A musical score and baton at the ready on the conductor’s stand.
Today I’m changing things up a bit and posting a photograph that is not at all like what I typically share. The photograph comes from a project I worked on over the course of three years, during which time I was “embedded” with a couple of professional classical music groups, a symphony orchestra and a chamber orchestra. It was a special and, I think, unusual experience. Lots of people photograph musicians, but I was able to hang out backstage and photograph the parts of musicians’ work and lives that you don’t see from the stage.
In the photograph is the score to one of composer Kurt Weill’s compositions. Because I had fairly free rein to photograph almost anything I was able to wander onto the stage during breaks and photograph vignettes containing items associated with the work of the musicians. A musical score is a completely remarkable thing. It uses a written language that most do not understand, and it notates not text (for the most part) but instead indicates pitches, dynamics, techniques, rhythm, and more — yet it leaves a lot to the interpretation of the musicians individually and collectively. The conductor’s score contains a remarkable density of information. I used to keep a print of two pages of a score by Ravel on my office wall, and it never ceased to amaze me that those two pages, with hundreds of notes and other indications, contained only a few seconds of sound.
G Dan Mitchell is a California photographer and visual opportunist. His book, “California’s Fall Color: A Photographer’s Guide to Autumn in the Sierra” is available from Heyday Books and Amazon.
George Cleve conducts the Symphony Silicon Valley in rehearsal
Bear with me. This may be a long story. I’ll start with some basic facts concerning this photograph. As some of you may know, I have been working on a long-term project to photograph classical musicians. This is related to a sabbatical project at my college, and one goal is to document aspects of the lives and works of classical musicians that might not typically be seen by those who only get to come to see performances. For this purpose, I have been “embedded” with a couple of groups for over a year. It has been a great opportunity, and I’m grateful to the musicians and others who work with them for allowing me a kind of access to their lives and work that they might not afford to just anyone. It helps that I know many of them, that I’m married to one of these musicians, that my academic training is in music, and that I used to perform with people like these. All of that also helps me be sensitive to things that other photographers might not as easily see. (This is a long story in and of itself, and I’ll save that for later.)
The conductor of this concert “set” is George Cleve. His name is not exactly a household word, but his experience and skill and musical sensitivity is of the highest level. My experience with George goes back many years, to a time when he conducted orchestras in which I occasionally played (San Jose Symphony and the Midsummer Mozart Festival Orchestra) and one for which I served as orchestra stage director for a few years. In a surprising coincidence I even took a conducting class from him when I was an under-graduate music major “back in the day.”
Conductors are not always patient people, and there are many reasons that this can be the case. The work they do is unlike almost any other work that I can imagine. Even though I’ve been around music for many years, I still find it difficult to offer a really good description of the complexity of the role—which includes elements of ring-master, leader, coordinator, passionate interpreter, analytical listener and teacher, and much more. Truly watching a skillful conductor—and preferably not while performing, but instead while your full attention can be on the watching—is an illuminating experience. From the visual perspective of a photographer, the appearance of the conductor is in a continuous state of flux. His or her facial expressions change faster than you can follow, and subtle movements—a quick glance, a hint of a smile, a momentary intensity, a curving motion of the hand—convey things in a fluid way.
But I have one more story about George, and it involves that conducting class. His was an intimidating presence for young music students. I recall him at one of the first classes asking, “You do all have the nine symphonies of Beethoven committed to memory, right?” Wrong! Though we quickly set about trying. (That task takes far longer than a college term!) I recall a day when we were to individually conduct the second movement of the 6th symphony for him. As I remember it, we entered the room alone to face him and conduct as a pianist played a reduction of the score. One after another nervous students entered and soon emerged from the room, often seemingly crushed by the realization of how little they understood what they had to do. It was my turn. I entered and faced him and began to conduct. In my recollection, which is probably no longer completely accurate, he quickly stopped me and said something along the lines of, “No, no, no!” But then, for reasons I never quite understood, he gave me a musical gift that I did not expect and which has remained with me since then. Instead of telling me I was done, he said, “Watch me.” Standing a few feet in front of me and conducting as if the full symphony was where I stood, he put on the full show for me, intensity of expression, cues to all, the perfect physical expression of what did and could happen in the music, and I saw what it actually might mean to understand and lead such a performance of such a piece… even if I never learned to do so even close to his level.
