That is true ! It was so! Wild birds have deserted forests and fields. How many mountains collapsed? How many misplaced questions? A black fury. Little sacrifices. Then, a frame. Then, an ink running along the plains. October was here. Had everything changed so much?
A sermont broke the ring of innocence, the last ring of worlds. Followed the misfortunes we all know and we tell in the dark days. The trade of life has become life. Opening our eyes, we saw the shadows. And in the shadows, what was left of life, crumbs of life, which were not for sale.
And I lost the sense of the images and the current of the winds. The first winds were only bad. But the others? From now on, they have become much worse. These are new and balmy flowers. In the letter I hide, I put my most beautiful secrets And in the holes I’m wearing, you’ll see my light. I close my arms as if I close my chest. I’m only asking for one more day.
And I saw so many hands reaching out,
Hands under other hands, dirtier and more vile.
I listen without moving and I will never go out.
And I saw so many desires that I wanted to turn around to build a monastic city. A life full of nothing, lack and havoc.
Greedy hands, sad hooks and shining baits sang praises.
I do not see anymore ! I advance !
My eyes opened on the biggest mistakes and some issues. The eyes are turning today towards the last lunar valleys. My eyes told me the truth was in space That the space was in the absence But that time had gone astray Absence of an evening Absence Absence of the smallest tide Absence of a single note lost over the ocean.
Between sky and sky, the ditch has fallen. Admit that it’s weird! I retreated into the last impasse of emptiness And she arrived, a board under her arm I pulled back and I’m still back and I entered his garden. It was only the last garden in the world. A garden composed of the remains of the last day.
The eyes of the waves stopped responding. A voice on the air already filled the hearts. The voice took what was left of the night. Deep caves have opened. And the voice has become strong as if to ward off silences and shadows. Just for a new harmony of a possible dawn. I saw so many weird ideas flooding the bar and so many frightened complicit accomplices believing they were holding the stars.
To kill every day full of calm and noise, it made the prince come out of the invisible worlds. The unknown, bloodthirsty flames of an obscure meeting illuminated his eyes. We wanted an enchanted world. We had the color of a new death that we did not know. I am here, said the wise devil in his divine smile.
And the prince did not show his strength. But a mirror of meaning where the lights panic. The reason is dead. And in the frame moves a passion. A passion that is adorned with purple and dew. But frail that everything can break instantly. The sighs are fragile. And the size so frail. But a single blow of wing can decapitate in you all your desires wild and buried. His wings have opened, still wet. And she left but remains above our heads.
Along the swaying stream that flows through the night of the world, a seated crowd stared at the frame. The eyes swayed and the shoulders too. To follow this line of the only flow that could be seen. From the frame came a little hope of seeing the only glimmer of a blue umbrella lined with silk. A voice says: « Always the same rank! We are tired of not seeing anything!« Another voice said: « the night! Always the night! We did not deserve that!« And the blue glow that appeared, dazzled all eyes! Lascivious and unspeakable, she opened the door of desires again.
And the voices were silent. Suddenly, in the drowsiness, the door opened on a tired body, which pronounced these words: – Here I am, I am the pattern! because you need a model. I do not promise to pick flowers with golden light, but to relieve you of the pain of the night and the fear of your shadows. With my fingers, I will carry the frail boat of your dreams. Until touching the first banks and I will abandon you. I’m here ! Follow me !
The sharp pain of the rigid bodies followed the moments and the hours of the wings of our desires. Beyond the rains, the first snows almost friendly. We forgot the thorns and whips of the terrifying frost. Our lungs were filling with these cold passages like a spring dawn of its first dews. Our souls had become uncertain and wandering, distant and alien. Over time, we were only a miserable escort. The cold seemed so sweet to our lost minds and we were suffocating, but we were hoping so much.
On the other side of the air, a yellow eye descended towards us, or rather what was left of us. We were ready now to accept torture and death. At first we sniffed the smell of sulfur and fire. We saw a strange light and that big gray body with a strong, satisfied jaw. Claws of a mighty dragon landed on our shoulders and let us slide on top of the bluish mountains. Have such moments already existed? Have wars caused such terrible terror? But the snow has dissipated and the look has seemed friendly, with something divine. Just a sign, but would that sign suffice? He seemed to look at us from the top of these clouds and seemed to feel more sorry for us.
