Review: Lucia di Lammermoor

I’m so grateful to live the life I do. There’s always something happening. I had something scheduled for every evening this week, including a film screening of The Master and Margarita and a candlelight concert of Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake, featuring ballet. The former was absolutely brilliant, taking creative license with Bulgakov’s novel to weave his lived reality into the fantastical narrative, but doing so in a way that feels as relevant today as it did in the 1930s. The latter was less impressive, but was nonetheless enjoyable. But my point is that it was a saturated week, so I was looking forward to the weekend for a well-deserved break, but then a friend group chat lit up, “who’s up for opera on Sunday?”

And that’s how I ended up joining a massive group of Russians, most of whom I had never met before, for the final showing of Lucia di Lammermoor at Royal Opera House. Apparently, one of the girls likes to celebrate her birthday in style — treating herself, her friends, and friends-of-friends to a cultural experience. It’s a wonderful idea, one I am already considering co-opting for the future.

Although I’ve grown into quite the opera fan (if my annual Glyndebourne visits are anything to go by), I’m still not anywhere near to being an expert. In fact, while I’d heard of Gaetano Donizetti before, I was not familiar with any of his works. Lucia di Lammermoor is based on Sir Walter Scott’s The Bride of Lammermoor, and despite all the Italian-sounding names and the Italian libretto is actually set in Scotland. It’s a tragic tale of a woman again getting the blame for everything and only being vindicated upon her death.

The storyline seemed like a fairly standard 19th century doomed romance, but Lucia’s eventual murder of her new husband on their wedding night somehow reminded me of Machinal, though, of course, the settings and storylines were completely different. Perhaps it was the parallel of one last gasp attempt to reclaim agency — before, inevitably, succumbing to madness. The singer in the role of Lucia, Liv Redpath, conveyed her complexity of character with such grace, and had an absolutely marvellous voice to match. But my favourite — as well as the audience’s favourite, judging by the reactions — was Xabier Anduaga as Edgardo. His last aria brought me to tears.

Reflecting with a few of the other opera goers after the performance, we realised we aren’t too familiar with the stars of modern opera. I’ve heard, of course, of Freddie de Tommaso, though I’m still not sure I’ve ever seen him perform (I was meant to, but I think there was a last minute casting change). Beyond him, I don’t know anyone else, but I would definitely place Xabier Anduaga among the rising talents. I may not know the judgment criteria of the most established opera critics, but I do know that I could feel his voice deep in my soul. Hopefully I’ll have more opportunities to catch him on stage.

Lucia di Lammermoor finished its run at Royal Opera House on 18 May.

Running the London Marathon 2024

When I ran my first marathon back in 2018, I thought “never again”. But then, you start to forget the pain and remember the joy of the experience. So I made a deal with myself — my next (official) marathon would be the London Marathon, whenever and however I manage to get in.

Despite applying every single year, I wasn’t having any luck. Only something like 8% of applicants get a place. But six years later, my dream came true in an unexpected way. In November, I got the news that I had won one of my running club’s places.

Though I should’ve learned my lesson about preparation last time ‘round, after a succession of running, falling ill, running, and falling ill again, I became complacent. After all, I’d run 100 km in three days (including marathon distance on the first day) with minimal preparation last year, so how hard could it really be?

So, again, I failed to follow a training plan. Again, I failed to prep any fuelling strategy. Again, I ended up winging it. But, well, I’m six years older, so I ended up half an hour slower than my PB. In all honesty, I don’t care. Not only did I manage to raise money for a good cause, but I genuinely relaxed and enjoyed the atmosphere.

My husband was volunteering again this year, so I started my marathon journey alone. Luckily, I wasn’t alone for too long — I met some Sutton Runners in the underground, and we made our way to London Bridge together. We had different start zones, so we split up to catch different trains, but their enthusiasm was contagious and I was feeling pumped.

As I made my way to the runners grid at Blackheath, I was awash with emotion. The crowds, the music, the celebration — it was phenomenal. The big screens showed the elite runners start after a fitting tribute to Kelvin Kiptum, a tragic event that still brings tears to my eyes. He was such a talent, gone far too soon.

There’s something so special about mass events like these — they really bring people together. As we waited for our start wave, we were all smiling, laughing, wishing each other luck. And that energy carried through the entire route, bolstered by the crowds. I wasn’t running for time, so I made sure to high five as many children as I could, tap the “power up” signs, enjoy the sights, and even do a bit of celebrity spotting.

