You know the feeling when you encounter a work of art that touches you so deeply that, even after you are out of its presence, you remain in its world? It feels like a gift when that happens. A touching of soul to soul or heart to heart across centuries, perhaps, or cultures. I felt it with an Adriean Coorte painting that I had to revisit several times while it was on exhibit at the Peabody Essex Museum in Salem. A “Magic Flute” a few years ago at Glimmerglass. The brilliant Sarna Lapine’s “Sunday in the Park with George,” my favorite Sondheim that finally felt as if it had gotten its due. “Hamilton, of course.” And many, many works of fiction and poetry, most recently Li-Young Lee’s “The City in Which I Love You.”
And, unexpectedly, the current rebirth/reimagining/revival of a musical that had its Broadway debut in 1943 and was made into a movie 12 years later—“Oklahoma.”
It should feel dated with all that maneuvering about which cowboy is going to bid on which farmer’s daughter’s picnic basket. Instead it feels like a powerfully modern look at not only unspoken wishes and complicated urges but also about who society decides to turn its back on and who our system of justice works for.
Dr. D. and I saw it in May and—self-indulgently—again Tuesday night. It felt even more powerful the second time around. In fact, I am finding myself continuing to live in its world so much that I just saw a friend’s Facebook post of two clearly amicable people wearing Red Sox and Yankees T-shirts and my immediate thought was, “the farmer and the cowman should be friends.”
And I’m thinking about that pioneer spirit and manifest destiny and all that. The wind comes sweeping down the plains as I read the day’s news. Everything’s up to date in Kansas City.