HERE IN PART 2, DAVID HOCKNEY’S SETTINGS for Puccini’s Turandot continue to illuminate with Kenneth E. Silver’s 1991 interview of the artist. Hockney’s illustrations and the Los Angeles Opera’s sets pick up with Act II, Scene 1, where the Emperor’s ministers lament the confusion wrought by Turandot’s distrust of men.
The ministers’ study. Art by David Hockey. Act II Scene 1 showing Ping, Pang, and Pong. Image of the Los Angeles Opera production by Cory Weaver.
Contrasting with Zeffirelli’s Chinoserie. In the traditional sets (for example, classic ones by Franco Zeffirelli), all this occurs in what’s usually perceived as Chinoserie Opulence.
A Zeffirelli interpretation of ancient Peking. Image from The Metropolitan Opera.
Hockney’s Perception of a New Turandot. Silver asked Hockney: “How have you decided to approach this tried-and-true workhorse of the repertory? What will make this Turandot special?”
Hockney: “Taking out the dragons. Almost every previous production looked the same, they are usually unbelievably overdesigned. One of the reasons I wanted to do it was that I felt it was possible to simplify it, to get rid of the grotesque chinoiserie—that’s what I mean by getting rid of the dragons. Even Franco Zeffirelli’s striking New York production for the Met is overdone, and his space is literal, which ours is not. Although there’s no fussiness in ours, we think the feeling will be grand.”
Opera Versus Movie Music. Singer commented about Hockney’s interpretation of nature: “This makes me think a bit of your Wagner drive in the Santa Monica mountains, where you coordinate views of the landscape with Wagner, mostly Parsifal. It seems so appropriate for Los Angeles, a bit like going to the movies. Has movie music and how it works with images influenced you?”
Hockney: “Actually, what I’ve found is that what the opera designer does is analogous to a film composer, but in reverse: I create what you see to enhance what you hear…. In part owing to the Wagner ride, I’m beginning to understand some of the problems. How do you put nature on stage?”
Act III, Scene 1. Above, Calaf’s show-stopping Nessun Dorma (“Let no one sleep!”). Image of the Los Angeles Opera production by Cory Weaver. Below, nighttime as perceived by Hockney.
“… and,” Hockney said, “the only way to completely change the stage so rapidly is to use flats. That’s what we’re doing, transforming the night garden of the last act into a set that gives you the impression—a suggestion really—of going right into Turandot’s heart at the finale, as she finally feels love. The set suddenly turns red, and this is the first time you’ll see that particular red in the production.”
Act III, Scene 2. Above, Hockney’s interpretation of love illuminating the realm. Below, all rejoice with love. Image of the Los Angeles Opera production by Cory Weaver.
The Public’s Response? Silver asked, “Do you think the public is going to respond well to this production?”
Hockney: “Puccini will always sell, no matter who designed the sets. If my mother designed this Turandot, we’d sell it out. We’re taking on a big piece that will always attract an audience, which gives you the additional challenge of competing with the grandeur that has been tried before.”
The Art World? Silver asked how the production would be received by the New York arts community.
Hockney [who lived on the West Coast at the time] responded, “To be honest, I don’t live in New York, so I don’t give it much thought. It’s not the center of the world for me; the center of the world for me, naturally, is where I live.”
He continued, “I’m also a little hesitant about what is called the art world. If it is a world, it’s a very small one indeed. I know that art which lasts has to get outside of that small world. I also know that in the end most of the art that’s made will be forgotten. It will only be looked at if someone loves it and cares for it. And love is really all there is.”
As true in 2024 as it was in 1991. ds
Dennis Simanaitis, SimanaitisSays.com, 2024