Music and Light

At the risk of providing unwanted testimonies for films I have loved, just must mention that I caught the last showing in the Lumiere o Son of Saul. The assistant on the desk said in English, 'Hope it's OK for you. It is in Hungarian with Dutch and French sub-titles!' I recklessly said 'Yes' because I had heard how good the film was. But I wasn't prepared for the intense, gritty realism, the strong feeling of involvement with Saul, who, assigned to the team burning bodies from the crematorium in Auschwitz-Birkenau, came across his son who had miraculously just survived, only for him to be murdered immediately by a doctor. The narrative is of his struggle, which becomes an obsession, to

find a Rabbi to bless his son's body while also playing his part in in a covert mutiny.  This film is unsparing, immersive, with a moral intensity that grips the mind of the observer and never lets it go. I

have never been so totally involved  in the stress and brutality portrayed in a film. For virtually the whole length of the drama the camera is on Saul's face, head, shoulders with the terrible events shown

behind him, often out of focus, but clearly visible. This device of shooting the head and shoulders of the lead character throughout, could have meant monotony; instead it adds immediacy, intensity and suspense. The director was Laszlo Nemes  and his virtuosity in directing this, his first film, must make him One To Watch.

Saturday morning a rare visit from my landlord, an architect from Gent. Months ago I had knocked over a large jug of lemon juice I had made to help get over a heavy cold. I was horrified to see the effect the juice had on the black flooring; an indelible scar was left showing the path of the deluge with the splash marks which nothing seemed to remove or disguise. I owned up to the landlord, Luc, by e-mail and though he seemed unperturbed I felt guilty each time I saw the footprint of my accident. This morning, unexpectedly, he appeared bringing half a can of something called Stamina which may well help. Interesting to note it is an English product bought from Folkestone, about 14 miles from where I was still living this time last year!
 

I gave Luc coffee and delicious tiny, light-as-air cakes bought hurriedly [when I knew he was coming] from a splendid new place opened recently on Geldmundstraat. Love the nonchalant name; Aux Merveilleux de Fred and was entertained to see the assistant draw back when I offered money. This establishment is so hip and happening that no one touches money; there is a little machine which accepts the loot so that no germs are allowed into contact with the frothy creations for sale. This is Seriously Healthy except, of course, that the delicious little gateaux are made of chocolate, cream et al which may be less healthy but none the less welcome for that! I was so impressed with the quality of the cakes as well as the serious charm of the premises, that I Googled Fred [seen in above picture] to discover that he started his first artisanal patisserie in Hazelbrouck in 1982 and opened the second fifteen years later in Old Lille. I am unsure as to the specific definition of artisanal [probably 'made by hand'] but it hardly conjures up the sheer Parisian elegance of the new premises in Brugge. If you are in Brugge, go and experience it, especially if you have pretensions!

Over coffee he showed me photos on his iPhone of an eighteenth century abbey which he and his wife are buying and renovating, about twenty miles outside Brussels. Next door to it stood a twelfth century church, demolished during the eighteenth century, and with resonant imaging, he has discovered the footprint of the church both outside his abbey and also inside his newly-acquired home-to-be. He is planning to mark out the area of the church foundations inside the abbey during renovation, with subtle differences in the paving so that the area of the ancient foundations will be visible. WHAT a project; mouth-watering!
 

Music has abounded in my weekend; Kahlil Gibran wrote that 'music is the language of the spirit' and must account for the fact that my spirits have been so high since Friday! Friday evening to the Concertgebouw to hear John Butt and his Dunedin Consort perform Bach with Iestyn Davies [image to the right] from Wales. I first heard Iestyn's beautiful voice at a Stour Festival concert in Boughton Aluph Church and fell for it immediately. There has been a five day

Bach festival here this week and Iestyn's concert was one of the last. It was heavenly, subtle, full of nuance and feeling. Among the offerings was the nicest of the Brandenburg concertos, No 6, a violinconcerto and the most delicate and heart-rending Lament of Buxtehude. The Italian/Dutch violinist, Cecilia Bernardini accompanied and was impressively described in the programme as Concertmeester. I am not alwayss sure of what titles mean in Dutch, or at least, what they imply. As in this case!

And then, this morning, the penultimate Aperitief Concert at the Crowne Plaza Hotel, the very same where I head each morning for a swim on the eighth floor! Today, jazz for a change. The Jazz Consort, Brugge, was performing jazz, blues, swing and bebop to a most appreciative audience. Not the typical jazz audience I wouldn't think; many worthies, stalwart Bruggelinden couples and Serious

People were there plus a few possible subversives. But it worked very well and afterwards there was an appreciative buzz as people took their allotted glass of bubbly and headed for the standing tables and the nibbles. It is a most sociable occasion as well as musical and reflects well on the organisation behind it; de Negen Muzen. The Nine Muses. And one wonders, who are these public-spirited but musical people who dream up and execute such a delightful concept for a winter Sunday morning?

As I sat waiting for the concert to begin, couldn't help but notice many curled and primped heads of hair, testimony to recent visits to traditional hairdressers. I too had been, not curled, but scalped, only on Saturday by Patrick who is a Master Cutter but, in my case at least, One Who Goes Too Far. He is modest, gifted, charming, self-effacing but once the scissors come to hand, he can't stop until he has changed the 'small trim' into a whole new hair concept. So I emerged with a gamine appearance, possibly at odds with the ageing face and Quite Different from the slightly dated hairstyle of yore. Saw a friend en route home who loyally said that it made me look

younger so I cling to that fairy tale for now. Above is a photograph of the beautiful place where the carnage to my locks occurred!