domingo, 22 de julio de 2012

More on the interleaved alternate futures: trying a new perspective

There is a while since I last wrote on the alternate futures I wanted to consider. Even though I had some material written, it did not seem ready for posting and I could not concentrate enough to go over it. While in Buenos Aires I was overwhelmed by the many threads that unfold themselves before me; afterwards, I had to catch up with work I had been postponing... so in neither case I was in the mood for posting but the little things related to my visit to the Teatro Colón.
My last post on the alternate futures explored the possibility of going into the advertising industry, if you remember. I also hinted that I wanted to do theatrical costuming, but was not sure of it as a feasible way to make a living.
After reading it again, I noticed that even while imagining other ways, another possible futures, I could not avoid compromising, straying away from the things I would want the most towards what I imagine to be more acceptable by society at large, dulling my inner yearnings to an extent that practically ensures boredom. Why is it that even in an imaginary world, where theoretically anything would be possible, I do divert from the things that would give me most pleasure? I cannot help but asking if they really would. Or is it rather that I want to believe they would but in fact I'm afraid they'll lose the magic they hold for me? Do they seem magical to me because of an inner call or solely because they are the opposite of what is familiar?


As a matter of fact, it is very hard for me to imagine other possible outcomes than the one which really took place. It is as if with all the ups and downs of the life I really lived, it was the one and only possible way; on the other hand, we know with a great degree of certainty that present circumstances are shaped by previous decisions. Until recently, I strongly believed that the only sensible development for my life was the one that led me to this place; the wonderful scenery of the Patagonian foothills, with their impressive and steep mountains and green and red forests surrounding a big and icy lake, did a lot to ease my Japan-nostalgia, I became -or so I felt- a much wholer being. But now I am also beginning to question these assumptions in spite of the fact that I can hardly picture myself in the long run in any situation that might differ drastically from the one I consciously lived. Maybe we are bound to see univocal realities.....
I wonder if I had really enjoy a career in advertising the way I tried to sketch it in the previous post. Would it be artistic enough for me? Would I have been artistic enough for it? On a more personal level, would I have married? Would I have had other children? It might seem odd to mix those to levels, professional and personal fulfillment, but what I now know for certain is that both are so much a part of me that it would never suffice to attain perfection on any one of them if the other were to be absent.
On the personal, emotional level, I wanted my son very much to have a father and siblings that shared their games with him, to have a family; the men I had met until a few months I left for the South weren't much into it. I hadn't met the right ones, obviously; but I wonder if I would have seen the right man, even if he was standing right in front of me, or if I would be able to meet him under different circumstances.
It is interesting to see how much I was then torn by the same tensions that have been my steady companions: the longing for a quiet, simple life on one hand, and the burning desire to produce something outstandingly important, such as a piece of art or an insightful essay -the medium didn't matter so much- on the other hand.... It is as if I always were not one but many people all at once: a thinker, an artist, a plain homemaker.... craving for attention but at the same time shunning from it. How could any one of these get enough hold of my being to make me able to choose a coherent path, follow it and be content with the decision? When the summer air got thick with the scent of wildflowers and resin and timber, when the fruit got ripe in the trees, I longed for a natural, peasanty way of life; I wanted to be a homemaker creating homemade preserves and cakes and hand-sewn things for my home, I fantasized with hiking and mountaineering -which, by the way, I never mastered. But after a while leading this kind of life, being in charge of cooking, washing, caring for the children and tending to the animals -2 dogs and some chickens- I would get deeply annoyed and wretched by its plainness and would begin looking for something to strain my brain; there was nothing like the power of the flying mind to make me feel alive – until it stuck against the ceiling, much like a butterfly analogy I remember from a reading in my German class. And then it would all begin again.... Two antagonistic forces, two natures constantly colliding, none strong enough to prevail, not able to coexist unless something bonds them, holds them together. Well, the search for that kind of glue is precisely the point behind these convoluted musings...

Regarding marriage, I cannot picture me at all as having married in another alternate life. I'm sure I would have had a couple of relationships, some better and some not so good, maybe some outright bad, but I doubt I would have ever committed myself to any one of them. It seems to me that being able to express myself artistically and loving my child would have been more than enough, or so I would have told myself – thereby hiding the fact that deep inside I was utterly afraid that any relationship I might devote myself to would eventually hamper the flow of my creative energy.

Going back to the story, let's suppose that I got it right for once and that I didn't allow myself to be distracted from what I really wanted. What was it? The costume workshop at the Teatro Colon in Buenos Aires lured me. Wouldn't I be able to afford myself a little time to try it? It is true that I had a son to support and that my mother wasn't able to contribute much by way of money. But she was a loving mother and she adored my child. I had a place to live on. How long would it take to get a paid position at the workshop where I wanted to be? Half a year? One year? Experience told me that positions within government managed institutions -like the above mentioned theater- tended to consolidate themselves after some time; these time spans could range from a few weeks to about a year. Wouldn't I be able to make do for a couple of months, let's say even half a year? Or a full year? I doubt I could have spent a full year totally unpaid. But on the other hand while performing unpaid for work I would be gathering skills and opportunities to show them, no doubt there would be chances for paid services, like, say, other people at other stages needing help.
No doubt that it wouldn't be easy. My mom would get very anxious, I know. I would have to be extremely careful not to let her anxiousness draw on me. I would have to be very strong to prevail in my decision. I would have to be on guard against doubts -other people's and my own- that might undermine my resolve. Well, could I be all that? Watching me in real life this seems like a long shot. But then, the whole point of this discourse is seeing what made me act as I acted and change it. This one here looks as a very good starting point.