I happened across Russ Cook, or “Hardest Geezer”, just after Greenwich and even managed a sneaky selfie. I also ran past someone from Masked Singer in a piranha costume, which I noticed for its extravagance, but was only later informed that it was someone famous.

The Sutton Runners were managing the crossing at Westferry Circus again, so I did my best to run to them — so much so that my body clearly decided that it was the finish line, because after I finally reached them at mile 21, it gave up and decided to walk.

I walked for a bit, then started running again. As I got closer to the final stretch from City onwards, it was as if I had my “second breath”, because I sped up more and more as I neared Westminster and, finally, the finish line.

After the finish, I picked up my kit bag and headed to Green Park to get back to Westferry Circus to meet the team. The trains were surprisingly empty, so I managed to rest my weary legs before being forced to navigate Canary Wharf and all its road closures, which took twice as long as it should’ve because (a) I was slow and (b) I walked back and forth at least four times trying to find a crossing.

I spend the next half hour or so cheering on the runners still running and later caught the coach with the team. I also caught up on the news — a new women’s record of 02:16:16 was set by Kenya’s Peres Jepchirchir and the guy I saw running with a fridge on his back had proposed to his partner en route.

Finally, we made it home. I followed my triathlete friend’s marathon advice — first, a bath with Epsom salts in the evening, followed by a short 1km run in the morning. Honestly, I feel great, and even though I don’t think I’ll be running another marathon anytime soon, I applied for the 2025 ballot, so who knows?

Review: Machinal

I have a few friends who are die-hard lovers of The Old Vic. Maybe I’ve been unlucky, but I haven’t quite understood the fascination. It’s a lovely venue, but the performances leave something to be desired. Of course, I’m not a theatre critic and I don’t know the different methodologies used by actors, but I do know what I like. To me, powerful theatre is the actor’s connection with the audience. It’s intimate.

When I talk, as I often do, of “the next great thing”, what comes to mind are impactful pieces where I don’t just watch someone reenact something on stage, I live it. In recent memory, these are pieces like Arinzé Kene’s Misty, Enda Walsh’s Disco Pigs, Richard Gadd’s Baby Reindeer. Unfortunately, neither yesterday’s Machinal, nor Jitney, which I saw at The Old Vic back in 2022, fit the bill.

Reflecting on the performance yesterday, which centred around a young woman who murders her husband – inspired, in part, by the case of Ruth Snyder in 1928 – my friend and I agreed that the staging was good, but we weren’t sure about the acting or the screenplay. The story felt flat. I didn’t feel connected to any of the characters, the broad New York accents were all over the place, and the main character’s struggle – her descent into madness – felt, well, scripted.

I won’t give any spoilers, but the strongest part of the performance, in my opinion, was the very end. It was very well done, not necessarily due to the acting, but rather the staging, the lighting, and the beautiful singing voice of one of the actors. In other words, I don’t regret seeing Machinal, but it definitely wasn’t the “next great thing”.

As I was doing a bit of background reading for this review, I watched the trailer for the piece. Even in that short one minute video I saw more passion, more emotion than anything I witnessed during the live performance. But maybe I’m misunderstanding something, because the Ustinov Studio was packed and there were a number of theatregoers who gave a standing ovation.

Machinal is at The Old Vic until 1 June.

Review: Flaming June

Marathon training is well underway — or, well, nearly over. Race day is this Sunday and I’m severely underprepared, yet somehow relaxed. Que sera, sera. I’m raising money for a good cause, who cares if I walk the whole thing? Not caring about setting a personal best does allow for a certain joie de vivre. Like spending my lunch break exploring the Flaming June exhibition at the Royal Academy of Art.

The exhibition is quite small, but, as most things from the nineteenth century, leaves an impression of grandeur. I was introduced to the work of Frederic, Lord Leighton for what I thought was the first time, but was surprised to discover that I’d actually appreciated his sculpture in the National Gallery. In addition to Flaming June, he’s also the sculptor behind An Athlete Wrestling with a Python.

The description for the miniature plaster cast he made in preparation of the full scale sculpture read, “the final piece, when unveiled, was greeted with immediate, rapturous applause”. I’m paraphrasing, but the idea stuck with me — how often do we celebrate new pieces of art in the same way these days?

The rest of the exhibition featured works of artists who either inspired Leighton, such as replicas of sculptures by Michelangelo and paintings by da Vinci, as well as those who he himself inspired. There was even a small section dedicated to a contemporary artist exploring colonised identities. And, of course, the masterpiece, Flaming June, almost in the flesh. Regardless of what critics say, I thought it was a gorgeous display of colour.

