While Morton Feldman’s complete catalogue of compositions is slowly making it to CD, most notably via the efforts of labels like Mode Records, HatHut and Col Legno, and with live performances of his most significant work seem to be increasingly rare (at least, in this part of the world), it was a real treat to visit the Music Gallery in Toronto for this piano recital by Montréal’s Brigitte Poulin (soloist, chamber musician and vocal accompanist). On this cool and quiet spring evening, Poulin performed Feldman’s For Bunita Marcus in the quiet confines of a small church, nestled in the heart of the city. Feldman’s later works in particular are noted for their marked stillness, for exploring the possibilities and tensions between sound and silence, taking shape on the most muted canvasses that seem to expand with every breath. Composed in 1985 (just two years prior to his death in 1987), For Bunita Marcus is no exception; the piece, one of only a few compositions for solo piano from Feldman’s later years, runs 77 minutes long and is characterized by suspenseful pauses in which the echoes of notes seem to hang still in time and space, and the listener hangs there with them, ears bent on each subtle shift, following each disappearing resonance into the soft hush of silence. Listening, I found myself becoming so sensitive to the music that even the slightest movement from a member in the small audience assembled there appeared like a ringing knell in my ears. And yet during the duration of the piece, another instinct is pulling me in a different direction; face to face with the challenge of sitting through the performance without making a sound (stupidly, I couldn’t imagine moving so much as my arm to scratch my forehead, or crossing my legs to relieve the circulation, for fear the sounds might overtake those of the piano), my thoughts moved about freely, from the performance and on to other subjects both mundane and exceptional, from daily monotonies to gathering ideas for a new character, plus a few stops in between. But the piece always anchored my thoughts, I always came back to it, it was waiting on the other side of each corner, in each turn of the road, and when I came out of that space, when the concert had ended and my thoughts returned abruptly to the here and now, I found the piece to be with me still, my mood still governed by the tensions and pauses, by the sensitivities inherent in the piece and by the performance itself, the very presence of a solitary piano in this small church. Indeed, Poulin’s performance showed all the restraint and skill of her experience, her passion for this music evident in her every gesture.

Jouer cela demande une concentration folle. La pianiste l’a. Cela demande aussi, pour que cela passe, une force de conviction énorme. Elle en possède à revendre. Brigitte Poulin cisèle souplement la partition avec une liberté déconcertante. Le but d’objectivité est atteint: elle nous a emmenés, sans qu’on s’aperçoive trop comment, dans une tranche de contemplation méditative toujours lucide. Il s’agit d’une expérience extrêmement rare qu’on a vécu avec tant d’intensité que les échos remplissent encore l’oreille de leur murmure, comme la lumière laisse une empreinte sur la rétine quand se ferme la paupière. Cet art-là, on n’en goûtera jamais assez tant il est porteur de paix. Voilà un peu le bonus que savent apporter des artistes comme celle-ci, pour qui tout sait s’arrêter et bouger simultanément.

La pianiste Brigitte Poulin était hypnotisante. Elle a donné une interprétation extraordinairement intelligente et délicatement balancée de cette œuvre complexe et méditative.

Traduit de l’anglais.