always now...the Zoe Diaries continue

Navarra Novy-Williams in the midst of part A of "always now" at Jacob's Pillow Dance Festival
photo from a video by choreographer Zoe Scofield

Each of us sees the world from a unique vantage point. And when our perspectives change, so do our perceptions of what we see around us. I'm sure there are reams of psychological treatises on this topic, but at this moment I'm contemplating the subject through the lens of my experience last weekend at Jacob's Pillow Dance Festival.

I traveled to western Massachusetts to follow Seattle thinker and choreographer Zoe Scofield. She got a grant from the Princess Grace Foundation for a two week technical residency at the Pillow, to work with another choreographer, Bebe Miller, on a project called "always now."

As soon as I arrived I was escorted into the Doris Duke theater, a literal barn of a space. Zoe and her artistic partner Juniper Shuey transformed what had been a more traditional performance venue into two distinct sections, divided by a heavy black curtain.

Navarra Novy-Williams in "always now" part A
photo by Zoe Scofield

Once space--think of it as section A--was a shrine of sorts.  Eight "curtains' of white fringe hung from the ceiling, not quite touching the floor. Along with the lighting design by Thomas Dunn, this fringe formed boxes around several silver bowls, and a single dancer, Navarra Novy-Williams. I'll write a separate post about the durational ritual solo she performs over the course of more than 60 minutes.

For now, I'm going to focus on section B. Scofield had in her mind to play with the nature of perspective; how do we look at each other in news ways? How do we interact with one another when we're not standing toe to toe, or in a traditional audience/performer scenario? According to program notes, she wanted to explore how her dancers could integrate with the audience. For me, it was about how I, an audience member, was enfolded into the performance in ways I had never experienced.

Zoe/Juniper dancers in "always now" Part B
photo from a video by Zoe Scofield

"always now" is performed for a very small audience. Approximately a dozen people at a time can be in either room. In Part A, we enter to a solo in progress. We are in command of our shifting perspectives, walking around the dancer, choosing where and how to watch her.

In Part B, we enter the space and sit in chairs along the side, waiting for individual dancers to greet us and usher us to fleecy mats on the floor, where we lie supine for the duration of the performance, approximately 30 minutes. Once we're lying on our backs, we gaze up at six dozen large inflated balloons suspended in bunches overhead. These balloons are dark, and many are stippled with flecks of copper flakes. They are a bit sinister, but also pillow-y; once the lights come up on them I feel I have entered another world.

I have.

Five excellent dancers--Shane Donohue, Kim Lusk, Troy Ogilvie, Kevin Quinaou and Gilbert Small--perform in this room, but unless you eyes like a flounder, on the side of your head, there's no way to see everything they're doing. However, you do experience it through your other senses: you hear their feet as they shuffle or stomp around the supine bodies, and you feel the vibrations travel up your spine. You feel the whisper of air on your face as Ogilvie leaps over you. You shiver with a bit of apprehension as Small and Quinaou tangle above your head. When Small hoists Quinaou over his shoulder, Quinaou's hand dangles just a few inches from your nose. You smell his skin, the sweat that sheens it.

Audience and dancers merge in "always now" part B, at the Doris Duke Theater at Jacob's Pillow Dance Festival
photo from a video by choreographer Zoe Scofield

Every audience member has a different experience, depending on where we lie. But our perspective isn't only about our physical positions on the floor. It's also about our deeply held beliefs and the ideas we bring into the space with us, whether we're watching "always now" or a nightly newscast.

I have spent a couple of years thinking deeply about why art really matters in contemporary society. That comes out of my need to justify arts coverage to news editors. But it's more than job security; I  believe artists serve a vital purpose in our crazy world: they offer us insight into ourselves and our shared humanity; they give us new visions that can open us up to change of all types.

I have no idea if Scofield had these lofty goals in mind when she first conceived this performance. All I know is how it affected me. To use the word 'profound' would be an understatement.

