Happy winter!

Today is the 2009 winter solstice , aka shortest day of the year for those of us in the Northern Hemisphere, aka the actual start of winter. For all of you pagans at heart, it marks a symbolic journey from the transition of darkness into light and is a time of rebirth. While I am stuck working a late shift tonight, leaving little time for human sacrifice or any milder form of ritualistic celebration, I am hoping to at least bask in this darkness during a long, though inevitably crowded walk back to the subway in the semi-newly, now muddled, fallen snow.

My mother and I were, however, able to celebrate this past Thursday, attending  Paul Winter's 30th Annual Winter Solstice Celebration at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine. Honestly, what better place to revel in the ominous yet mystical sentiment induced by this side of the globe's longest night?  Winter himself notes that there are only two places in this country where "all-embracing vastness overwhelms our differences": the Grand Canyon and the Cathedral."

The celebration was a highly instrumental, highly symbolic event preluded by Winter, resident artist of the Cathedral, wailing a wolf call on his soprano sax in a cove sitting beneath the Rose window. This was followed by echoing percussion and darkness (kind of creepy, actually), along with some other tribalesque effects.  Eventually, Winter "magically" appeared on the centrally placed stage, playing in a more jovial key. From here the musical trek commenced.

Special guests included the Dmitri Pokrovsky Ensemble  from Russia, a vocal group founded on continuing the traditions of ancient folk songs and rituals, and the Forces of Nature Dance Theater, rooted in West African dance tradition. The latter was the favorite of both my mother and I, as their performance was full of color, rhythm and constant, frenzied movement. Musical pieces throughout the show featured Winter, accompanied by the Paul Winter Consort , as well as soloists on cello, English horn and percussion.

Paul Winter's Living Music infuses human art with that of the raw material from which everything is mimicked, nature. For a portion of the show, the audience is taken on a symbolic journey through the planet's darkest night, setting sail with the Dmitri Pokrovsky Ensemble, as they float down the aisle in a golden boat, a tradition taking root in ancient Slavic belief. (To them, the sun was a golden boat, sailing beneath the Earth.) Playing on speakers throughout are sounds from around the world, including whale song, a storming rainforest, a lone wolf. The journey ends with the rising of the sun, or the "sun gong" played by Grammy-winning sun gong-ist (who knew?) Scott Sloan. As he and the reverberating disk are lifted up in the anticipating air, warm orange light begins to stretch back over the audience and the domed arches above. This is definitely a sight to behold, and only possible in this extraordinary space.

While the final showing of the festival was on Saturday, New York Public Radio (93.9 FM) will be airing last year's solstice celebration at 8:00 PM on December 31st. And, for those of you truly dedicated to sun worship, the Paul Winter Consort will be back at the cathedral Saturday, June 19 for the Summer Solstice. This show starts at 4:30 AM. As Winter notes, "Our music begins in total darkness, and proceeds in a continuum, emanating from different places in the Cathedral. Gradually, as the great stained-glass windows slowly illuminate, the light joins the sound to carry us into the full dawning of the summer." 

Sounds pretty amazing if you can bear the ungodly hour. 

If you are interested in experiencing the hyper terrestrial sounds of the Consort on this cold winter night, click here .


Also, here are some links to clips from past year solstice celebrations at the Cathedral. Perhaps it will tempt you to partake next year.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4J1OdqgsmE4
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HEdh2jXDe5I
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HEdh2jXDe5I


PHOTO CREDITS:
Diagram of winter solstice was taken from www.crystalinks.com/ wintersolstice.htm
Photo of Paul winter playing and Cathedral Sunrise was taken from wnyc.org, copyright 1996 and 2002, Jeff Day.

In the Half-Light

There is a very long twilight here. It's a time when people and objects are not visible in a full body of light but rather, you catch a passing glimpse of them through the half-light. Walking in twilight, shadows leave your mind to wander. It is a time of silhouttes and second-guessing. It is a time that can do some strange things to the imagination, and I wonder if it's a catalyst for Ireland's rich storytelling culture, from the daily craic to their ancient literary tradition. While taking a twilight walk through Saint Anne's park , the effect on Celtic lore (particularly tree worship) became obvious. Walking briskly, and rather nervously, in an effort to find our way out of the park before complete darkness, trees became boastful sea creatures, exposing swelled chests to the navy sky; they gathered as meddling mothers or voluptuous women; they froze as giants, caught in the act of escaping their own roots.

Yes, the odd interpretative medium of twilight.

******************

After we had slept off the remnants of sedatives and alcohol from our flight, we spent our first full day with Sarah and Stephen (Colin's brother and sister), first driving to Howth Head for a quick walk along the cliffs, then heading south into town (or the "city," as I say) for a visit to the Guinness Strorehouse. Howth is one of Colin's favorite places on this planet; it's not hard to understand why. It appears in several of Joyce's works, and supposedly has great relevance in  Finnegan's Wake, which I have yet to tackle. (Howth shows up in Dubliners too. At least I can say I've read that.) I can either bore or inspire you with descriptions of a heavenly sun filtering though mountainous clouds, or the jagged coastline stretching into the cold Irish sea, but  perhaps let the pictures speak for themselves.

