This past Friday, I saw Puccini’s Turandot for the fifth time in my life. It is my favorite opera. The opera holds an aria, Nessum Dorma, made famous my the one and only Pavoritti. Reflecting on the lyrics,
"None shall sleep,
None shall sleep!
Even you, oh Princess,
In your cold room,
Watch the stars,
That tremble with love
And with hope.”
The entire crux of the opera depends on the Princess not finding out the Prince’s name. It is a tricking game of cat and mouse, a power struggle like no other. And I am still not quite sure why I love the opera so much steeped in appropriation of Chinese culture and almost fetish-like obsession of royal power. Trembling is exactly the emotion Puccini was attempting. Tremble with fear. Tremble with love. Tremble with uncertainty. And surely the audience does throughout the opera. And maybe this it, sitting on the edge of your seat rooting for two misguided people who are still unsure if they can love? They love the idea of love, but in reality you never find out if they are actually good at loving one another. That is not what opera is about. Opera is about crystalizing an emotion, so an audience can maybe claim the diamond in the rough. Turandot was Puccuini’s last opera before he died and he wasn’t even able to finish it. So, the ending is a bit lackluster, rushed, and seems more like a reprise than a finale. Maybe, this is for the best. A bit more true to life, than operatic. The truth seeped in.
In other art news:
One of my favorite art critics, Roberta Smith, is taking a well-deserved break:
Art Critic Roberta Smith to Retire, Leaving the New York Times After 32 Years