Claude Monet exhibits Impression, Sunrise (1874)

In 1872, Claude Monet visited his hometown of Le Havre in the north west of France and proceeded to paint six canvases depicting the port “during dawn, day, dusk, and dark and from varying viewpoints, some from the water itself and others from a hotel room looking down over the port“. One painting from this series was to become very famous.

Impression, soleil levant (Impression, Sunrise) was debuted in April 1874 in Paris at an independent exhibition launched as an alternative to the official Salon de Paris exhibitions of the Académie des Beaux-Arts. The exhibition, by a group calling itself the “Société Anonyme des Artistes, Peintres, Sculpteurs, Graveurs etc” was led by Monet, along with other such future luminaries as Edgar Degas, Camille Pissarro, Pierre-Auguste Renoir, and Alfred Sisley. Two hundred works were shown and about 4,000 people attended, including, of course, some rather unsympathetic critics.

Monet described how he came up with a title for the painting: “They asked me for a title for the catalogue…it couldn’t really be taken for a view of Le Havre, so I said: ‘Put Impression’“. While this title was apparently chosen in haste for the catalogue, the term “Impressionism” was not new. It had been used for some time to describe the effect of some of the naturalistic paintings emanating from the so-called Barbizon school of painters. However, it was in critic Louis Leroy’s review of the 1874 exhibition, “The Exhibition of the Impressionists”, for the newspaper Le Charivari, that he used “Impressionism” to describe this new style of work displayed, and he said it was typified by Monet’s painting.

This term, then, initially used to both describe and deprecate a movement, was taken up by all parties to describe the style, and Monet’s Impression, Sunrise was thus considered to have encapsulated the start of the movement. The rest, as they say, is history.

 

 

Claude Monet

Luciano Pavarotti sings Nessun Dorma (1994)

To opera buffs, Nessun Dorma has always been one of the great arias, but my, how the song’s profile was raised by its use as the theme song to the 1990 World Cup. That new audience, numbering in the scores of millions, associated the piece inextricably with the one voice, that of Italian tenor, Luciano Pavarotti. Many artists have recorded their own versions of the song – before and since – but it’s Pavarotti who is generally credited with performing the ultimate version of this song. The performance I embed below, from a show in Paris in 1994, shows exactly why it’s a justified claim. Pavarotti delivers an emotionally charged and hauntingly beautiful piece of musical theatre. Check out the emotion on his face at around the 2.40 to 2.50 mark.

Incidentally, for me, Nessun Dorma does not benefit from an English translation or an understanding of the song’s contextual meaning in Giacomo Puccini’s Turandot (though it concerns a prince, Calaf, and his attempts to win the hand of Princess Turandot), so I prefer to preserve its enigmatic majesty by ignoring its meaning and just letting it be. It’s truly powerful on its own.

Back in 2009, a few days after my mum’s funeral, my family and I, after a visit up to Blyth and on our way back, called into Durham Cathedral, significant for my mum’s stonemason dad having worked on this fine building. It turned out that it happened to be the day before Bobby Robson’s memorial service, and they were rehearsing for it as we arrived. Unsurprisingly, Nessun Dorma had been chosen to be a part of the memorial service (performed I believe, by vocal trio, Tenors Unlimited). Thus, in one of the world’s great cathedrals, and still raw from my bereavement, I heard the resounding strains of Nessun Dorma. An unforgettable moment.

Nessun dorma! Nessun dorma!
Tu pure, oh Principessa
Nella tua fredda stanza
Guardi le stelle che tremano
D’amore e di speranza

Ma il mio mistero è chiuso in me
Il nome mio nessun saprà
No, no, sulla tua bocca lo dirò
Quando la luce splenderà
Ed il mio bacio scioglierà
Il silenzio che ti fa mia

(ll nome suo nessun saprà
E noi dovrem, ahimè, morir, morir)

Dilegua, oh notte!
Tramontate, stelle!
Tramontate, stelle!
All’alba vincerò!
Vincerà!
Vincerò!

Luciano Pavarotti 2000