Colin's great twilight shot. 

Brothers and sister soaking in the beauty.

Howth in full bloom. This was actually taken on our last trip, nearly 5 years ago. 

After a muddy ramble donning inappropriate boots, after Colin had determined that he would one day live in the Howth lighthouse and, full of revery, led us astray in some overgrown bush, we packed it in and drove to the Storehouse. I'm not particularly one for visiting buildings or taking tours. I would much rather walk through the streets, or the fields, or the beaches of wherever and get my fill of the space that way, than reading plaques and not being able to touch anything (or be touched by anything) indoors. But then again, this trip involved Guinness. The Storehouse was more interesting than expected, particularly visually. The interior architecture is set up to replicate a pint of Guinness, with seven winding floors taking you through an "incredible journey" of the beer's complex lifetime. Everything from the history of the building, to the fermentation process, to tasting, to marketing and advertising is covered. I, much to my own surprise, spent a decent amount of time entranced by the "Craft of the Cooper," watching old black and white videos of the cooper at work through the top of an old wooden cask. Did you know that the when a new cooper was to be initiated, his fellow brothers would throw him into his own barrel, dump oak shaving and water on top of him, and then proceed to roll him around? I think part of it also involves banging on the barrel with hammers, and I seem to remember fire, but that couldn't possibly be.

At the conclusion of our self-guided experience, we enjoyed a free pint on the seventh floor at the Gravity Bar, sourrounded by glass windows looking out onto Dublin city.

Yours truly. Slainte! 

Back at home in Raheny, as the twilight began to fall upon Dublin, a cozy night of storytelling and mystery was to ensue. It would be our first real night in Dublin, spent inside the  Dempsey household. I remembered it well since the last time I had been there, and was happy that we gathered in what had been my favorite room, a mauve and red sitting room just off the kitchen, opening up into the back courtyard (where Sarah's rabbits would be hopping about). There is a small dining table, a leather couch, television, fireplace and pictures of the family, particularly the kids through the years; as children posing for portraits, as young adults in cap and gown.

We enjoyed a warm meal of minced meat, vegetables and potatoes, and glass after glass of red wine. The evening did not lack in conversation, from the day's happenings, to family updates and childhood memories, and finally, tales of spirits and hauntings. Stephen mentioned his interest in visiting the Wicklow jail (or gaol) which has only recently been opened to the public, and is supposedly one of the most haunted destinations in Ireland. (For a country  with a rather bleak and gruesome past, I wonder just how many restless spirits this place must contain to gain such a title.) He tempted us with a recent psychic's visit to the establishmment, and the terrifying findings that were encountered in cell 13, the "hanging" cell.  So a tentative trip was planned. (More on that in a future post.)

After dinner, out came the tarot cards, more of an amusement than a serious pastime for Colin's mother, Denise. Each of us picked three cards, representing past, present and future. She interpreted the cards for us, based on intuition and what the cards said to her. I gave it a shot, after about my third glass of wine, and found them to be very stimulating, full of symbols just waiting to be decoded, though I could not tell you what on earth I happened to predict....

And so we continued in this way, far past twilight time, into the earlier hours of the morning, until eventually, one by one, we retired to bed.

The Nights (and Lights) of Dublin

I'm admittedly being a terrible blogger, promising so many Dublin tales and turning up with nil this past week or so. (And in the meantime, also ignoring the onset of NYC winter.) I am blaming it on some nightmarish city apartment troubles which ate up the past week.

Tonight, I was finally able to enjoy a brief winterish walk strolling from 86th down Amsterdam to 72nd, and then heading towards 5th and back down to 59th to catch the train back to Astoria. Invigorated after meeting with the very talented women of my writing group, my theme for this walk was spotting the random, hidden stream of Christmas lights on private residences and hidden areas, ie, a back fire escape or maybe just one window down and otherwise dreary side street. I don't know, perhaps there is art in this or perhaps I was just on a bit of a wine buzz. I did pass a number of Big Apple Tours on the Holiday Light Loop, though they were most likely more interested in the blaring displays from Tavern on the Green and Trump Tower--not the dingy, more subtle displays I sought out.

After passing and attempting to photograph the fiery lanterns in front of the Dakota (the fear of looking like a tourist caused me to rush the shot), I was reminded that this light-time fascination was born of my recent Dublin eves of nighttime and city-light photo-taking. It's been a pleasure snapping steady non-flash pics since my old editorial pals at Saatchi bought me a wonderful new Canon. (You are sorely missed.) It's helped me develop a whole new appreciation for these numerous and under-appreciated street beacons--from the stop-lights to spotlights to the plain old street lamp.

Over the Liffey. 

I'm really not kidding about the street lamps. 

An artsy carpark. 

St. Stephen's Green

Stephen's Green shopping Center. A band played every night, just to the left. 

Ahhh, and yet another angelic lantern. 

While I basked in night, Colin was able to capture some great moments of the never-ending Dublin twilight, which I will be blogging more thoroughly about this coming week...