Blog

the end of a perfect week (contrary to the dire weather predictions) alone on the finca – me, myself and I… thank you, sis… I’m just a lucky so-and-so, as louis said… joan schirle arrives tomorrow from california – hopefully the weather will hold…

Home again, home again… I got back last night, and this morning took sis to the airport for her UK vacation, allowing me some time alone here – heaven… it is autumn, or rather, second spring – mixed skies, sun and rain, a green blush in all the fields, things starting to bloom again. Today I swept, swam, raked, pruned, potted, did laundry and made quince jam – yes… still haven’t unpacked…

The second half of the Sicilian adventure was as great as the first – more writing, more great dinners and excursions, including Mt. Etna (in the first rain the island has seen since February – suitably spooky) and Siracusa (I could happily live in Ortigia). Two very long weekends to finish with: the first was the festival of Sta Maria Addolorata, involving several processions with the fabulous banda, immense pealing of bells and massive heart-stopping, ear-splitting firework displays including 21-gun salutes & “bombs” to break your eardrums, the streets lit up like there was no tomorrow – plus a very brisk business of raking in the dough (really big bills) on the madonna’s portable platform in return for lifting up naked babies to be blessed in front of the crowd – ah, the roman catholic church… the last weekend was 3 evenings of performances from us artists (including Chef Turi), and also including a memorable P.R. train-ride through town on the saturday morning, drumming up business – shades of our Broadway parade through Times Square back in 1983…

My last afternoon I finally found the site of the temple of Cybele, dating from late 4th/early 3rd century BC – the site was gated & locked but I managed to scale both sets of gates and walls (with the help of an ancient olive tree at the second set, meredith remaining behind to keep a look-out) and found my way down into the hidden valley. The images, carved as they are, out of and into the limestone hillsides, are badly worn away but the seated figures are clearly visible… the “mother goddess” from Anatolia, pre-figuring the greek gods – it’s interesting that her temple is nestled deep in the cleft of a valley, completely hidden, as opposed to the greek choice of sites as high and exposed as possible… such a sense of peace there – I finally reached that point of true stasis that is so necessary before beginning the return, the completion of the journey… now on to the next chapter…

Halfway through my gift from the Akrai Residency program of a month in Palazzolo Acreide, a lovely old hill town in the Hyblaean mountains of southern Sicily. How lucky can you get… [<www.akrai.org> http://www.facebook.com/akrairesidency]

I have been working away… I share a piano with the other composer/musician in residence (Roman, a genial bear of a man from Siberia with a marked resemblance to Jesus), and said piano resides in a little monastic cell with a skylight as the only window – I go every day for a couple of hours, and I like the discipline of it very much – going to the office… I have written a piece a day there so far, with a time limit of 45 minutes and space limit of one page (I have very small MS writing), watching the little square of sunlight traverse the wall in front of me – who knows if any of it is any good but at least the wheels are getting greased – it’s about time… then I work at home on Vagabond, and play the mandola on my rooftop terrace every evening for an hour before gathering for dinner – nice work if you can get it…

Two days ago we (6 of the 7 resident artists plus our 2 hosts) took the day off and went to the beach (earning it by 2 hot hours in another larger hill town with 50 baroque churches – a bit too much of a good thing, but the back streets were beautiful, and I got a hat for the beach) – an hour’s drive through hairpin bends, down to the southern tip of the island (hello africa – we are actually south of Tunis) to a national park, with a healthy walk through ullastres and wild (dry) thyme to the beautiful beach – very reminiscent of menorca, with reddish earth and limestone rock, even caña at the head of the baranca, only more african somehow – drier for sure… oh so happy to be in the embrace of my beloved blue water again, even if only for a short while… thank you, Claudia and Salvatore, for all of it…

things that grab me: doors, bells, birds, balconies & balustrades….

what can I say about the past 6 weeks?
– lots of visitors, all of them really lovely but I didn’t I actually invite any of them…
not that I wasn’t thrilled to see them, each and every one of them…
– when I finally got a couple of weeks without visitors, sis and I fought pretty much every day…
– then the Pyrenees for 5 days, which was Fantastic but exhausting…
– then more lovely visitors…
-and the final 3rd week sans visitors (now) I’ve been sick as a dog, in bed and currently on antibiotics in an attempt to rid myself of it before I fly to sicily next week…
-but the weather’s been glorious, with plenty of good swimming in spite of the predominantly south wind – tho’ I did finally get stung in the Bathtub on my last swim before succombing to la grippe – I think my body just decided “basta”…

too much fun, but also too much stress…

it’s the the sant lluis fiesta and the announcements of the festivities are floating over loud and clear on the breeze…

the garden is looking pretty great, albeit in the latter stages of summer – we’ve been having a bumper crop of green figs from the tree in the front – even a few black ones from the surviving bits of the big one out back… we splurged on a bunch of big pots for the front garden, of varying shapes and sizes, which we are slowly filling with presents from Rob and Paco (with wonderful help from June and Laurie) – mostly succulents but the odd clipping of potentially beautiful bushes and trees… the vines are a disaster – I didn’t spray them soon enough and I fear this may be the end of them… caña on the gina patio next year? que lastima… and one of the big pines in the front has the blight – looks very nearly dead, only a few green needles on the extremities… if it’s the dreaded beetle then we need to fell it asap before it spreads to the others… another massive bill…
I must just learn to let go and accept what comes down the pike, particularly with regard to my sister, it would make life a lot less stressful… the silver lining of finally giving in and lying in bed on drugs is that I’ve been watching movies and listening to music – including my own, trying to remind myself of who I am and that I am still an artist in my own right… which I will get to work on very soon, hopefully