I was lucky enough to experience "always now" several times over my stay at Jacob's Pillow. With each immersion into the piece, my mind traveled in different directions. First, I was conscious of the immediate sensations. Lying on a stage, in the middle of a dance, is nothing like watching a piece from a sitting or standing position several yards removed. I felt everything deeply. I left the Doris Duke theater shaking, with no words to describe what had overcome me.

After subsequent experiences, I began to think about something a fellow arts writer once told me. He approaches every performance with an open mind and an open heart, ready and willing to go where it takes him. Maybe even to shift ingrained opinions and perspectives. It's something I keep in mind, but don't always practice. I am an aspiring wordsmith; I have a need to use words to document and describe the world around me in the same way a choreographer like Zoe Scofield uses gestures, environments and her dancers to articulate what bubbles in her fertile mind.

Zoe/Juniper's residence at Jacob's Pillow was part of a new series there that cultivates work-in-process. I have no idea if, or when, the wider world will get a chance to experience "always now." I can only hope "always now" really will be here always.

A Terrible and Disturbing Beauty

Pacific Northwest Ballet Principal Dancer Noelani Pantastico in "RAkU"
photo by Angela Sterling

I’ve spent the past few days thinking about “RAkU,” Yuri Possokhov’s 2011 work that had its Pacific Northwest Ballet premier on Friday, April 13^th.

“RAkU” is loosely based on the true story of the 1950 burning of Kyoto’s Golden Pavilion, but it really focuses on one woman, danced opening night by the always amazing Noelani Pantastico.

“RAkU” combines video projections designed by Alexander V. Nichols with Shinji Eshima’s powerful score to high, stylized, dramatic effect. A live, off-stage chorus performs Gary Wang’s libretto, creating an eerie aural web that seems to tighten around the onstage action.

The choreography is demanding; a meld of classical ballet inspired, according to program notes, by Japanese Butoh. The four warriors---Miles Pertl, Dylan Wald, Dammiel Cruz and Guillaume Basso, seem to move as one being. Seth Orza’s Samurai is strong and stoic; Kyle Davis’ monk is menacing and creepy. But this ballet is built around the woman, and as always, Pantastico invests her entire being in her character.

 

PNB Principal Dancer Seth Orza, foreground. Guillaume Basso, rear
photo by Angela Sterling

Possokhov has created a tragedy beyond a temple's destruction. This story chronicles a woman's demise. After her Samurai lover heads to battle, the woman is preyed on and ultimately assaulted by a temple monk. When the four warriors return the Samurai’s remains to her, she succumbs to a grief as fiery as the blaze the monk ignites.

Pantastico is beautiful and demure when we first meet her; after removing her kimono, she transforms into a passionate woman in love with her Samurai. As the ballet unfolds, Pantastico journeys through wariness, terror, despair and grief; as one of PNB’s best dramatic dancers, she delivers each authentic emotion with lyric, fluid movement.

 

Pantastico and Orza in "RAkU"
photo by Angela Sterling

“RAkU’s” story is disturbing, but watching it in 2018, it is also unsettling. In the moment of the performance, I was transported by the ballet’s theatricality. Afterwards, questions arose. Was this story Possokhov’s to tell?

An artist I know, a woman of Japanese descent, was part of the chorus, so I asked her about“RAkU;” was Possokhov's ballet another example of cultural appropriation. Her response was a delicate, and diplomatic, yes.

When, if ever, can artists take stories from other cultures and create new work? Can non-indigenous artists use native idioms? Can, or should, male authors create authentic female protagonists? Can Caucasian choreographers create work based on non-Western themes?

Is Possokhov's "RAkU"somehow less beautiful, less worthy of performance because he told the story? 

I found “RAkU” mesmerizing and completely different from other ballets I’ve seen at PNB. The closest comparison is to Jean Christopher Maillot’s intensely cinematic “Romeo et Julliette.” 

"RAkU" was sandwiched between two amazing works that I could watch a hundred times: Alejandro Cerrudo’s evocative “Little mortal jump,” featuring most of the stellar cast that premiered it at PNB two years ago.

