Square 82: Form

I like taking a simple form and exploring variations upon it. That's one of the appeals of this blanket blog that inspire me onward. As you get to know a form you can experiment within its constraints. Something that seems simple and repetitive may contain infinite variety.

Structure is one of the things that draws us into music, for example. Most popular songs include several verses (V), a chorus (C) in a different but related theme, and often a bridge section (B) introducing a third related theme. These might follow the sequence V-C-V-C-B-C. Songwriters return to this basic structure again and again because it provides listeners with a reference point. Even a new song can be predictable. The combination of predictability and novelty entertains us, and gives us cues to the rhythm and pace of the song.

Classical music commonly uses several musical forms. One of them, the rondo, follows a structure similar to contemporary song structure: A-B-A-C-A-B-A. Each section presents a distinct theme. There may be additional ones (D, E, F), but ultimately the music always returns to the beginning theme.

I have experimented with a particular form in some of these squares, treating each yarn as an individual theme. Sometimes I have tried returning to the same themes symmetrically as in a rondo, but these mitred squares seem more interesting if they culminate in different colours from which they started. The apex of the square focuses the attention, and the colours there, even though they consist of fewer stitches, draw as much attention as the long outside rows, which form a kind of foundation.

So I have invented an original form. I think the first time I used it was in Square 48. I was establishing a colour rhythm, ripples of light and dark moving across the square the way moonlight draws your eye across the layers of a night landscape.

Since then, I have tried variations on that form. This time I used the square to illustrate it. I chose five solid coloured yarns (dark green, grey, vermilion, purple, and apple green) and five variegated yarns in colours closely related to the first five.

I followed a few simple rules in establishing this form. Each colour is used exactly twice, and each never appears next to any other colour more than once. The first three rows establish the first three colours; after that each new colour is followed by an old colour and vice versa, until the last three rows wrap up the last three colours.. I like how it establishes rhythm and harmony among contrasting colours. This square is odd, but it illustrates the pattern well.

A-B-C-A-D-B-E-C-F-D-G-E-H-F-I-G-J-H-I-J.

Square 77: Tosca

When I was a university student my friend, Peter Satterly, treated me to a dress rehearsal performance of Tosca with the Canadian opera company. Now with the benefit of hindsight, I know this work to be a treasure of the repertoire; powerful and timeless plot, strong characters, memorable melodies, and Giacomo Puccini's lush orchestration make Tosca one everyone should consider seeing. I was a newbie in the 1980s. Tosca won my heart, and I have grown as an opera buff ever since.

The character of Floria Tosca is appealing, very human with strengths and flaws. She is a stage singer, devoted, jealous, fierce, effervescent and kind. She does not realize (at first) her boyfriend, Mario, is a revolutionary. He runs afoul of the merciless and lascivious chief of police, Scarpia, who draws the two lovers into dreadful trouble. Yes, this is a tragedy, grand opera style, but not just about the tragedy of love; it's the challenge we all face as human beings to make difficult choices, to be actors and not just passive observers in life.

One of the musical climaxes is Tosca's second-act aria, Visi d'arte, in which she prays—not the common operatic pining of infatuation and lust, but longing for innocence, freedom and a simple life.

I lived for art, I lived for love.
I never did harm to a living soul!
With a secret hand
I relieved as many misfortunes as I knew of....
In the hour of grief
Why, why, Lord
Ah, why do you reward me thus?

A pretty actress who never thought of being a real heroine, she finds herself caught in the battle between good and evil, called to enact terrible justice. She proves herself to be a woman of action, regardless of consequences. Myself, as an artist far more interested in creativity than politics, I can relate to her dilemma.

Last week I saw this opera performed for the second time, live in high definition from the Metropolitan Opera, with Danny. It was his first time, and it pleased me to see him as captivated as I was by the music and characters. I will never forget the powerful performance by Finnish soprano, Karita Mattila.

This knitted square refers to the exquisite red coat she wore, and the character's beauty, commemmorated in Rufus Wainwright's song, "Damned Ladies":

Desdemona, do not go to sleep.
Brown-eyed Tosca, don't believe the creep.

This new production by Luc Bondy of a popular work has drawn harsh criticism and public disapproval, which I don't understand. The sets are stark, dark and realistic, true to the potent spirit of the tale, as meaningful as ever today, when political power has been widely abused and the rights of many—to live and love free of oppression—are curtailed.

Square 71: Sibelius's Second Symphony

As promised, this time I chose yarn first, then started knitting and waited for the colours and textures to suggest a story. I began juxtaposing intense purple Noro Silk Garden with some dark, rich browns. The combination was unusual, but the story came to mind more easily expected. For months I've wanted to create a square for my favourite musical composition, but didn't know how to describe it in colours. Now this was it.

Friday on Tempo, CBC Radio 2's midday Classical music program, host Julie Nesrallah launched a feature called Music that rocks your world. She described how her grade seven teacher took the class to see the movie, Fame; when Julie heard the final movement of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, it changed her life forever. She asked listeners to write and tell her about similar experiences of their own.