– Sicily here I come – oh lucky me… count your blessings, girl… time to get back to work…

pirineos august

Back on my beloved isle, on the finca with sister and youngest nephew Brendan. All is well here, and I am slowly catching up on sleep, unwinding by working in the garden and swimming in the big blue bathtub…

Orfeo was a triumph, ultimately – the giant rabbit popped out of the tiny hat in all its glory, in spite of massive hurdles, and thanks to everyone going above and beyond, in true chautauqua spirit…I hope we can do it again – the piece deserves more life, and of course there’s still more work to be done, as always…
John Conklin, our éminence grise and great collaborator, wrote a report on his return to new york that puts it much better than I can, so here it is (thanks, John):

“Over the course of three nights last week the Colombari production of ORFEO in ORVIETO emerged into Umbrian night. As the sky floating like an immense Baroque ceiling above the courtyard of the Palazzo Simoncelli gradually darkened, the faded pink and pale yellow wall began to glow, the flowering urn in the center of the space took on shape and color, the grass burned green in the theatrical light. The singers and musicians in their magnificent costumes – all rich as jewels in a golden setting – started to inhabit the space. It had begun – after so many months of preparation and planning. Karin’s elegant direction; Gina’s equally elegant musical adaptations; the nuanced work of the soloists (Stephen, Francesca, Stefano) – now joyous, now poignant; the vital intensity of the musicians; the dramatic force of Andrea as the narrator (speaking the words of Ovid, Virgil and Rilke) ; the beauty of Oana’s costumes; the revelation of Peter’s lights as they explored the mysterious depths of the columns and recesses of the courtyard – all now came into play. There were many memorable moments – the exuberance of the final scene of the opera itself (the singers joined in by the audience who had been carefully prepared by Gina and the irrepressible accordionist Sandro before the start), the laments of Orfeo, the narration of the death of Eurydice, the grotesque presence of Caron in his wrinkled white suit and crazy hat, oar in hand; the shocking finality of the sharp metallic clang of the iron gate at one end of the courtyard as it closed behind Eurydice; the ghostly almost inaudible but deeply present sound of Gina “playing” the rim of a wine glass as Eurydice was sucked back into the underworld; the mad drumming of Alessandro and rest of the musicians as a wild frightening cry of primal pain at the loss of Eurydice. The very wall of the courtyard took on a dramatic life. (at one rehearsal suddenly one of the rose blossoms shed its petals – tears for Eurydice?) Amid the arches and cornices and the climbing rose vines, words, phrases appeared (projected). Indeed the final image of the evening was the last words of a Rilke sonnet “Io sono” (“Ich bin” “I am”) on the wall.

This was not an easy trip – but then what journey from the depths of Hades to the light of day could be? Conflicts made scheduling difficult; a suitcase full of costumes (which were built in NYC) was (for a few really bad hours) lost at the airport; the delivered chairs for the audience were wrong (white plastic instead of the ordered – and eventually obtained – chaste black metal ones ) At first there didn’t even seem to be adequate electrical power for the lighting – but all this was overcome. Peter, Oana, Gina, Karin and her totally invaluable assistant director Nerina, all the other backstage workers, John Skillen of Gordon College (co -producer) – all coped with enthusiasm and optimism – and never looked back. Colombari should be proud.”

And so to family life on the island… the finca needs constant attention, so it’s never truly just R&R, but I love to caretake this place… the saddest news is that Mateo died last week. Beloved Mateo, without whom we wouldn’t be here, who spent every day here for 40 years, and who turned it into the place of beauty that it is… we can’t possibly keep it up in the same fashion (we don’t have the time, or the money for the water bills!) but we can husband it as best we can… after going to the cemetery to pay our respects (open coffin, as is the way here – oh dear…), we went to the plant place next door for basil, and ended up buying a whole load of things to plant in his honour… and of course every time Julia and Rob come over, Rob has some more cuttings of something for us… talking of whom, we had a lovely impromptu dinner last night when they and Nuria came over for a drink and stayed and stayed – luckily I had just made a large tortilla… then I raced off to town with Brendan to catch the Tuesday night music in the streets – diana and nuria joined us later and we danced our asses off to a group in the cloisters playing the songs of antonio machin… 50 years on they are playing the same music as they were in Sa Tanca (the old nightclub in San Luis) in the 1960s… here’s to the the Nonpareils of Biniparrell…

Brendan leaves Friday morning (in spite of his seeming discomfort at many things, I think he will be genuinely very sorry to go), followed a few hours later by the arrival of Olive – just time to change the sheets and clean the bathroom… good to have young about, otherwise it’s just the pair of us old crocks… la vida social del verano… onward…