PNB Principal Dancer Elizabeth Murphy with corps de ballet member Dylan Wald in "Little mortal jump"
photo by Angela Sterling

From Price Suddarth’s whimsical entrance, through Dylan Wald and Elizabeth Murphy’s poignant and beautiful pas de deux, “Little mortal jump” is dance full of promise and hope.

Crystal Pite’s epic “Emergence” caps the program, and if you haven’t yet seen this ballet, do yourself a favor and get tickets for one of this weekend’s four performances. It’s a ballet about group think, and in this case, the group includes dozens of dancers. But it’s also a ballet that features smaller moments: Rachel Foster “hatching;” Price Suddarth unfolding his wings and charging the phalanx of black-clad women; Lindsi Dec and Karel Cruz moving together as if their two bodies are one. I could go on and on.

 

PNB company members in Crystal Pite's "Emergence"
photo by Angela Sterling

PNB will take both “Emergence” and “Little mortal jump” to Paris in early July. Artistic Director Peter Boal considers them signature company works, and in this iteration, they look fabulous.

So does “RAkU.” But I wonder whether it will become a signature work, or a beautiful ballet whose time in the PNB repertoire is as fleeting and ephemeral as an onstage video projection.

Space, Time, Communion...and Art

Cast members in Alice Gosti's "Material Deviance in Contemporary American Culture" at On the Boards
photo by Tim Summers

This past weekend I had the good fortune to experience two vastly different artworks that drove home similar, albeit subliminal, messages for me. Alice Gosti's "Material Deviance in Contemporary American Culture," at On the Boards, and John Luther Adams' "Become Desert," at the Seattle Symphony, each reminded me of the elemental necessity of slowing down, of existing in each moment as it arrives, of setting aside the inane and often frustrating drone of daily life that seems to stifle my spirit these days.

Gosti and her collaborators, including composer Hanna Benn and dancers Alyza DelPan-Monley, Sruti Arun Desai, Imana Gunawan, Tess Keesling, Lorraine Lau and Kaitlin MCcarthy, unveiled "Material Deviance" after months of development and refinement.

Unlike many hipper art lovers in Seattle, I came relatively late to Gosti's immersive dance/installation/performance pieces. I went to see her 2015 durational work "How to be a Partisan," at St. Mark's Cathedral intending to stay for an hour. I was transfixed, and wound up staying for almost three. In this, and subsequent durational works, Gosti wove together seemingly disparate vignettes into a performance that left me no choice but to slow down and settle into her world.

With "Material Deviance," Gosti had to distill her usual artistic trajectory into just over an hour, no easy feat. Like the set for this show--an installation of rolling shelves jam-packed with the detritus of our consumer culture--Gosti has a lot she wants to say. The program includes pages of text, reflections on the power that our objects hold over us. The performance itself was not nearly so cluttered (aside from the set).

"Material Deviance in Contemporary American Culture"
photo by Devin Munoz

"Material Deviance" begins with one dancer, Gunawan, standing still in front of the shelves, Benn's slow drone framing her. One by one, the other cast members emerge from darkness and strike their own poses, their stillness a contradiction to the noise of all that stuff.

Like Gosti's earlier durational pieces, "Material Deviance" is episodic. The dancers move the shelving to signal new scenes; they unfold tables and chairs, snip newspapers into shreds, pull tote bags and backpacks off the shelves.

What lingers in my memory are evocative moments that seemingly had not so much to do with stuff: five women lying prone on the stage, passing Gunawan between them, balanced her on the soles of their feat and the palms of their hands; a transcendent Lau dressed in a tangerine dress that floats behind her as she moves in a slow arc, gazing up into the lights.

"Material Deviance in Contemporary American Culture" left me thinking not about our obsession with objects so much as it reminded me of our fundamental human nature. To appreciate Gosti's work, we must slow down, match our heartbeats to her rhythms.

Material Deviance in Contemporary American Culture
photo by Tim Summers

Across town, the Seattle Symphony Orchestra presented the world premiere of composer John Luther Adams' "Become Desert," companion to his Pulitzer Prize-winning work "Become Ocean." Both were commissioned by SSO.

