Spirituality, music, art, language

Good to be in Quebec City in September, the week of the Sacred Music Festival. International des Musiques Sacrées de Québec. Among the free events I attended, the first and perhaps my favourite took place at Musée national des Beaux-Arts, Je te Salue Marie. Manon Lefrançois, the vivacious soprano (accompanied by Karina Laliberté on violon and Marine-Hélène Bastien on piano) sang more versions of the Ave Maria than I knew existed, and the spirited Magnificat, so connu to the mostly femme audience that people sang along. The skylights above the grand hall of the Musée, les Plaines beyond the windows, the familiar scuplpture of a giant incomplete circle outside, but, from where I sat, only a partial view, so that it appeared a commas, as if to add, there is also this.

Next day, at the Musée de la Civilisation de Québec, the Choeur Vallon presented a brief but well chosen tour of four centuries of sacred music with great enthisasm, glittery silver clefs on their black shirts and dresses. The sole musical event I paid for, the Harlem Gospel Choir, at the enormous Elgise St. Roch, disappointed. Why? Expectations? I assumed I would leave in high spirits, and yet... while people were clapping and waving their hands, it seemed a bit contrived. The sound was mixed poorly so the voices didn't soar but rather fought with the keyboardist until the singers left the microphones. Or maybe it was that I sat ten rows back, next to a friendly couple who stood and clapped as I did.I talked about this on artchat podcast. For the night before, when I attended the opening concert of the OSQ, with its handsome new conductor Fabien Gabel, my late decision to attend meant the best cheap seat I could get was in row B. Yet, even though the sound may have been more evenly distributed to those sitting further back, it was thrilling to watch my favourite violinist James Ehnes play the Braham's violin concerto, to be able to see him exchange glances with Gabel, to note that Gabel, unlike the previous chef d'orchestre Yoam Talmi, did not seem to need to mop his brow with handkerchiefs set out on the stand so that one could determine the intensity of the performance by the number of hankerchiefs he used. Gabel appeared to be having some trouble with his vest buttons, but was otherwise in precise control for all, but especially the wonderfully orchestrated, Le Chevalier à La Rose, by Strauss. Music can be sacred whether or not it is so named, and I walked home feeling as elated as I thought I would après Harlem Gospel. In final event I attended, the painter Pierre Lussier, whose work is exhibted at both the Grand Théâtre and Espace Hypérion, talked about how he had been inspired by the silence that preceded the voice of the counter tenor Daniel Taylor. The relationship entre silence and music, possibly the pause before the action of painting. Lussier brings wonderful light to his scenes. They are in that way a reflection of his Renaissance influences, and while some might call him representationalist, he says that he expresses how his soul responds to nature. An eloquent talk by a man who seems humble as well as fully engaged. Enfin, à za-zen, les infleunces spirituelles sont venu à moi in trois langes, français, sanskrit, japonais. A week to listen, see, think, enjoy. This has been a good fesitval

Mon Voisin

How to live graciously as you grow old: Une leçon de simplicité, apples and music.

Mon voisin a 93 ans. Il est hauteur, and straight, his white hair falls to his shoulders. He cooks for himself, organic vegetables, soybeans, applesauce. He eats peanut butter, bread - both biologique. He cooks organic oats for breakfast everyday. He buys many boxes of apples in the fall and uses then, also shares them, through the year.

He keeps a cat, Pussy, and a bird, Blueberry, that a neighbour gave him when her daughter grew tired of having pets. The litter box rests on the red carpet in the living room, across from the cot he keeps there, and the bird cage hangs from a pole in the kitchen, near the card table and the two chairs with their down-to-the-threads cushions. When he leaves the apartment he assures Pussy that although he is going out, he will be back. Pussy occasionally roams the halls of this petit édifice, sniffing my shoes to get to know me, and whomever else might interest her. He does not let Pussy outside because cats are murder on birds. My neighbour also has a friend who is a dog. In fair weather, the dog lies still à les Plaines, on a bench, while my neighbour combs his long hair smooth. The dog loves my neighbour as much as my neighbour loves him.

My neighbour adores la musique. He is a season ticket holder to all series presented by Orcheste Symphonique de Québec. He is a big-time supporter of the opera, so much so that the director of the opera makes a point of introducing visiting artists to him. Charming to see those storied stars, those big voices stop to chat with this very old, exceedingly modest fan, who has saved up memories, and occasionally a joke, to entertain them.

Although he uses a cane, he is not otherwise accessorized and walks his mile circuit every day it is not excessively windy or icy. He wears a brown toque pulled over his forehead, a brown coat, home-knitted slippers inside old-fashioned rubbers. Ten years ago he slipped on a minute icy patch and broke his wrist. He is healthy, healthy enough to endure tooth implantation to make it easier to chew.

He enjoys company, yet he seems not to crave it, but, with his Pussy, his Bluebell, l'opéra and programs de la musique on CBC et Espace Musique, he enjoys what there is, as he says, left. Self-sufficient, desiring little, using to its threads, a rag for cleaning, wearing the same robe over his self-mended long sleeved t-shirt. This former physicist, who has neither computer nor tv, un bon model.