This week, at the rehearsals that included a different Beethoven symphony, I finally had the opportunity, decades later, to thank him for that gift.
G Dan Mitchell is a California photographer and visual opportunist whose subjects include the Pacific coast, redwood forests, central California oak/grasslands, the Sierra Nevada, California deserts, urban landscapes, night photography, and more. Blog | About | Flickr | Twitter | Facebook | Google+ | 500px.com | LinkedIn | Email
From my ongoing project photographing classical musicians that their world, this photograph of conductor Karen Kamensek comes from a recent performance of the Symphony Silicon Valley, one of the groups I have been working with. (One reason for this project is my hope to expose people who are not familiar with this world to a bit more of its reality, ranging from the sometimes mundane aspects of the work to the aspects that reflect the intensity, dedication, and incredible work that isn’t so easy to see directly.)
All performers in this world distill their technical skills and emotional/aesthetic focus to levels not often experienced by those in more prosaic lines of work. If you have the opportunity to watch closely—as I have, both as a former performing musician myself and now as a photographer—you begin to see subtleties that are difficult if not impossible to see from the audience during a performance. Or, people might see them, but only small parts of them and only for brief moments. The conductor provides a more visible example of what can be seen among all of the performers. A huge number of factors are simultaneously at work—tempo, expression, technical issues of timing and balance and intonation—and all of this unfolds rapidly and inexorably as the music moves forward in time. And the conductor must express (or, often, over-express) all of these things visually, often simultaneously signaling things about to happen, being in the moment of things happening now, and even responding to things that have just occurred.
G Dan Mitchell is a California photographer and visual opportunist whose subjects include the Pacific coast, redwood forests, central California oak/grasslands, the Sierra Nevada, California deserts, urban landscapes, night photography, and more. Blog | About | Flickr | Twitter | Facebook | Google+ | 500px.com | LinkedIn | Email
This is one of the photographs from my three-year project photographing professional classical musicians. As part of the project, which is now in its second year, I have been “embedded” with the Symphony Silicon Valley (the descendent of the former San Jose Symphony). Most of my photography has been during rehearsals, when I can work fairly freely backstage, photographing musicians in ways that they are not usually seen. Most people have a limited familiarity with classical musicians, mostly seeing them from a distance in performances when they are formally attired. One of the goals of the project is to show aspects of their lives and work that are not seen as often – the rehearsals, what goes on backstage, even what they do between rehearsals and concerts.
There is a lot of photograph in this world! I’m fortunate not only to have the cooperation of this wonderful group of musicians (thanks SSV people!) but to be personally very familiar with this world. My training is in the field of music. At one time I played professionally, and at another point I worked as an orchestra stage manager. So I have developed some sensitivity to music and musicians that might be difficult for other photographers to achieve. Many interesting things happen so quickly that you might not even see them if you did not know to look. The work of the conductor is but one example. From instant to instant the conductor’s facial expression changes, sometimes radically, to both respond to and anticipate changes in the music. The position and motion of the hands and, for that matter, the whole body, conveys important but fleeting cues to musicians. I studied conducting a bit at one time, but I think I have learned more about it in the past two years by closely watching and becoming aware of the visual elements of the conductor’s work. Layered on top of that is the basic photographic need to be constantly aware of light, both in the technical and expressive sense, and how to place the subject in a context that “works” visually. This is a very different sort of work that photographing landscapes, but it is equally challenging and rewarding!
G Dan Mitchell is a California photographer and visual opportunist whose subjects include the Pacific coast, redwood forests, central California oak/grasslands, the Sierra Nevada, California deserts, urban landscapes, night photography, and more. Blog | About | Flickr | Twitter | Facebook | Google+ | 500px.com | LinkedIn | Email
Photographer and visual opportunist. Daily photos since 2005, plus articles, reviews, news, and ideas.
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