Don’t miss the chance to see Flaming June, on loan from the Museo de Arte de Ponce in Puerto Rico until 12 January, 2025.

Review: Pauline Boty at Gazelli Art House

There’s something endlessly captivating about the 1960s. Is it the blend of beauty, art, emerging counterculture, and that inherent sense of tragedy? Whatever it is, it remains enigmatic and alluring — much like Pauline Boty.

I must admit that I wasn’t familiar with her work, only learning about her when our sister gallery began preparing for their Pauline Boty exhibition — which I had the privilege of attending yesterday. But as I delved deeper into her story, my admiration for her grew exponentially. She was a trailblazer, far ahead of her time, carving a niche for herself in the male-dominated art world of her era and hinting at the feminist wave of the 70s.

Boty’s nickname from her school days — “the Wimbledon Bardot” — hardly does justice to her talent and vision. She had such a diverse range of skills — her paintings rivalled those of her contemporaries, and her forays into collage and printing were reminiscent of Warhol’s Factory. Yet, it was her stained glass work that truly captivated me.

I later learned that she chose stained glass as a specialisation at the Royal Academy after being dissuaded from applying to the painting school, largely due to her gender. There was one piece in particular that stood out — I can’t seem to find the name, but it was incredibly intricate. I’ve done a bit of stained glass in my time, and my grandmother especially loved the medium, so I felt the works on a personal level.

Because I was lucky enough to preview the exhibition a few hours before the opening night, I could be alone with her works. It was a surprisingly emotional experience, particularly in front of her portrayal of a woman menstruating at the seaside. It’s a piece that still manages to shock, raising the question – why does it evoke such a reaction even now?

The opening night itself was an electrifying mix of art and people – a vibrant gathering of the art world elite. I even thought I saw David Hockney, though I can’t be certain. As I didn’t know anyone bar the two friends I invited and a few gallery employees, my networking was minimal, but a short conversation about my yellow fox tights with a fellow attendee sparked a whimsical hope that I might inspire a work of art someday. In other words, keep your eyes peeled.

Above all, the evening was a wonderful time spent with friends. We had a lovely pasta dinner at a nearby cafe (after first having spent an hour in a different restaurant, where we experienced a laughably slow service from a waiter named after a famous dictator — seriously). And if that first experience wasn’t weird enough, we then ran into celebrity superfans as we headed for the tube, having to force our way past a man insistent at preventing our crossing due to Emily Blunt’s impending arrival.

I guess that’s London for you — we take the weird with the wonderful, and the exhibition was very much the latter.

Review: GEN/GEN Generative Generations

The GEN/GEN: Generative Generations exhibition — if we’re limiting our discussion to the works represented and the curation itself, since Gazelli Art House has, fortunately, managed crowd control far better than the RA — was fascinating. As a newcomer to the art world, and especially to generative art, it was incredibly informative to trace the art form’s history over the past six decades. And, of course, it was great to see the final outcome after having spent the last month or so putting the puzzle pieces together — I’m talking about integrating the Art Blocks Engine into the Verisart Shopify app, of course.

So it was with great excitement that I headed downstairs from the Verisart office and into the three floors of gallery space belonging to Gazelli Art House. I’d invited a friend along, so we grabbed some welcome drinks and a few printouts explaining the background of the exhibition, and began our exploration. The first thing that struck me was the visible progress of technology — if the first experimentations with what I would think of as modern computer art (at least in the sense that it is computer art produced within my lifetime), such as William Latham’s Mutator1. Zapx6red-13, look very much a product of their time, today’s algorithmic output is mindblowing. But therein lies the progression of successive generations that is at the heart of the exhibition.

Given the ever-changing nature of digital art, showcasing this progression alongside its predecessors not only preserves, but also extrapolates new meaning from these historical moments — kind of like software updates for a legacy system, only more poetic. My favourite is, admittedly, the one I had some sort of relationship with prior to the exhibition — I was present at the minting of Monica Rizzolli’s Dance to forgotten noise, and I’m enamoured with its idea of an infinite number of generative outputs.

And so, the exhibition stands as testament to the artists who have pushed and are continuing to push the boundaries of art and technology, exploring the relationship between automation and creativity. If, like me, you’re keen to contextualise the complexity of digital art, you’ll enjoy GEN/GEN: Generative Generations.

GEN/GEN: Generative Generations is at Gazelli Art House until 7 October.

