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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20200422
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20200515
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SUMMARY:Hamilton Cheifetz: Inside Chamber Music Classes
DESCRIPTION:Monday\, March 30 was scheduled to be the first of eight Inside Chamber Music classes\, and since they have been postponed\, Friends of Chamber Music and I are going to post some music and stories from last Spring’s classes.  Here is a recent one: \n  \n\n\nhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M1Ui8k-16dY\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n–Hamilton
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/hamilton-cheifetz-inside-chamber-music-classes/
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DTSTART;VALUE=DATE:20200423
DTEND;VALUE=DATE:20200430
DTSTAMP:20260503T133022
CREATED:20200423T171809Z
LAST-MODIFIED:20220719T041746Z
UID:757-1587600000-1588204799@openroadpdx.com
SUMMARY:peace\, love & happiness newsletter 4/23/20
DESCRIPTION:THE OPEN ROAD \npeace\, love & happiness newsletter \nApril 23\, 2020 \nWilliam Shakespeare Issue \n  \nWilliam Shakespeare’s birthday is celebrated on April 23rd. He turns 456 today. Alexandre Dumas said: “After God\, Shakespeare has created most.” It’s the general consensus that he is the greatest poet in the English language and the greatest playwright in any language.  \nActors have the great good fortune to enjoy Shakespeare in ways that readers\, teachers\, directors and scholars do not. We get to play the parts\, to live the life of the characters he created. But when it comes time to talk about what the plays mean\, we are dumb. \nI don’t know what the plays Hamlet or King Lear mean\, but I know what it feels like to be Hamlet\, to be Lear. Hamlet is in the dark about who he is\, and why he says and does the things he says and does\, just as you and I are ignorant of who we are and why we say and do the things we say and do. Hamlet says: “I have of late\, but wherefore I know not\, lost all my mirth.” The English professor will tell you why Hamlet has lost all his mirth\, but Hamlet doesn’t know. He feels that it is gone. \nAn actor doesn’t pretend to be other people\, he becomes them. When a play ends\, it’s like waking from a dream. \nWill Shakespeare breathed his own life into the characters he created\, and now when I breathe\, he breathes through me. Is this to consider too curiously?  \nWhen I\, as Lear\, speak the words…  \n“None does offend. None\, I say. None.” \n…I’m not standing outside or apart\, thinking\, “Well\, he’s mad\, you know.” I’m speaking the Truth. And because I’ve said it and meant it and felt it and believed it\, the Johnny Stallings character I pretend to be in “real life” is changed irrevocably. \n  \nWe are such stuff  \nAs dreams are made of\, and our little life \nIs rounded with a sleep. \n  \nThere’s not enough room in our little newsletter to include The Complete Works\, so I’ll just share a few of my favorite passages: \n  \nJaques. \nAll the world’s a stage\, \nAnd all the men and women merely players; \nThey have their exits and their entrances\, \nAnd one man in his time plays many parts\, \nHis acts being seven ages. At first\, the infant\, \nMewling and puking in the nurse’s arms. \nThen the whining schoolboy\, with his satchel \nAnd shining morning face\, creeping like snail \nUnwillingly to school. And then the lover\, \nSighing like furnace\, with a woeful ballad \nMade to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier\, \nFull of strange oaths and bearded like the pard\, \nJealous in honor\, sudden and quick in quarrel\, \nSeeking the bubble reputation \nEven in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice\, \nIn fair round belly with good capon lined\, \nWith eyes severe and beard of formal cut\, \nFull of wise saws and modern instances; \nAnd so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts \nInto the lean and slippered pantaloon\, \nWith spectacles on nose and pouch on side; \nHis youthful hose\, well saved\, a world too wide \nFor his shrunk shank\, and his big manly voice\, \nTurning again toward childish treble\, pipes \nAnd whistles in his sound. Last scene of all\, \nThat ends this strange eventful history\, \nIs second childishness and mere oblivion\, \nSans teeth\, sans eyes\, sans taste\, sans everything. \n  \n—As You Like It\, Act 2\, scene 7 \n* \nBottom. \nAnd most dear actors\, eat no onions  \nnor garlic\, for we are to utter sweet breath. \n  \n—A Midsummer Night’s Dream\, Act 4\, scene 2 \n* \nHamlet.  \n I have of late\, but wherefore I know not\, lost all my mirth\, foregone all custom of exercises\, and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame the earth seems to me a sterile promontory\, this most excellent canopy\, the air\, look you\, this brave o’erhanging firmament\, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire—why it appears nothing to me but a foul and pestilent congregation of vapors. What a piece of work is a man\, how noble in reason\, how infinite in faculties\, in form and moving how express and admirable\, in action how like an angel\, in apprehension how like a god\, the beauty of the world\, the paragon of animals—and yet\, to me\, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me. No\, nor woman\, neither. \n  \n—Hamlet\, Act 2\, scene 2 \n* \nDuke Senior.   \nAnd this our life\, exempt from public haunt\, \nFinds tongues in trees\, books in the running brooks\, \nSermons in stones\, and good in everything. \n  \n—As You Like It\, Act 2\, scene 1 \n* \nHamlet. \nAlexander died\, Alexander was buried\, Alexander returneth to dust\, the dust is earth\, of earth we make loam—and why of that loam\, whereto he was converted\, might they not stop a beer barrel? \n  \n—Hamlet\, Act 2\, scene 2 \n* \nProspero. \nOur revels now are ended. These our actors\,  \nAs I foretold you\, were all spirits and \nAre melted into air\, into thin air:  \nAnd\, like the baseless fabric of this vision\,  \nThe cloud-capp’d towers\, the gorgeous palaces\,  \nThe solemn temples\, the great globe itself\,  \nYea\, all which it inherit\, shall dissolve \nAnd\, like this insubstantial pageant faded\,  \nLeave not a rack behind. We are such stuff \n As dreams are made on\, and our little life  \nIs rounded with a sleep. \n  \n—The Tempest\, Act 4\, scene 1 \n* \nPortia.   \nThe quality of mercy is not strained. \nIt droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven \nUpon the place beneath. It is twice blessed: \nIt blesseth him that gives and him that takes. \n‘Tis mightiest in the mightiest. It becomes \nThe thronèd monarch better than his crown. \nHis scepter shows the force of temporal power\, \nThe attribute to awe and majesty \nWherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings\, \nBut mercy is above this sceptered sway. \nIt is enthronèd in the hearts of kings. \nIt is an attribute to God himself. \nAnd earthly power doth then show likest God’s \nWhen mercy seasons justice. Therefore\, \nThough justice be thy plea\, consider this- \nThat in the course of justice none of us \nShould see salvation. We do pray for mercy\, \nAnd that same prayer doth teach us all to render \nThe deeds of mercy. \n  \n—The Merchant of Venice\, Act 4\, scene 1 \n* \nJuliet. \nMy bounty is as boundless as the sea\, \nMy love as deep. The more I give to thee \nThe more I have\, for both are infinite. \n  \n—Romeo and Juliet\, Act 2\, scene 2 \n* \nFrom the sublime\, to the ridiculous: \n  \nOswald. \nWhere may we set our horses? \nKent. \nI’ the mire. \nOswald. \nPrithee\, if thou lovest me\, tell me. \nKent. \nI love thee not. \nOswald. \nWhy dost thou use me thus? I know thee not. \nKent. \nFellow\, I know thee. \nOswald. \nWhat dost thou know me for? \nKent. \nA knave; a rascal; an eater of broken meats; a base\, proud\, shallow\, beggarly\, three-suited\, hundred-pound\, filthy\, worsted-stocking knave; a lily-livered\, action-taking knave\, a whoreson\, glass-gazing\, super-serviceable finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a bawd\, in way of good service\, and art nothing but the composition of a knave\, beggar\, coward\, pandar\, and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch: one whom I will beat into clamorous whining\, if thou deniest the least syllable of thy addition. \n  \n—King Lear\, Act 2\, scene 2 \n* \nAnd back to the sublime: \n  \nLet me not to the marriage of true minds \nAdmit impediments. Love is not love \nWhich alters when it alteration finds\, \nOr bends with the remover to remove. \nO no! it is an ever-fixed mark \nThat looks on tempests and is never shaken; \nIt is the star to every wand’ring bark\, \nWhose worth’s unknown\, although his height be taken. \nLove’s not Time’s fool\, though rosy lips and cheeks \nWithin his bending sickle’s compass come; \nLove alters not with his brief hours and weeks\, \nBut bears it out even to the edge of doom. \nIf this be error and upon me prov’d\, \nI never writ\, nor no man ever lov’d. \n  \n—Sonnet 116 \n* \nHappy Birthday\, Will. Thanks for everything! I’ve spent a lot of my life pretending to be the people you imagined into being. \n  \n—Johnny Stallings
URL:https://openroadpdx.com/event/peace-love-happiness-newsletter-4-23-4-29/
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