Later the same day, same station, different program, Rich Terfry described how some music actually affects us physically. It can make the hair stand up on the back of your neck.

I've had that happen. I wonder what causes it: dynamic tension, I suppose. My favourite symphony used to do it practically every time I listened. Over the years the effect has worn off, but still I am profoundly moved.

Unlike Julie, I grew up drenched in 19th Century music, especially Beethoven, Tchaikovsky, Rachmaninoff's Second Piano Concerto, Chopin piano pieces, a little Brahms, and the music of Fantasia. Every day my parents listened to WQRS, the Classical music station from across the river in Detroit. I began finding my own favourite composers, like Schubert, Dvorak and Sibelius, and exploring their repertoire.

I don't remember how or when I first heard Sibelius's Symphony Number Two in D Major, but it became my favourite composition by my mid teens and has remained so ever since. In the evenings when my parents watched TV, I would close the door to family room, go down the hall to the empty living room, put on my vinyl recording of this symphony, turn up the volume, turn off the lights, and go on a long journey. It was only 45 minutes, but also a lifetime.

In those days I experienced music intensely visually. The symphony seems to begin on a sunny hillside, traverse wide open country, move through stormy winter darkness, shift to a windswept mountain cliff, and plunge into deep, mysterious shadows. At the end of the darkness, the traveler glimpses a shining city and slowly approaches. The finale is resplendent and transcendent.

This square is not a literal description of the landscape I saw with my inner eye, but an impression of the music's deep, enigmatic qualities.

I have always related deeply to Sibelius's music without understanding why, but recently came to realize it is because he was deeply inspired by nature. I was an isolated and lonely teenager, and I suppose this music also gave me hope. To my mind, Symphony Number Two suggests all fears and trials are worth enduring, and life is an adventure of inestimable richness.

Square 36: All you need is love

An interesting aspect of this blanket (at least for me), is that one story suggests another, leading me down particular paths. The title of this blog becomes even more apt as time goes on. It is certainly the case with these last two squares. Square 35 with its reference to Montreal and my idea of polyamory, "loving different people in different ways," suggested the story for Square 36.

2004 was an interesting time in the history of same-sex marriage in Canada. This country became the first in the world to have a same-sex marriage legally recognized (in Toronto on January 14, 2001), which began the movement toward legalization throughout the provinces. Same-sex marriage became legal in Ontario in June 2003, in British Columbia in July 2003, and in Quebec in March 2004, with the rest of the provinces and territories following by July 2005.

It so happened that Gala Choruses, an international association of queer choruses, held a festival in Montreal in July 2004 with several thousand delegates from around the world. I attended with the Rainbow Chorus of Waterloo-Wellington (RCWW). It was a heady, exciting time. Several of our members had recently married. Many couples from other countries, particularly the United States, took the opportunity while in Montreal to undertake marriages recognized by the state, though not their state.

It so happened that our program, which RCWW had taken to perform at the festival, was entitled "All you need is love", with a variety of songs leading up to a climactic Beatles medley. The theme and songs had been selected more than a year earlier, with no foreknowledge of the precipitous political events around gay marriage in Canada. Our choice was coincidental, perhaps prophetic, because marriage is supposed to be about love between people. Who has the right to deny love between two people of different races or the same gender, or for that matter a love relationship involving more than two people?

As a polyamorous person, I have had reservations about the institution of marriage. An unhealthy or abusive one can be a trap. Legal marriage sets up a hierarchy of relationships, bestowing validity on some and not on others. I believe there are many colours and shades of love, and it should only be restricted to two people if that is their mutual, respectful choice.

But I also believe in the right of lovers to celebrate their relationships however they choose, and to receive recognition and support from their families and community. To this end, I suppose legalized same-sex marriage is a positive step towards universal human rights.

My favourite song from our performance in Montreal was King's Singers' a cappella version of "All I ask of you", from Phantom of the Opera by Andrew Lloyd Webber. To the theme of political change at that time, it spoke:

All I want is freedom
A world with no more night

To me, night is the pall of repression that caused me to reject my own feelings for so many years. The song's potent words remained with me long after.

Two years later it inspired me to write a poem entitled "Agape", the Greek word for unconditional love the New Testament commands and Christians attempt to embrace. In my experience love is at once lovely and broken, powerful and fragile. Vulnerability itself opens us to love. The legalistic love of religious people is no more valid than two adolescents groping in the dark for shared pleasure and belonging. As the fallen star, Yvaine, says in the 2007 movie, Stardust:

But when I see the way that mankind loves—you could search to the furthest reaches of the universe and never find anything more beautiful. So yes, I know that love is unconditional. But I also know that it can be unpredictable, unexpected, uncontrollable, unbearable and strangely easy to mistake for loathing.

And here is part of what I wrote in my poem, addressing the hypocrisy of those who declare my love not good enough:

I do not want your sympathy.
All I want is freedom
to love as far as I understand it
and grow cosmic as can be.

