybe the name of other kids (but only if they've actually been to your house).
.
Make two nail marks for your own kids and a single mark for anyone else.  These Braille slashes will allow you find the interesting parts even in a darkened auditorium, without being so obvious as using pen, nor so obtuse as waiting for the spousal elbow.

During any scene that your kid isn't in, you can think about scheduled auto maintenance, or upcoming vacation plans, or unanswered work emails as long you appear outwardly interested. Ideally, maintain an air of Patron of the Arts.  If you're lucky, there's a famous story or famous bit of music that you recognize.

When your finger feels a raised mark after a curtain or lighting change, be sure to look up, a child you know is on stage. Then it gets interesting, even good or really great. 

The Direct Connection to Singular Art

I knew that George Ballanchine was a big deal, the founder and majority owner of an entire genre of great art, as Beethoven is to Romantic style. I remember the story in the newspaper and the network news from when Ballanchine died-it makes a good Jeopardy question--but at age 50 I couldn't say I'd ever seen any Ballanchine ballet.  But, aspiring to be a Fancy Person, I am open to learning based on past revelatory experiences, like experiencing a first Monet exhibit, or Beatles song, or live-band Stars & Stripes Forever, or first Rogers and Hammerstein.

Try also to recall the first time you heard Moonlight Sonata. Remember that feeling? Savor that.

Now add the feeling if Moonlight Sonata was the first (and only) Beethoven you'd ever experienced.
Raise the stakes: imagine it at a school run by Beethoven's favorite piano soloist, for whom Beethoven wrote pieces specifically.

Then add that The Master's Student is now 74, but each summer she singles out a handful of soloists to dance pieces (The Raymonda variations, in this case) written originally for her. Finally, imagine that, at the end of the summer, in a genteel arts community, that summer student performs a work like Moonlight Sonata, just one degree removed from its creator and greatest performer and répétiteur

Repetiteur: In ballet, a répétiteur teaches the steps and interpretation of the roles to some or all of the company performing a dance.^[1] Several late 20th-century choreographers, such as George Balanchine, Jerome Robbins and Twyla Tharp, have established trusts and appointed conservators—hand-picked dancers who have intimate knowledge of particular ballets—as répétiteurs of their works.

Now Mash them Up

So now imagine that the first time you heard Moonlight Sonata, it was your daughter at the keyboard performing on stage, in a large summer festival amphitheater, communicating that direct connection to Beethoven and Beethoven's favorite soloist, yet radiating her own personal joy as your 16-year-old daughter.  That's what I saw.

What I Saw

My daughter was dancing as taught by Patricia McBride, George Ballanchine's favorite principal dancer, and Kennedy Center Laureate in her own right (she danced 60 principal roles at the NYC Ballet, 30 created for her by the likes of Ballanchine or Jerome Robbins).

George Ballanchine was celebrated in his life and at his death as an inventor of a whole new kind of ballet and here I was only vaguely aware that ballet had genres, which I'd guess to be Russian, French, and neither-Russian-nor-French, and maybe Folkloric.

As I watched, I had conflicting self-conscious emotions, torn between "I can die happy" and the Music Man's "that's my [child's name here]!".

I let "I can die happy" win.

I saw my daughter truly radiating joy, as she danced a particularly, uniquely beautiful piece--maybe one of the most beautiful things made in the 20th Century--which I'd never seen the likes of before, and which almost seemed to have been invented expressly for her.

Experiencing her becoming joyfully One with Art, was overwhelming. I had a self-conscious mashup of naive audience member surprised by a first encounter with art, and knowing that my daughter was the one chosen to express it.

I was brought to tears and embraced them, even as my attention was torn between the transcending  beauty and my internal turmoil.

Am I this happy? Is this Joy? Is this that beautiful?
Yes, I am that happy. It is joy. Yes it is that beautiful 

Are you watching? Do you see her?
Yes. 

Don't get distracted by your own reaction.
Uh, thanks for the tip, Mr. Internal Monologue. 

Are other people seeing what I'm seeing?
I suppose they are. 

Can I die happy?
Yes, you can die happy.
Really?
Yes. 

Be sure to remember this.
I will. 

Joy.