Like "Material Deviance," "Become Desert" is an immersive experience, with some of the orchestra members arrayed above the main floor, and a choir above us in the highest balcony. Onstage, Ludovic Morlot leads the musicians in a slow sonic recreation of the Sonoran Desert, beginning with daybreak--crisp violins and clear bells.

The sound builds around us as the winds, then brass, then choir add their separate sections to the whole. Suddenly, the audience is in full daylight under cerulean blue skies. Clouds arrive, a stormy percussive duet that ultimately delivers us back into stillness, the day ending as it began. Morlot, baton in the air, holds the audience in silence for many seconds, then slowly lowers his arms. We exhale as one.

The New York Times' music critic described "Become Desert" as meditative. I'd use the words like commanding or captivating. Like Gosti, Adams requires the audience to slow down and accept each section of his music as it arrives, to let the sounds seep into our psyches. He says each note is carefully planned, but the immediate experience of "Become Desert," like my experience of "Material Deviance," was visceral, not intellectual.

In a pre-show interview, Adams said his work begins in solitude and is completed in community. He was, I believe, referring to working with Morlot and the orchestra; he could easily have been talking about the audience experiencing together in Benaroya Hall.

Adams eagerly seizes opportunities to record his music, but I think the power of  live performance cannot be overstated. Sitting in the proverbial room where it happens, we come into synch with the art, the artists, our fellow audience members, and for me at least, with something bigger than myself.

OMG, I love this ballet

PNB company members in William Forsythe's "One Flat Thing, reproduced" 2018
photo @ Stacy Ebestyne

The first time I saw Pacific Northwest Ballet perform William Forsythe’s “One Flat Thing, reproduced,” in 2008, my head exploded in the most wonderful way. I’d loved Forsythe’s “In the middle, somewhat elevated,” already part of the PNB repertoire, but “One Flat Thing,” with Thom Willems’ arresting electronic score and its flotilla of white-topped tables that served as both set, obstacles, and dance partners? This was a ballet that spoke to my soul.

It still does.

Ten years later, PNB presents the dance again, as the capstone to the annual “Director’s Choice” program. And “One Flat Thing” is better than I remembered it.

PNB company members in Forsythe's "One Flat Thing" 2018
photo @ Angela Sterling

If you haven’t had an opportunity to see it, this is a work for 14 dancers and, 20 metal tables.  As the lights come up, the dancers emerge from darkness at the back of the stage, each dragging out a table, which they align precisely, like cars in neat parking spaces. Then, to Willems’ sometimes jarring score, we watch the interplay between the humans onstage, as well as the interplay between humans and their environment; in this case---the tables.

On opening night, March 16th, Christian Poppe began the action with an emphatic hop straight up from the floor to a set on a table top; Noelani Pantastico seized the stage, striding toward us between two rows of tables, her hands grazing their surfaces, her ponytail sailing in her wake. Ryan Cardea teasingly echoed the movements of his fellow cast members; Kyle Davis stepped in to help a dancer reposition her legs, while Lucien Postelwaite lay under a table, his movements shadowing the action above him.

 

PNB company members in Forsythe's "One Flat Thing, reproduced" 2018
photo @ Angela Sterling

“One Flat Thing, reproduced” was inspired by Robert Scott’s Antarctic expeditions, according to the program, and if you’re inclined toward literalism, you can see icebergs in those white table tops. Ten years ago, this ballet made me thing about chaos and order; this time around I saw it as a thrilling wild ride that showcases each dancer’s technical abilities and full-on commitment to this multi-faceted, and continually fascinating, work.

As I mentioned, “One Flat Thing” capped an excellent evening of contemporary work that opened with the premiere of PNB soloist Ezra Thomson’s ambitious and sophisticated “The Perpetual State.” I’ll write more about it after a second viewing.

Karel Cruz and Laura Tisserand were sinuous and elegant in Forsythe’s “Slingerland Duet.” PNB audiences originally saw this in 2015 as part of another work called “New Suite.” Forsythe removed this long duet, and now it stands on its own in the PNB rep, like a polished jewel.