Review: Patriots

When it comes to reviewing Patriots, there’s the practical and there’s the emotional. The practical is simply appraising the actors — Tom Hollander, Will Keen, and Luke Thallon as Boris Berezovsky, Vladimir Putin, and Roman Abramovich, respectively — and Peter Morgan’s script. But to me, Russian history, especially recent Russian history, is a mess of emotions.

The very nature of feeling Russian — of speaking the language, living the culture, knowing the history — without being Russian in the truest sense of the word, is a constant internal conflict. I was born in 1991 — the very year the Soviet Union disbanded — in Latvia to a family of Ukrainians. I grew up speaking Russian, but I was never Russian.

I lived through the 90s — sheltered by childhood, of course, but nevertheless conscious of the disorder, the violence, the fear. And then, as I moved away and into the West, I watched from the sidelines as history played out. All the moments depicted in the play — the car bombs, Boris Yeltsin’s speeches, the rise of Vladimir Putin, the Chechen wars, the poisonings and murders and deaths.

It was fascinating to see it all on stage, written by someone who had a completely different context and yet managed to capture some of the sentimentality of the Russian soul. Of course, I would’ve probably quoted Mariengof instead of talking about ushanki, but that’s probably personal preference. There’s also the fact that hearing English people (mis)pronounce Russian words, regardless of how fantastic their acting is otherwise, destroys suspension of disbelief.

The play recognised that there are no heroes in this story. It acknowledges the complexity of human motivation — in a way, it almost revisits Leo Tolstoy’s repudiation of the great man theory. There are so many different interests, various alliances, and political forces at play, that history follows those currents. That being said, I did find it strange that the only person portrayed almost without criticism was Aleksandr Litvinenko.

There were a few other things that surprised me. Despite the Chechen terror attacks and war being mentioned a few times, there was silence on the topic of Beslan — a crucial turning point in the crisis. Also, the reference to Vlad Listev, who was never mentioned by name, but immediately recognisable, felt tactless, especially given that he was also murdered, very likely by the state.

I also can’t say that I ever expected to hear so much Vladimir Vysotsky in a play about Russian oligarchs. There’s got to be some sort of irony to it, no? Maybe it says something about my poetic, sentimental soul, but my biggest takeaway was to go and listen to all my favourites, including Лирическая, over which Berezovsky and Putin bond in some St Petersburg bar.

Maybe that’s the whole point — people like Vysotsky feel human. We empathise with their struggle. We relate to it. But the lives of oligarchs are alien to us. And I wonder, how can people care so much about something that, ultimately, doesn’t matter? That’s the tragedy of life — those with power are desperate to hold on to it, irrespective of the damage they do to anyone else. But maybe for someone who doesn’t feel this as deeply as I do, it’s just an interesting look at history with brilliant actors, excellent staging, and a beautiful soundtrack.

Patriots is at Noel Coward Theatre until 19 August.

Review: Fray

Yesterday, I sat through a 90 minute live action game advert. I should’ve suspected. Though Fray at Wilton’s Music Hall opens with hip hop host Fusion encouraging the audience to give 10/10 energy, the awkward attempts to pitch the Fray mobile game and TikTok filter dampen the sentiment. And the rest of the performance does nothing to sustain it.

With dance, it’s often hit or miss. In the case of Fray, the dancing is a hit. Everything else is a miss.

The plot made absolutely no sense. Which would be fine if the play focussed entirely on the dancing. But the dancing was unnecessarily interrupted with narration, though there was nothing cohesive about that narrative. The only explanation we could find for the existence of this piece was the fact that CandyBomber or whoever the game developer is really needed to advertise.

Had Fray allowed its dancers to dominate the stage for those 90 minutes, I’m almost positive it would’ve resulted in Fusion’s aspirational 10/10 energy. The dancers were fantastic — and the staging was gorgeous. Wilton’s is such a beautiful venue, and the way Fray played around with the lights and the dancers’ outfits and masks resulted in striking scenes.

But the storyline was terrible. Of course, it could be that my husband and I were not the target audience. But that begs the question — who was?

Fray is at Wilton’s Music Hall until 26 July.

Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band at BST Hyde Park

Each concert is a unique experience. There are so many variables to account for — who you’re seeing, what mood you’re in, what mood they’re in, where you end up standing, who you’re with — that it’s impossible to replicate. That being said, Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band have somehow managed to put on an unforgettable show every single time they perform.

There’s a reason Springsteen has earned the moniker “The Boss” — he’s simply phenomenal. 73 years old and still performing with the same joy, the same passion, the same energy, and the same charisma as ever — three hours of back-to-back hits, barely stopping to catch his breath.