We reach quickly the end of a corridor without vault, without exit. The door of a walled prison where our bodies were decomposing. The dark contours of our bones were becoming uncertain, and we imagined those healthy, healthy bodies that once roamed our cities in quaint shops. Had our reign come to an end? We were entering a world of ashes and grays. Where everything was decomposing. The disorder of our bodies blinded our last reflections. We were a criminal crowd, an idle hand, putrefied trees. – I can not hear anything anymore! cried a voice that no longer resembled a voice. I was jostled and dried up so many times by remains of bodies that no longer looked like bodies.
But the shadows were now seen to infinity.
Several shadows with huge arms. Inordinate thoughts.
Shadows to shadows responded.
I saw eyes so deep that I lost track.
I saw shoulders so round that my thoughts were lost.
A single drop of blood has scratched the horizon.
And I saw so many drops!
New beings so extended that the sky seemed scratched by a continuous rain.
Cities are now opening up to tragic parts of exaggerated anatomy.
But we saw the first beings in the moonlight.
We penetrated by high and terrible doors in the returned city. Tragic monologues were posted at uncertain skylights on that deep night. Wild glances covered the scorned alleys. In the middle, the place sat like a tear on the cheek of misfortunes. Night came. Then, after waves of complaints, a light came forward carried by a young ephebe. We heard again the voice of our mothers, the voice of our childhood and our first memories. We cried for a long time, grouped around the unique flame of the existing worlds. We cried and dreamed for a long time.
The forgotten peoples came out of the streets all around. And went off in wild flights. People, once taciturn, lost in lost realms, in a lost nature, threw themselves above our heads in the air.
Above the flame.
Their feet caressed the air and the end of the blue flame.
We looked dumbfounded and frightened what we thought we had lost forever.
Painted painted this sky and we discovered a universe that had never existed, or had never ceased to exist but was buried so deep in the earth, that it was the same thing.
Our hands caressed the pale adventurers, with the bride and groom’s necklaces. The walls were like faces and hands, as if ignorance and stupidity had disappeared. We looked at each other, but we did not recognize each other. The first colors danced on the painted and moving ornaments. Sassanid capitals in the curvature of the high cornices with tangent curves wrote this new story before our eyes. Nothing was really written. Everything was dancing and everything was guessing.
We were misfits ! Grouped and incredulous. What was the secret of the city? We were stiff in this fairy world. Misfit. Dramatic poets composed a book to celebrate our arrival. We were so tired that our footsteps had no more words. We kept our masks from our past butcheries and our criminal acts. Our nature was visible but our guests never seemed to see it!
To our astonishment, we watched long, gentle and sweet movements. An animal hummed without cruelty or aggression.
Movements so sweet able to stop the smallest movements of a disassembled sea.
Time seemed suspended around the elements.
Our heads bent over and our eyes closed.
We were cradled in a multitude of sweet and tender harmonies.
We went away and, from time to time, as if to catch our breath, we opened our eyes.
What truth did we discover? Gray, pale, cold around us, it seemed unreal. The wind returned to our torn and worn clothes. Had we moved away from chaos and unrest? Had we found a peaceful shore? The waters of the voices rocked us and we did not want to ask any more questions. We enjoyed this magic moment as if we were stretched, for the very first time, on a sumptuous shoreline with bewitching curves!
We belonged to a period of decadence before these real treasures.
We looked but we did not see anything; we could not see as if we wanted to seize these treasures!
Our demons were still in the back of our heads, and we were unintentionally looking at this with sad greed.
We were afraid and our fears cast gloomy omens on us.
But these treasures were only real treasures.
The treasures that hide in the books, in the notes, in the foliage and moss of the undergrowth.
Our liaisons are determined by chance or necessity, but these belong neither to the first nor the second.
We did not come by chance.
We had only met the things closest to our heart.
Maybe all day we did not listen to one word of everything this city had to say!
A last infirmity of our traumatized and tired minds enveloped us durably.
So much elegance, purity and delicacy penetrated us gently.
Were we ready to receive this gift?
The village sages went out in their turn.
They evoked the stars and the first sun.