Earlier this year, RRWC selected this poem as the text for a new choral composition to be commissioned for performance at a national festival in Winnipeg in May 2010. The piece will be written by an acclaimed Canadian composer. Isn't it exciting how threads spin together and the yarn continues?

Square 15: Baroque evening

Friday evening we attended a free concert given by Tafelmusik Baroque Orchestra and Chamber Choir as part of Luminato, Toronto's Festival of Arts and Creativity. I went with a skeptical attitude, because I'm choosy about Baroque music and the program was intimidating. The first two composers, Veracini and Locatelli, were unknown to me; the next two barely familiar, Lully and Purcell; and Handel I usually leave alone. Arriving half an hour early, we had to take our place in line halfway down the block, and wondered whether we would get reasonable seats at all. Trinity St. Paul's Centre is a renovated and functioning church, and many pews do not provide a good view of the entire stage.

Fortunately, once the doors opened and the crowded flocked inward, we knew immediately where to go: some parts high in the balcony offer a better overall view than seats nearer the front. We found an excellent vantage. Evening sun shone through one of the church's large rose windows directly in our faces, but the effect was glorious. The glass panels formed an abstract pattern of soft lilac, purple and green. During the first half of the concert, a layer of heavenly fire burned slowly across the crowns of the audience.

This square recalls the evening through an impression of a stained glass window. The pale violet yarn imitates the glass itself, yellow Lopi is the setting sunlight, and the variegated brown and green yarn from Fleece Artist represents rich tones of the Baroque orchestra rising in the church.

As soon as the music started we realized we were in for a treat. Francesco Maria Veracini's Orchestral Suite no. 6 in G Minor begins with a ravishing Allegro; overall the suite is a brilliant example of Baroque charm, richly embellished without sacrificing lyrical loveliness. Veracini was a contemporary of Bach and Handel. So far I can't find any online reference to a recording of this composition.

The latter part of the concert consisted of a pastiche of choral night music, assembled by Tafelmusik. It included selections from Henry Purcell's The Fairy Queen and several works by Handel. The music harmonized with the slow drain of dusk to magical effect. Here are some words from Purcell's libretto, an anonymous adaptation of Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream:

Hush, no more, be silent all,
Sweet Repose has clos'd her Eyes.
Soft as feather'd Snow does fall!
Softly, softly steal from hence.
No noise disturb her sleeping sense.

Shadows gradually enchanted the upper gallery. During Handel's L'Allegro, il Penseroso ed il Moderato, soprano Ann Monoyios and flutist Claire Guimond performed a lyrical duet evoking the song of a nightingale in the woods. I was vanquished, carried into musical dreams.

Square 5: Renée Fleming

Last week on the way home from The Metropolitan Opera broadcast live in HD, Danny and I stopped at Romni Wools. I was still high from the performance, and to make matters worse Romni was playing opera arias. It gave me the idea that besides using yarn left over from projects, I could look for new yarn to evoke specific memories. Here is where the story blanket stops being economical, but I'm already committed up to the shoulders.

I had only been a casual opera fan until The Met began broadcasting live to silver screens around the world during the 2006/2007 season. They started with a series of crowd-pleasers, but Eugene Onegin enthralled me. I have always loved Tchaikovsky's music, but was unfamiliar with this opera.

It begins on the country estate of Tatiana's family, where the young heroine falls under the spell of charming, cold-hearted Onegin. It is autumn, and the stage is littered with bright leaves. Peasants enter singing a harvest song. The colours remind me of October cottage weekends, and I am swept up by the elegant drama of the music.

Renée Fleming carries off the letter-writing scene with fiery ambivalence: 15 minutes alone on stage portraying a girl's struggle with her first infatuation. The performance can be viewed on Youtube: part 1 and part 2. The music is dizzying, wrenching and lyrical. At the 4:20 point of part 2 the orchestra introduces a sweet, descending scale, which Tatiana picks up, imploring:

Who are you? My guardian angel
or a wily tempter?
Put my doubts at rest.
Maybe this is all an empty dream,
the self-deception of an inexperienced soul,
and something quite different is to be.

The musical motif appears again throughout the opera, and I would leave the theatre humming it, holding on until a recording could recall it for me.

Fortunately Fleming's letter-writing scene is recorded on Great Opera Scenes, and a few months later The Met would release the entire opera performance on DVD. Since then I have become an avid Fleming fan.

While dramatic, Eugene Onegin evokes a believable, human scale of acts and emotions. The central tragedy is regret, which everybody experiences. It gripped me mortally, drawing me under the spell of opera just as Tatiana falls for handsome Onegin.

Two years later at Romni Wools, Danny knew I was seeking yarn for the next blanket blanket square, but didn't know what particular opera was on my mind. He pointed out this Fibra Natura Heaven, and it had the Met performance of Eugene Onegin all over it. Watch the letter-writing scene and see these colours. They dominate the entire first act, underlining the passion of a girl whose love will go unrequited until too late.