A charming new book recently came my way. Called Drawn to Opera, it is a love letter to our favorite art form, in drawings, by Brooklynite Hank Blaustein. There is just enough text to explain why he loves opera, but he lets his drawings do most of the talking.
Many, though not all, of the drawings were done at the Metropolitan Opera. He also includes drawings from Naples, Venice, Verona, Vienna, Paris and other theaters in New York City. In his curling lines we see ornamentation in theater architecture as well as the broad balconies and private boxes from which audience members look at the stage or at one another. There are members of the Met orchestra, including a timpanist I recognize as Richard Horowitz. There are several wonderful depictions of James Levine either conducting or playing the piano.
As expected, most of the drawings are of beloved singers of past decades but also of current stars including Stephanie Blythe, Joyce DiDonato, Angela Meade and Juan Diego Flórez. Almost every portrait is wholly evocative of the look and spirit of the singers we know, with only two exceptions: Mirella Freni and Leontyne Price, both of whom seem to have eluded Blaustein’s gifts. He especially adored Luciano Pavarotti and captures the posture and body language of the great man.
His drawings — in style, execution and the movement of his pencil — bring to mind the work of several superb draughtsmen, including Rubens, Goya, Watteau, Piranesi and Hogarth. But he is different from these artists in that he seems uninterested (or feels he is unable) in depicting eyes. The black lines or smears he uses to suggest the eyes serve well in delineating facial features rather than what the eyes might be expressing. But this is his style, and it works very well.
What Blaustein is proficient at is what is called, in Italian, atteggiamento. This lovely word encompasses several ideas when talking about a person standing in a public place such as a stage. It means posture and pose, but also the way the person holds him or herself. Underpinning all of the physical aspects of atteggiamento is what we might call attitude. This does not imply being ill-tempered or “having an attitude,” but how an emotional state affects how people stand or move. When singers are in character and performing specific music, it informs the attitude they present. In Blaustein’s work, he beautifully evokes how the glamorously large Montserrat Caballé leans as she sings. We do not see this in her floor-length gown but in the overall position — her atteggiamento.
Other notable examples of accomplished atteggiamento are José Carreras’s chin tucked in his chest as he leans on his left foot (he learned this from Caballé) and the eloquently dramatic gestures of Georg Solti’s left hand. In two drawings he wondrously evokes Pavarotti’s back in two very different positions and, yet, there is no doubt whose back that is.
As I looked through Blaustein’s book, I was reminded that there is a corner of the Metropolitan Opera House that is open to all members of the public but is almost always empty. The Arnold and Marie Schwartz Gallery Met opened as an exhibition space in 2006. One enters the south revolving doors of the opera house to find the latest show (there seem to be two or three each opera season), but almost no one goes there. Most audience members crowd the north side of the lobby (where the box office and gift shop are) or try to get into the more central doors even when they are shut. I always meet my friends in the Schwartz Gallery because there are no crowds.
While some of the exhibitions at the Schwartz Gallery have been interesting, most are too recherché for all but the most passionate followers of contemporary art. I have been thinking about other depictions of opera which might make for an enjoyable group show and actually bring in some crowds to put the Schwartz Gallery on the map.
There is a great deal of excellent opera photography by many masters such as Cecil Beaton and Christian Steiner. There was a group of fine practitioners in the 1970s and 1980s, including Beth Bergman, Erika Davidson and Henry Grossman. Additionally, the Met had its own photographers whose work changed and evolved along with the taste and aesthetics of each passing decade.
I think it is a real shame that an opening night photo, taken from the stage, of orchestra, maestro and audience, is no longer part of the tradition of each Met season. The last one was taken around 2000 when Joseph Volpe was still general manager. Such photos would be an interesting component of a photo show.
Another idea derives from the fact that many Met employees past and present have taken photos and films. An exhibition of photos and home movies by Met performers of life backstage and on tour would be fun. Timpanist Richard Horowitz liked to photograph curtain calls from his vantage point at one end of the orchestra pit. Former stage manager Stanley Levine used a small motion picture camera to film curtain calls.
The mezzo-soprano Stephanie Blythe happens to be a fantastic photographer. To my knowledge she does not do many portraits or opera-related images, but she has an extraordinary eye for color, perspective, composition and humor. Her pictures are notably sharp and crisp even when they are abstract. I would be very happy to see an exhibition of some of her favorite pictures.
There are also drawings by opera people that would make for a great exhibition. Some of the finest set and costume designers, many of them Italians, create beautifully rendered sketches and watercolors that give an idea of scenery and lighting, but also show how a costume might contribute to atteggiamento. Three artists I would include are Pier Luigi Pizzi, Beni Montresor and Franco Zeffirelli.
Then there are drawings by artists who might have been in or near an opera house. Two of the most famous are tenor Enrico Caruso and baritone Tito Gobbi. Both did what were often called caricatures, though that term might be a bit demeaning. Caruso drew self-portraits as well as depictions of colleagues. When the Met was on tour in San Francisco during the famous earthquake of 1906, Caruso did illustrations of the destruction as he made his escape.
Most of Gobbi’s watercolors and drawings were of himself, but always in character. He did a series about Rigoletto and one about Falstaff. The purpose was for Gobbi to think through ideas about makeup, costuming (including Rigoletto’s hunchback and Falstaff’s belly), poses and gestures. An interesting exhibition might feature Gobbi’s drawings combined with films of his performances.
The late Selene Fung was an usher at the Met in the 1980s when I was performance manager. She did presentation drawings that were often turned into a series of prints. Most of these were complete portraits of singers (as opposed to faster and more energetic impressions). Many of the prints and original drawings were then framed and sold in the Met gift shop. Some of them, such as her famous rendering of Plácido Domingo, can be found on eBay autographed by Fung and occasionally by the singer portrayed.
I would love to see the Met invite artistically-gifted subscribers to come rehearsals as an incentive. While there, they can draw or do watercolors of the singers, musicians or auditorium. This could become a group show and would include recent work by Blaustein.
Then professional artists, illustrators and New Yorker cartoonists, for example, can be invited to other rehearsals and events to allow their imaginations and creativity to run free. One artist I would include in this group is watercolorist Anne Watkins, who has a remarkable feel for the movement, expression and atteggiamento of the subjects she depicts.
One final thought, not for the gallery but for the stage of the Met and other companies: I think it would be a positive (and cost-saving) move to create certain few opera productions based on drawings. They could hang from battens above the stage or become slides that can be projected.
Among my favorite productions of all at the Met (and everywhere, for that matter) were Mozart’s Idomeneo and La Clemenza di Tito created by Jean-Pierre Ponnelle in the 1980s. They are economical but also rational and beautiful. They use many of the same pieces of scenery but are made special by renderings of ancient Crete and Rome in the style of etchings by Giovanni Battista Piranesi (1720-1778), whose life and work overlapped those of Mozart. These drawings provide background, depth and a sense of classicism.
Which operas do you think would be well-suited for productions based on drawings, let us know in the comments below?