I think the secret is that Springsteen is authentic, he’s grounded, and he doesn’t take anything too seriously. Too many bands go through endless lineup changes, rock stars are constantly in the news for neverending relationship dramas, but Springsteen & The E Street Band recently celebrated 50 years together — and his marriage to bandmate Patti Scialfa has lasted over three decades.

And that translates to his relationship with his audience. He cares. He stops to shake hands with the front row, he jokes and he chats, he connects. There’s no artifice — not even when it comes to the encore. He plays straight through.

Still, a career spanning more than half a century does mean that some band members have passed on, something Bruce Springsteen pays tribute to. He talks about his own career, and the people he’s known and loved — like being at the deathbed of his friend from his very first band, and dedicates Last Man Standing to his memory. It seems he looks at age with some humour — even playing Glory Days with a hint of irony.

Another testament to Bruce Springsteen’s legacy is the diverse audience he attracts. While the age range did skew older and there was a considerable amount of silver hair in the crowd, the youth weren’t any less passionate — a guy in his early 20s standing behind us knew every word to every song. In front of us, a slightly older man was such an ardent fan that when Springsteen launched into Wrecking Ball, he quickly changed his t-shirt from this year’s tour to one from the Wrecking Ball Tour.

One of my favourite moments was when the band launched into Because the Night, which I’m ashamed to admit I didn’t know was originally written by Springsteen before Patti Smith took it on and added her own twist and her own lyrics. His version was, understandably, quite different, but incredible nevertheless. It’s songs — and performances — like these that make you forget all about the aching in your legs and dance for hours and hours.

It was a beautiful evening, perfectly suited to the aesthetics of Springsteen’s arena rock — standing on the stage with his guitar, silhouetted against the setting sun, he was the epitome of a living legend.

Review: CRYPTO ART SALON LONDON

If I’ve gone quiet lately, it’s because I have a new job. It’s an incredibly exciting one – I’m working at the intersection between crypto and the art world. In other words, I’m now being invited to exciting gallery talks that I wouldn’t have heard of previously – much less felt comfortable enough to attend.

Yesterday, I made my way into the depths of Hackney to attend the CRYPTO ART SALON LONDON, hosted by VerticalCrypto Art, EXPANDED.ART and ANNKA KULTYS GALLERY. Yes, it would appear creators in the digital and phygital art space really like capital letters. 

The theme of the evening was billed as “the latest topics trending in the digital art and blockchain space”, and was centred around a panel discussion of “the history of generative art with notable collectors, curators, and thought leaders.”

For creatives, they were surprisingly punctual, but I attribute that to the indomitable writer and curator of EXPANDED.ART Anika Meier, who was chairing the panel. After a short introduction by the gallerist Annka Kultys, who welcomed Karate Kid (Collector), Joel Shamrock (Collector), Eva Jäger (Curator, Serpentine Galleries), and Crash Blossom (Artist), the discussion kicked off.

Over the course of the hour long session, the panellists covered topics around the value of NFTs (while trying – and failing – to avoid using the term) and the inescapable spectre of speculation that surrounds all art, both physical, digital, and that in between – as well as thought of ways digital collectibles could combat their tarred reputation. 

Eva Jäger didn’t shy away from acknowledging the speculative nature of art head on, working with artists on commissioned pieces that use AI to play with the relationship between ownership and cultural creativeness. Karate Kid was adamant that art is an expression of humanity, which is impossible to put a value on and therefore tends to be arbitrary. It’s all down to how each individual perceives the world and is prepared to pay for something that speaks to them. 

Crash Blossom referenced a collection he worked on, wherein the artwork reacted to its on-chain activity, whether that be transferring, selling, or holding. It’s a potential solution to the “pump and dump” nature of artificially hyped NFT drops, wherein the artwork will actually grow in value the more it stays with one owner. 

Still more topics were raised by the brief Q&A session with an oversubscribed audience, who asked a series of insightful questions, revisiting topics of speculation, promotional marketing, and the conundrum of why gender and socioeconomic discrimination persists in what is meant to be a more egalitarian structure – and how to avoid replicating existing market models in the future. The consensus? Be the change you want to see. 

Speaking to fellow attendees after the event – a combination of technologists, creators, curators, and collectors working in both physical and digital media, but all inspired by the possibilities of web3 – the overwhelming feeling is that detractors just don’t get it yet. NFTs are treated as if they must justify their existence, but to creators, it’s just another medium to use as a means of expression – one still very much in its infancy.