10 Little Magicians

Ten little fingers, that is, doing magic tricks on a double-manual harpsichord last night at the Bach Festival of Charleston which is being hosted this weekend by First Scots Presbyterian Church.

The music was J.S. Bach’s Goldberg Variations masterfully played by Jory Vinikour, a Chicago native and internationally recognized harpsichordist. With no music in front of him and with steel concentration, Jory put his virtuosity on full display for 90 minutes straight. He was dazzling, mesmerizing, and exhausting. It’s not easy to sit on a wooden church bench and listen to Bach for 90 minutes with no break, but Jory certainly made it worthwhile.

The double-manual harpsichord means two keyboards that can be played separately (with one hand on each keyboard) or as one (when the 2 keyboards are ‘locked’ together). And that’s where the magic comes in. Using two keyboards is different from playing this piece on a single-keyboard piano. As Jory explained, he could not simply turn around and play The Goldberg Variations on a piano. Many of the sections intended for two keyboards would have to be arranged for one. Which also means that this piece, as beautiful as it sounds on the piano, is not as Bach wrote it. On the harpsichord you really see what a keyboard wizard Bach was, the degree to which he challenged the performer, and the intensity with which he exhausted the capacities of the instrument.

Jory Vinikour

Thanks to Dr. JeeYoon Choi, Director of Music and Senior Organist at First Scots, for organizing this first Bach Festival of Charleston, which unfortunately did not get the promotion it deserved. Hopefully the festival will continue next year, receive more advance support, and (let’s hope) include some additional solo performances on, for example, violin and cello, which include some of Bach’s most exemplary music.

Learn more about the church’s unique harpsichord here. Read the full program notes by Mr. Vinikour.

Organic Bach

Yes, FOUR keyboards. On the beautiful 4-manual, 72-rank Ontko and Young sanctuary pipe organ. The console of this thing looks like the cockpit of a twin-engine airplane. Buttons everywhere. Some 32 foot pedals. And a multitude of walnut-colored keys. It’s a gem to look at and listen to.

Last night, Professor Gerhard Weinberger of Detmold, Germany played seven pieces: six by J.S. Bach and one by Franz Liszt (Prelude and Fugue on B-A-C-H). He began the first piece playing with foot pedals only—producing the slow, haunting bass tones most associated with the organ, especially at church services. After a few bars, however, Professor Weinberger departed from traditional church music and lept into the full range of Bach’s organ repertoire.

Gerhard Weinberger

This was the second evening of the Bach Festival of Charleston hosted by First Scots Presbyterian Church and Professor Weinberger demonstrated the pipe organ‘s range and versatility—from long, massive chords to delicate, fast finger work on all four keyboards. Here’s a sample recorded on my iPhone last night.

O! Henri at The Gibbes

First thing to do: go upstairs in The Gibbes Museum to the main gallery to the exhibit of The Eight (thru Mar 22, 2009). Walk to the far left corner and find the portrait of Juan, a Mexican boy in a brown hat by Robert Henri (1865–1929). Try to settle for a few minutes in front of this portrait.

Peer into those almond-brown eyes that gaze at you so assuredly. Feel the charm of this boy. Notice his sensuous lips and full cheeks, the slightly flaring nose, his alert ears, relaxed shoulders, and loose clothing, and the ease with which the whole figure rests in its depth of canvas.

After a few minutes, wander among the other paintings, but half way through come back and look at this portrait again. Then, before you leave the exhibit, return for a final look. This is a superb way to visit a gallery. Go right to one of the best pieces, come back for a second look, and pay a final visit before leaving. It helps you see and appreciate more.

Something that makes Robert Henri’s portraits so enjoyable is that he combined an impressionist’s style with a realist’s depiction of his subjects. The brush strokes seem spontaneous and casual. Details appear imperfect. But the effect is that you are not distracted by the painterly aspects of Henri’s style. Instead, you are led into the character of his sitter.

Last thing to do: go downstairs to the back gallery and visit the Gibbes-owned portrait by Henri: The Green Fan (Girl of Toledo). Take your time with this 1912 jewel of the permanent collection. View it from different angles and distances.

Henri is sometimes compared to the Dutch master, Frans Hal, who is distinguished by his candid portraits and masterly brush strokes. But the comparison is insufficient because Henri’s talent was inferior. He could not wield a brush the way Frans Hal could. On the other hand, Henri’s temperament was less whimsical. He saw more profoundly into his subjects and rendered them with more dignity and depth.

Like all good portraitists, Henri looked boldly into his subject’s personas and daringly painted not only what he saw but what he perceived about them. The result is one of the most insightful body of portraits by a twentieth-century American artist.

Henri was also a renowned teacher who insisted that the art of painting is as much, if not more, about seeing than about painting, which is evident in his work. The more you study his portraits, the more you realize how much he penetrated the inner world of his subjects. The longer you look, the more his technique becomes secondary and the more transparently his subjects reveal themselves to you, which is the height of portraiture.

All too often, an artist’s technique—be it in painting, music, or drama—stands in the way of our being able to get at and fully enjoy the essence behind it. Henri understood this and cautioned his students about it while teaching them to focus on what they saw rather than on how they painted. Seeing was the thing, the real art. Painting was simply a result.

Henri’s preferred teaching method—which, as he explained, is hard to employ—was to have students look at a model in one room, then go to an adjoining room and draw or paint from memory. He did not want them to just copy the model. He wanted them to really ‘see’ what they were trying to capture on their canvases. As he said, “An interest in the subject, something you want to say definitely about the subject; this is the first condition of a portrait.”

It’s also a way to look at a Robert Henri portrait. What did he see? What was it that he wanted to say definitely about the subject? One clue is that, like all great portraitists, he was adept at finding a pose and posture that would match his sitters’ facial features and echo that ‘something’ in their inner character.

Something else you may want to do: get a copy of Henri’s notes to his students, The Art Spirit, Harper & Row. It is an inspiring series of comments about how to see, how to paint, and how to live.

See more of Henri’s paintings here.

The Gibbes Museum
135 Meeting Street
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