BSO, review by Rebecca Wnuk

Read: What Happens When Talent and Skill Are Combined 
By Rebecca Wnuk

            Augusta Read Thomas' Cello Concerto No. 3, "Legend of the Phoenix" is an ineffably vivifying piece of music. Composed in 2012 and timing in at about thirty minutes long, it's a continuous ebb and flow of intensity, pace and passion.  The symphony uses a variety of woodwind, brass, string and percussion instruments to paint layers of euphonic sound throughout the air, never leaving a dull moment.

            The music piece opens with a spectacular burst of notes played on a cello, emphatically announcing its presence. Soon an English horn and clarinet join in, adding a bit of jazz flair. The brass instruments jump around in a sharp and frantic bursts that begin suddenly and are cut off just as fast. The speed and precision with which the instruments play make it evident just how carefully constructed the music is. When the glockenspiel, triangles and cymbals begin playing, a smooth transformation into more melodic, fluid sounds takes place. The music becomes less theatrical, embodying a serene quality that's complemented by the delicate ring of high-pitched bells.

             As suggested in the title of the piece, the cello is always the core of the music- the leader that other instruments follow and build upon. With the addition of each instrument, the energy grows, and Cello Concerto blossoms into a singular, unified work of art- an impressive accomplishment considering how many individual sounds it's comprised of.

            At only 48 years old, Thomas is a clear master of melody, harmony, rhythm, and tempo. She combines all of her skills to craft a dramatic ending for piece, using a cello to close her symphony  just as she used it to open. As the intensity grows and the climax is reached, all other instruments slowly fade away one by one. Finally, only the quiet hum of the cello's strings can be heard, and the piece has come full circle. When the musical composition concludes with a soft but vibrant strum,  it leaves listeners feeling rejuvenated and craving more. Lucky for them, the sounds produced in Thomas' majestic symphony tend to linger with people long after the piece has ended.

MFA Boston, reviewed by Rebecca Wnuk

A Mirror In Which We Cannot See Ourselves 
By Rebecca Wnuk

            Imagine a world of shape without shadow- a world where reflective forms inhabit a reflective space with reflective walls surrounding that space. This idea is what inspired Josiah McElheny to create Endlessly Repeating Twentieth Century Modernism, a sculpture on exhibit at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. Created in 2007, the piece is a large metallic cube with a rectangular window on each side. A look into one of the windows reveals an extraordinary optical illusion: various vessels made of hand-blown mirrored glass that seem to recede back into an endless void. The cube is placed in the center of the gallery, allowing viewers to walk around it and observe all four sides. Each side is over seven feet long, and the size of the piece as well as its silvery gleam makes it an immediate attention-grabber.

            The most striking part of the sculpture is the fact that everything inside the windows is made of mirrors, yet when peering into the glass, one cannot see their own reflection. This effect creates an air of otherworldliness- a distinction between what's outside the cube and what's inside the cube. To add to this, the windows' transparent glass acts as a barrier, separating the real world from the perfectionist utopia of carefully positioned, seemingly infinite pristine vases. The flawlessness of the space is almost unbelievable; the urge arises to break the glass barrier and reach through to touch one of the vases just to make sure it's real and tangible.

            McElheny plays with depth perception, using optical trickery to fool the eye. Even though the cube is only 343 feet in volume, the vases, boxes and bottles seem to stretch on for miles, disappearing into a dark abyss. This is both intriguing and strangely unsettling: on one hand, viewers feel a wondrous curiosity about how he accomplished this aesthetic. On the other, disconcerting feelings develop when viewers realize that a visual artist created a piece that fools the eyes- the very instruments used to observe visual art.

            Endlessly Repeating Twentieth Century Modernism is a beauty with a sharp edge. Equally compelling and disquieting, it incites more questions than it gives answers. When can't our own senses be trusted? What are the parallels between the alien environment inside the cube and our own environment outside? What is it about all of the mirrors that produces a sensation of slight discomfort? While it is not guaranteed that these points of curiosity will be answered by a trip to the MFA, it is guaranteed that McElheny's sculpture will leave you thinking. And, in this case, that alone is enough.

From Rubble to Regality: Xu Bing's Phoenixes By Rebecca Wnuk

From Rubble to Regality: Xu Bing's Phoenixes By Rebecca Wnuk

            You won't see two glowing hundred-foot-long phoenixes floating in the air when you enter Building 5 of the Massachusetts Museum of Contemporary Art, but the birds are there. It seems impossible to miss such large pieces, but viewing them requires walking through a mini maze of  bulky cardboard boxes stacked high enough to mask the avians' presence from unsuspecting viewers. The birds, hung from the ceiling, are part of Chinese artist Xu Bing's exhibit- appropriately titled Phoenix- and will be on display at Mass MOCA through October 2013. Together, they are a twenty-ton amalgamation of scrap metal and cultural vestiges created over a three-year period.

            The pieces are assembled from trash and debris found in building sites in Beijing, telling a story of China's never-ending development. The sheer volume and variety of individual parts used to make each bird is incredible: thousands of metal beams make up the birds' bodies, layered lines of rusty shovels give the impression of feathers, and carefully placed yellow hard hats add detail to the heads and feet. Each avian is also lined with small bulbs whose light creates a vivifying silhouette against the gallery's white interior.

            Despite the dirty, rigid, inorganic nature of the elements used to construct them, Xu Bing somehow manages to make the pair of phoenixes seem elegant and resolute. The wires that suspend them in midair are just long enough to let the birds dangle a few feet above viewers' heads, allowing for walking underneath them. Standing directly under such a massive work of art simultaneously instills feelings of extreme insignificance and unbridled vitality, leaving viewers with a vaguely perplexing aftertaste in their mouths.

            To call Xu Bing's phoenixes simply "sculptures" or "installations" would be to cruelly understate the rich cultural narrative embodied within them as well as their provocative, transcendental presence. The birds are visual mantras of China's continual development, tributes to a society of relentless progression. They are undoubtedly the most poignant works in all of Mass MOCA, and with more pieces being added to the show in April, Xu Bing: Phoenix is not an exhibit to miss.