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Epistolary Enchantment New York
Wu Tsai Theater, David Geffen Hall, Lincoln Center
05/16/2025 - & May 17, 18, 2025
Kevin Puts: The Brightness of Light
Maurice Ravel: Daphnis et Chloé
Renée Fleming (Soprano), Rod Gilfry (Baritone)
New York Philharmonic Chorus, Malcolm J. Merriweather (Director), New York Philharmonic Orchestra, Brett Mitchell (Conductor)
Wendell R. Harrington (Production Design) 
K. Puts (© David White)
“My first memory is of the brightness of light, light all around.”
Georgia O’Keeffe, quoted by Kevin Puts in The Brightness of Light
“We should always remember that sensitivity and emotion constitute the real meaning of art.”
Maurice Ravel
Renée Fleming’s last word sung from Kevin Puts’ The Brightness of Light was “Wonderful.” The stranger sitting next to me whispered “Wonderful.” And I thought to myself, “How could Kevin Puts’ song/orchestra cycle on the letters written by Georgia O’Keeffe be anything but wonderful?”
The wonder is that Brett Mitchell (who took over the “indisposed” published conductor) didn’t take the clue. Not a single member of the audience would have rued him had he cancelled the following Ravel for a complete repeat of Mr. Puts great score.
Then again, how could anything go wrong here? First, the composer himself, perhaps the most lyrical, feeling, atmospheric young writer today. Second, his setting of (sometimes boring) letters between the mutual admirers/lovers/divorcees/distant lovers photographer Robert Stieglitz and painter Georgia O’Keefe. The lines of love between the two, the comments of the painter about the sky and the earth, lent themselves to his spacious phrasing itself. The large orchestra could be as sweeping as a 1960’s MGM film. Or inward like flutes and celesta for more childish moments. Or–as Ms. O’Keeffe makes fun from her terrible violin-playing–Concertmaster Frank Huang scratched at his own instrument. Though nothing was “literal” in the work.
B. Mitchell (© Roger Mastroianni)
Baritone Rob Gilfry made his Phil debut with a strong steady voice. But of course Renée Fleming, at home in her middle register, still lustrous in her high notes, singing and speaking, bringing forth the painter in words and music, was as always, far more human than the world’s most famed soprano.
Finally–though not last–was the screen behind them, with a video production by Wendell Harrington. What he produced were grainy yet evocative photographs of Stieglitz and O’Keeffe together, or picture of their letters, or–oh!–what gorgeous clarity!– the giant paintings by Georgia O’Keeffe.
Yes, we needed the voices and the atmospheric orchestra and the eternal epistolary words. But in a century of artistic farce and abstraction and enigma, Georgia O’Keeffe was plain in her sculpture of mountains, waters, even New York skyscrapers.
Of course music has often depicted art. Mussorgsky’s Pictures, Martinů’s Frescos, Hindemith’s Mathis der Mahler, Berlioz’ Cellini to name a few. But Kevin Puts was not competing with other composers. His material lay before him, the feelings of epistolary links between artists, and the background of painting and music were...well, wonderful.
In a way, the second work, the hour-long complete Daphnis et Chloé should have been the ideal complement to Mr. Puts’ work. Both pieces were tone‑paintings. Just as Ms. O’Keeffe used primary colors in startling designs, so Maurice Ravel exhibited his pictures with dazzling solo instruments. And as Ms. O’Keeffe saw the sky and space with startling originality, Daphnis was an al fresco ballet, with dances and mimes and orchestral lights.
The pairing of Puts and Ravel would have been ideal, had Ravel’s two suites had been used. But the hour-long complete ballet without dancers is a rarity which few conductors can handle. (Monteaux and Boulez are two exceptions.).
As for Brett Mitchell, we had a very competent conductor who supplied a long and sometimes long‑winded tapestry.
That was not totally true. The familiar pieces–those pantomimes, Chloé’s gorgeous supplicant dance–peeped out from the monochrome ballet. Dorcon’s grotesque dance was suitably grotesque–though the laughing horns were simply solos, not laughter.
The wordless New York Philharmonic Choir–happily a sizable 60 professional voices–were more than melodious: they added rhythms, colors and strength when needed.
Most essential, the Phil’s First Chair players–flute, clarinet, horns, trumpet, percussion–were at their athletic, artistic best. Ravel hardly made their solos easy, but the Orchestra players made their solos sound like child’s play.
Conductor Mitchell did try to make the “three-part choreographic symphony” exciting. But when the familiar sections and the solos were not wowing the audience, he unhappily translated Ravel the Painter to Ravel the Background Scenic Designer.
Harry Rolnick
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