 

PNB Principal Dancers Laura Tisserand and Karel Cruz in Forsythe's "Slingerland Duet" 2018
photo @ Angela Sterling

“Slingerland” was paired mid-evening with Ulysses Dove’s 1994 quartet “Red Angels,” performed to Mary Rowell’s percussive, plaintive electric violin. I have loved “Red Angels” since the first time I saw it at PNB in 2005. The opening night cast--Lindsi Dec, Lucien Postelwaite, Lesley Rausch and Jerome Tisserand--were uniformly excellent, but I have to single out Postelwaite, who took my breath away. He has a seemingly magical ability to hang in mid-air for an extra beat, when you’d think gravity would pull him to the stage. It’s a haunting contrast to Rowell’s throbbing and somewhat ragged violin.

 

PNB Principal Dancers Lucien Postelwaite and Lesley Rausch in Ulysses Dove's "Red Angels"
photo @ Angela Sterling

Actually, it feels a little unfair to single out dancers, because the company as a whole looks so good right now. Artistic Director Peter Boal regularly pulls out members of his corps de ballet, to feature them in roles that typically go to soloists or principal dancers. At this performance, he took the opportunity to promote two of those corps members: Price Suddarth and Steven Loch. Both promotions are well-deserved, but Boal could just as easily promote at least half a dozen others:  Emma Love Suddarth (Price’s wife); Sarah Pasch; Elle Macy; Miles Pertl; Dylan Wald to name just a few of the excellent company members who deliver great performances night after night.

New PNB Soloist Price Suddarth rocking it in the studio
photo @ Angela Sterling

If you’ve been meaning to check out PNB, now is the time. The company is preparing for its first-ever tour to Paris, plus the work on offer is exciting. “Director’s Choice” runs Thursday through Sunday at McCaw Hall. Go! You won't be disappointed. 

FYI, you can also catch the return of Crystal Pite’s “Betroffenheit” this coming weekend, a co-presentation of Seattle Theater Group and On The Boards. And that will prep you for a return to PNB in April, for Pite’s monumental “Emergence.”

What a spring!

Kim Lusk's Shiny Dark Horses

Cast of "A Dance for Dark Horses" by Kim Lusk, at Velocity Dance Center March 9-11, 2018
photo by Jazzy Photo

Thank you Kim Lusk!

I really needed your first full length work, “A Dance for Dark Horses,” part of Velocity Dance Center’s “Made in Seattle” program.

Let’s face it, the world around us has been particularly chaotic for the past year, and it’s all too easy to get mired in the venomous mudslinging that’s been sparked by the titular head of the free world. It’s enough to make my head explode. Lusk’s “Dark Horses” was a refreshing and witty breather, a chance to revel in art well made and well performed.

Lusk and her three main dancers—Alexander Pham, Shane Donohue and Erin McCarthy—took the floor one by one in silence, their eyes focused out toward the audience. Lusk appeared last, and took a place directly in front of McCarthy, who then skootched to the side so we could see her. This was the first signal that we were in for something figuratively and literally off kilter.

 

Alexander Pham, Kim Lusk and Erin McCarthy in "A Dance for Dark Horses"
photo by Jazzy Photo

The dancers skittered across the floor on their toes to Ryan Hume’s club-inspired soundtrack, arms and shoulders pumping to the steady beat. Then, all at once, in unison, they seem to tip to the side, pushed by unseen hands which catapult them into another section of the dance.

Pham performs Gagnam-style arabesques and pirouettes, twirling an invisible lasso overhead in homage to Psy and his K-pop crew. Lusk strikes John Travolta’s Saturday Night Fever pose, arms outstretched, fingers pointed. Donohue’s duet with a battered tambourine is both poignant and hilarious. The tiny percussion instrument seems to have a life of its own; Donohue tries to end the duet but the tambourine keeps jingling until Donohue assaults it with his foot.

