In German, the word Traum means "dream". Trauma, is well, trauma. It's a clever little play on words to advertise an ongoing series of exhibit at MOMUK, Vienna's huge and excellent modern art gallery. The gallery looks like a metal-plated aircraft hanger. Inside, it is divided into nine levels, eight of which are open to the public, and all of which have parts that are open to see up or down into the other levels. The top floor featured "classical modernist" works - largely work from the first half of the twentieth century that inspired the works of the second half of the century. Two floors were devoted to a retrospective of Sigmar Polke's work. Some was quirky and intresting, some looked interesting, but I found the "deep" intellectual interpretations posted near several pieces rather annoying. Sometimes knowing the thoughts or history behind a piece make it more interesting (Rothko, Warhol), sometimes though, as in this case, they just feel like a justification or an excuse for the work.
Another floor featured two currently working artists. On one side, panels of blue projection were meant to invoke the works of Yves Klein and other colour-field artists. Across the hall, an artist set up a computer painting program with motion sensors in the gallery. As viewers moved in the space, the motion sensors translate the movements into abstract paints on the projected "canvas". Just as Pollack's abstract expressionist peieces are more about the movement and energy that went into creating them, so too is this work about movement and the relationship of viewer versus artist, or creator versus observer. That and it was just plain fun to pace across the room and see what happened on the screen...The Traum V Trauma part of the exhibit was two floors of art from the 60's. The first area was set up like an "Art Supermarket" Including voices of the artists intoning "Buy Art, buy art, BUYART, buy art..." The concept, and the recording, were from "Art Supermarkets" that actually functioned int he 60's. I remember hearing on NPR about a woman whose parents bought an Andy Warhol autographed can of Campbel's soup at such a market. It was fun to see what she was talking about. Downstairs from the supermarket were more art, photos, and videos from happenings. Some were very lovely - traum - such as the mirror with water running over it and a light bouncing the water shapes up on the wall. Some were not so lovely - trauma - such as photos of sex play with animal guts and a video of a man peeing in a glass and then drinking it.
We finished at the gallery at about 4, and decided to head home for an early dinner. Carmen was going to be playing at 7, and the standing room tickets were to go on sale at 5:40. It is a well-known show, so we wanted to be there as soon as the window opened to ensure a place at the rail. Cooking and eating took a bit longer than expected. When we arrived that the theatre at 6:00, the line was already out the door and looping through the box off ice area. We were a little worried, but managed to get places almost identical to the ones we had last night. Carmen is one of my favourite scores but least favourite opera stories. As expected, I loved the music and didn't particularly care for any of the characters.
Perhaps the most moving moment of the evening came before the performace even started. The (I'm guessing) Artistic Director came out and said a few words in honour of Pavarotti. Then the orchestra played a Mozart Requiem. At the end the entire house stood up for a moment of silence. As you know, a theatre is never entirely silent. In the hush of the audience, one could hear the balconies creaking, the sounds of violin bows being rested on stands, and an occasional muffled cough or program rustle. These noises seemed so small against the vast empty air of the opera house. I can think of no better send off for Luciano than this feeling of an opera house full of air, empty of voice. I was not a particularly big fan of his voice, but one has to respect all that he did for the popularity and visibility of opera.
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