I had not always been as fearful and insecure as I eventually got. When I decided to leave for Japan, for instance, I knew my family and especially my mother wouldn't take it easy; the same when some time before I had decided to move alone. But I made both. And it felt great. Liberating. So it seems that I was indeed able to master some degree of resolve and bravery. What changed it? In hindsight, I think that it began subtly while in Japan. Although I remember it as the best time in my life, the one point in time I always wished I could to go back to, it was not at all a rosy time. I wanted to fit in my new society in a way I hadn't felt in my own country (where, by the way, I never actually blended in). But I was at a loss regarding social norms, counting exclusively on the patience of many. Funny, I never saw it this way before; but watching me through the lenses of today I can feel that without noticing I was slowly slipping in the common pattern of adaptation, of trying to guess what was expected from me and be that. Then, while I wanted to stay longer, again quite practically I decided against my wishes and returned to my home country. At that time it seemed like the only sensible decision; I believe still that it was the healthier outcome. But I also see that I have put some sort of blockade on that episode, repressing any adverse feelings it might arise. Back at my former home I folded again into the role of a sometimes nasty but otherwise obedient daughter. Although I consciously denied it, I became wary of the future; I became afraid of so many things: of not being able to support myself and my little baby, of what other people might think of me, of not being a good mother, of letting my little boy down, of a myriad of tiny anguishes all centered around our future. I had developed a Lebensangst that choked my spirits. And I barely noticed.

jueves, 5 de julio de 2012

More on the Teatro Colón from Buenos Aires


Last time I posted about the artistic beauties of the theater as a building; today I would like to share some pictures that hint at the great quality of the workshops, particularly regarding the tailoring one. First, though, a couple of pictures of the building plan as depicted on a board at the park in front of the theater.
General view of the board
A detail of where is what


More on locations
Next, pictures of some of the costumes in exhibition at one of the main halls:

Anne Boley, from the oper Anne Boleyn
by Donizzetti

Henry VIIIth, from the same oper

Prince Kalf, from the oper Turandot
by Puccini

Princess Turandot, from same named oper


Although the pictures are not very good -flashes were forbidden- you can still see the luxurious details in embroidery and cloth; these pieces are quite old and they aren't used any longer, they belong to the theater's Museum.

domingo, 1 de julio de 2012

The Teatro Colón in Buenos Aires

Although I had a plan to post every Friday a new 'chapter' of my alternate futures explorations this had to be somewhat delayed; I was out of town for a week and after my return I had more pressing matters to attend to... So it might take a while to get going again; but before resuming the story, I would like to comment about the Teatro Colón in Buenos Aires, since it plays an important part in the story. It is one of the most renowned opera houses of the world, in par with its european counterparts, and has been visited by many first opera stars, many of whom consider a challenge to sing there, due to its superb acoustics.

There is much to wonder about the theater, things that go beyond the great musical quality of its settings: the massive building, the impressive panels made of tiny bits of stained glass, the paintings at the ceiling, some of them by renowned artists, the marble that greets the visitor almost everywhere; on a more technical side, it is also noted for housing a number of workshops that create everything needed to stage a performance: tailoring, painting, sculpting, carpenter's, make-up, photography and the like; ballet and music school... It is rare in its kind for having all of this in-house.
I was hoping to see the workshops, especially the tailoring one, which occupied a great deal of my thoughts since I was young and will be the subject of some of my musings into a different future; to my disappointment precisely these were closed to the public due to some restoration work they're undergoing; I think I should schedule another visit for a future time, when they open... but it was nevertheless worth every minute of the tour, you'll see.
The main entrance is located at the Libertad St., Nr. 611, it faces a park where sometimes the Colon Orchestra plays free concerts. The building was designed by an Italian architect named Francesco Tamburini; the construction started on May 1890 under his direction until he died next year; it continued under the direction of architect Vittorio Meano, an associate of Tamburini, who made some changes to the original design; but he, too, died long before the building was finished and was followed by the belgian Jules Dormal. All in all, the construction took about 20 years, much longer than initially intended. The full history is here (Spanish) or here in English.

Once inside, everything is really grand. There are marble sculptures lining the stairs, marble paneling the lower half of the inner walls (there are three different colors of marble), heavy velvety curtains, lamps with hundreds of light bulbs, ancient loveseats, a floor made of thousands and thousands of tiny tiles arranged manually in a semicircular pattern... The ceiling has a cupola of stained glass and there are stained glass panels on other parts of the ceiling and on the walls, as windows, all of them incredible beautiful and proof of a great artisanship, since they are made of small pieces of colored glass soldered in place by lead bars; their assembly demanded a great amount of manual work.
The performance hall has an enormous painting by Argentine artist Raúl Soldi given by him as a gift to the theater; he painted 16 canvases that were afterwards affixed at the cupola, 21 m in diameter. A picture can be found at wikipedia.
The theater also houses an original sculpture by german artist Gustav Eberlein, named "The Secret", portraying Cupid and Venus sharing a secret being told by Cupid, of incredible softness.