McCarthy whirls out a ferocious solo, then collapses to the floor, sweaty and panting. Lusk watches her, a big smile illuminating her face. McCarthy catches her eye and smiles back.

 

Kim Lusk and Shane Donohue in "A Dance for Dark Horses"
photo by Jazzy Photo

These dark horses---tall and short, thin and round, are always aware of one another and of us sitting in the audience. They revel in their movements, particularly Lusk, a compact Gumby of a dancer. As her arms swing back and forth to the music, she twirls her pelvis to a different rhythm, a counterpoint if you will, all the while watching us with a knowing look and a half smile. We rewarded her audacity with laughter, cheers and delighted applause.

“A Dance for Dark Horses” isn’t fluff; it’s technically ambitious and rich with popular culture allusions. All the dancers, including a Fantasia-esque gaggle of women in hot pink, delivered their parts with precision and full-fledged brio. Their enthusiasm was contagious. I found myself wanting to join in, although I’m certain I couldn’t keep up the nonstop pace.

Lusk’s work reminded me of the pleasures of moving to the beat, of the delight and camaraderie. And it reminded me that in a time when so many people are devoted to resistance and struggle, sometimes we need to take an hour to delight in the joy of being alive.

I Just Can't Forget

Pacific Northwest Ballet company members in Kent Stowell's "Swan Lake"
photo by Angela Sterling

I’ve got an old Beatles’ song running through my head.

“I’ve just seen a face, I can’t forget the time or place….”

Swap “dancer” for “face” and you’ll have a sense of what I’ve been obsessing about for the past few days: Noelani Pantastico in the dual roles of Odette/Odile in the classic ballet “Swan Lake.”

 

Noelani Pantastico as Odette in "Swan Lake"
photo by Angela Sterling

Pantastico starred in Saturday evening's performance of Pacific Northwest Ballet’s latest iteration of Kent Stowell’s “Swan Lake.” Even if you don’t know much about ballet, you probably know about this one. It’s the 19^th century classic about a prince who falls in love with a woman, Odette. The problem? She’s actually under the spell of an evil sorcerer. Odette only takes human form at night; by day she’s a white swan. Only sworn true love can break this spell.

Unfortunately for Odette, that doesn't happen. Her prince is seduced into pledging his troth to her evil doppelganger, the black swan Odile. Nobody lives happily after in this ballet, but it sure is beautiful.

In most contemporary productions, the same ballerina performs the dual roles of Odette/Odile. It seems to me, a non-ballerina, this must be one of the most challenging roles a dancer faces. 

Technically, the ballerina has to leap and spin, and perform Odile’s notorious 32 fouette turns, whipping her body around and around. It requires not only a laser-like focus, but also incredible stamina.

Maybe more important than technique, the ballerina must bring emotional depth and dramatic ability to these two roles. She must convince us that she is a graceful enchanted swan woman Odette, as well as the beautifully confident (but let's face it, venal) Odile, daughter of the evil sorcerer Rothbart.

 

Seth Orza and Noelani Pantastico as the Prince and Odile
photo by Angela Sterling

The last time I saw “Swan Lake,” the incredible Carla Korbes danced Odette/Odile. Korbes was (and maybe still is?) one of the most graceful and emotional of dancers. Her Odette was birdlike and bereft; her Odile? Well, Korbes was excellent but she wasn't really convincingly nasty. Still, she was my gold standard.

Carla Korbes dances Odette in 2015 at PNB
photo by Angela Sterling

Watching Noelani Pantastico on Saturday evening, I saw a completely different interpretation: a fierce, taunting Odile who looks down her nose at everyone in the royal party as she whips around the room with the prince. When his mother (hooray, Margaret Mullin is back onstage!) extends her hand to her future daughter in law, Pantastico's Odile all but shoves it away. Pantastico was equally convincing as a tormented, beautiful Odette in love with Seth Orza's prince. She made me want to weep for the tragedy of her doomed love (and this ballet has never made me weep.)

