Remembering Rite of Spring
By Igor Stravinsky
I write to Russia with a heavy heart, for I am horrified by the brutalities of war that have ruined the nation I once called my home. Though I have found refuge here in Switzerland, hearing of the rising revolution reminds me that beneath fear and uncertainty can also lie breathtaking inspiration.
Almost four years ago today, Diaghilev's Ballets Russes premiered Rite of Spring. Many criticized me for it -- they claimed it was loud, static and dissonant. Some said it was haunting and extreme, while others said it was brutal and disorienting. I had hoped it would open new horizons as something that was different and unexpected, but also beautiful. Following in the footsteps of Tchaikovsky and Romantic geniuses alike, I found myself surrounded by increasing political tension as the Great War loomed ahead. The confines of tradition were bursting at the seams, and at last, impending revolution provided the means for expression and experiment to flourish. Yet even my own orchestra struggled to make sense of my "strange new sounds" and complex structures. I remember that I would often grow so frustrated with my rehearsal pianist that I would push him aside and take over myself (playing twice as fast, of course). It was during these moments I found myself absolutely absorbed in the sheer energy of the music.
This is not to say that art must be stripped of convention and consideration in order to be deemed fit for revolution. In fact, I've witnessed how rather than acknowledging individualism through actual artistic contribution, the measure of achievement is often distorted to depend simply on its level of iconoclasm. Perhaps this is representative of the transience of contemporary culture, as some artists feel they can satisfy free expression through the instant gratification of jumping on rebellion's bandwagon.
I remember telling Nijinsky, "One must wait a long time before the public becomes accustomed to our language." Yes, Nijinsky and I laid everything bare -- polished technique was abandoned, yet control, skill, order and reason were not hastily cast aside. Rite of Spring was never wildly random; rather, it was a cold and rational depiction of this primitive world in which we now live.
I am safer here. I do hope the arts of Russia will continue to thoughtfully express social circumstance and pave the way for whatever may lie ahead.
Almost four years ago today, Diaghilev's Ballets Russes premiered Rite of Spring. Many criticized me for it -- they claimed it was loud, static and dissonant. Some said it was haunting and extreme, while others said it was brutal and disorienting. I had hoped it would open new horizons as something that was different and unexpected, but also beautiful. Following in the footsteps of Tchaikovsky and Romantic geniuses alike, I found myself surrounded by increasing political tension as the Great War loomed ahead. The confines of tradition were bursting at the seams, and at last, impending revolution provided the means for expression and experiment to flourish. Yet even my own orchestra struggled to make sense of my "strange new sounds" and complex structures. I remember that I would often grow so frustrated with my rehearsal pianist that I would push him aside and take over myself (playing twice as fast, of course). It was during these moments I found myself absolutely absorbed in the sheer energy of the music.
This is not to say that art must be stripped of convention and consideration in order to be deemed fit for revolution. In fact, I've witnessed how rather than acknowledging individualism through actual artistic contribution, the measure of achievement is often distorted to depend simply on its level of iconoclasm. Perhaps this is representative of the transience of contemporary culture, as some artists feel they can satisfy free expression through the instant gratification of jumping on rebellion's bandwagon.
I remember telling Nijinsky, "One must wait a long time before the public becomes accustomed to our language." Yes, Nijinsky and I laid everything bare -- polished technique was abandoned, yet control, skill, order and reason were not hastily cast aside. Rite of Spring was never wildly random; rather, it was a cold and rational depiction of this primitive world in which we now live.
I am safer here. I do hope the arts of Russia will continue to thoughtfully express social circumstance and pave the way for whatever may lie ahead.