Pantastico has years of experience at both PNB and with Jean Christophe Maillot's company, Les Ballets de Monte Carlo, where she honed her dramatic talents. Of course she leapt and spun, but she imbued both swans with something extra. When Pantastico is overtaken by dark magic and begins to transform from woman to swan, it seems to come as a shock to her body. Her long arms begin to flap, pulled at the shoulders, as if Rothbart is yanking invisible strings. Pantastico’s huge dark eyes mourn, her expression is one of agony as she is wrenched from Orza’s arms toward Rothbart, who looms in a misty corner.

 

Seth Orza and Noelani Pantastico, photo by Angela Sterling
so in love, but not for long!

As I said earlier, I’ve just seen a dancer, a performance, I can’t forget.

Four other PNB principals will tackle this demanding role during the run of the production. 

Lesley Rausch and Laura Tisserand danced Odette/Odile opening weekend; Elizabeth Murphy and Sarah Orza will make their debuts this week. Each woman will bring her own interpretation, her own experience and technical skills to her performance. Each will be unique. I wish I had the time to see them all. Rausch and Sarah Orza are both dancing at the top of their games right now; Tisserand is just back from maternity leave, and Murphy will dance this role for the first time with Prince Lucien Postelwaite. 

You've got six different performances to choose from. Noelani Pantastico and Seth Orza close out the run on Sunday evening at McCaw Hall.  Find ticket and casting info here

Rain, Rain, Go Away!

"The Burning Stable", by Adolf Schreyer
photographed in the Frye Art Museum, Seattle

February began with steady rain and dark skies. But why should this month diverge from the pattern 2018 has set? Gloomy weather and even gloomier politics. Still, the meteorological monotony has started to chafe my soul.

So, I retreated to Seattle’s Frye Art Museum, a cultural jewel box bequeathed to the city by Charles Frye and his wife Emma. A show of work by contemporary Tlingit artist Alison Marks intrigues me, but something (melancholy?) tugs me into the one gallery still dedicated to the Frye’s personal collection. The museum has dubbed this room the Frye Salon. The walls are crammed with late 19th/early 20th century paintings. Many are German, but French and American artists are sprinkled in.

A visitor in the Frye Salon at Seattle's Frye Art Museum
notice the art student on the left, copying one of the paintings

It's probably not hip or correct to admit it, but I love this gallery; the paintings hang check by jowl, portraits sharing intimate wall space with landscapes, liberally accented with depictions of livestock. Charles Frye made his fortune in the meatpacking industry. Did he collect these animal paintings to remind him of the source of his livelihood?

When my son was young, he adored a painting of terrified horses fleeing a burning stable. Well, he was young and enamored of firefighters. Still, the work by German artist Adolf Schreyer is definitely one of the more dramatic in the Frye's collection.

 

A slightly crooked look at Charles and Emma Frye on the wall of the museum they left to Seattle
painted by Henry Raschen in 1913

Sitting in a gray velvet chair, I notice not one but two sets of portraits of Charles and Emma hanging on the walls, plus another small oil painting of Emma’s head. The Fryes look serene, almost majestic, as if they're watching us enjoy their collection. More than 100 paintings hang in this Salon, apparently just the way they hung on the walls of the Frye's own home.

Out of all the paintings, I’m invariably drawn to a John Singer Sargent-esque portrait of a beautiful dark-haired woman. Her chin is slightly lifted, but her eyes beckon me. The painting, by someone named Leopold Schmutzler, is called “Here I Am.” Indeed.

 

"Here I am" by Leopold Schmutzler, 1910
wouldn't you follow her anywhere???

Sitting in this room, I’m transported out of the present, away from the tumult and chaos of news reports about secret memos, and nuclear weapons upgrades; porn stars and the man who would be president.

 

Here she is in her current habitat

I’m sure many of the artists whose works hang on the Frye Museum walls used their skills to comment on similar tumultuous times a century ago, but these paintings don’t communicate those messages to me. Instead, I conjure my own stories as I idle away an hour. I’m warm and dry, oblivious to politics and the rain, rain, relentless rain of February in Seattle.