The first rain and the first flower that opened a small morning in October. Green and yellow. A little flower to watch the world.
How the souls of each villager had connected to this flower beyond the heavy dead mountains and heavens then devastated.
They opened up to the frail flower and they closed their eyes while taking their hands.
Until the first tears of joy flow from their eyes.
And they looked at each other as they had never looked at each other.
The hands and the eyes knew the unfathomable and indescribable vertigo. A sage stood up and told the first birth of the first being connected to the first flower. To see him, to hear him, one had to know the vertigo and forget the senses. To be flower! To be the wind! To be in the mountains and make it explode into billions of grains of sand and love. To be world and to be nothing! To be in the all and in the stem and in the last drop that hides in the deepest of the largest oceans.
And we ate the fruits of the October dew.
We grabbed the bunches of grapes hanging from the balconies of the main square.
We received the transcendence and the truth of the worlds. We discovered the origin of worlds, the origin of evils and the origin of man.
The man came towards us, opened a long, fluffy cape. He showed us the origin of the origin!
While we feasted, a loner had passed in the pen of the place.
Surrounded by young black ladies. He sat in front of us, waiting for the sun to set.
Streams of chaotic clouds banded together, rolling over each other, taking on red hues, then casting dark splinters on the domes and columns of the scene where our belching punctuated our nocturnal digestion.
The heavens did not worry us! we did not feel the cold invading us at the exact moment when the last rooster fell asleep.
The place shrunk and we wrapped around us like a comforter or a warm blanket.
Frost was shining! or was it our eyes!
Our eyes rose above the stars.
We rode mountains of thoughts and torrents of fright.
Without fear; laughing at deployed throats …
Our souls were no longer stumbling, and we were singing loudly.
We resumed in heart a song of Beranger who had rocked our childhood:
My delirium was extreme:
But also that it lasted little!
It’s no longer Nœris that I love,
And Nœris makes it a game.
From these unfaithful ardors
What’s left is that finally,
Since then, to the love of beautiful ladies
I mixed the taste of wine.
Wounded by life, we were. Altered, having lost the primitive energy and the taste of life, finally we relive. Finally !
We took in the extra-natural traps, we set traps insane rhythmic compositions, we caught the colors that were missing from our words.
Our eyes are used to reading the beautiful, the true and the tender.
The line of ridges of the great massif left place to this open and wide horizon.
Landscapes and shapes danced in our hearts.
Pleasures of the world, we rediscovered. Beyond our place, beyond our mountain, we were ripe to evoke it and to speak. Our reason was ripe like the grape that sat on the banquet and our desire was ripe like our sensibe universe that surrounded us. October was ending this day. Our soul could now contemplate this perfection. Our hands squeezed together to form a huge circle and we closed our eyes. In front of the parade of the intelligible and sensible universe, an intense wave of heat enveloped us. The rooster crowed. Midnight rang.
L’OPERA DE TBILISSI თბილისის ოპერის სახლი თბილისის ზაქარია ფალიაშვილის სახელობის სახელმწიფო ოპერისა და ბალეტის თეატრი The Georgian National Opera and Ballet Theater of Tbilisi Théâtre géorgien d’opéra et de ballet Paliachvili თბილისის ზაქარია ფალიაშვილის სახელობის სახელმწიფო ოპერისა და ბალეტის თეატრი
BALLET en deux actes
Représentation de Nathalie Ballet en deux actes Opéra de Tbilissi Théâtre géorgien d’opéra et de ballet Paliachvili თბილისის ზაქარია ფალიაშვილის სახელობის სახელმწიფო ოპერისა და ბალეტის თეატრი
Chorégraphie d’August Bournonville
Musique de Carl Christian Møller
ORCHESTRATION DE LA REPRESENTATION DU 17 OCTOBRE 2019 Chef d’Orchestre Zurab Nadareishvili
****** Nouvelle version chorégraphique présentée le 17 octobre 2019 à l’Opéra de Tbilissi et nouvelle mise en scène
Frank Andersen Dinna Bjørn
Frank Andersen né à Copenhague le 15 avril 1953 danseur et maître de ballet danois. nommé danseur étoile en 1977. Maître de ballet du Ballet royal danois de 1985 à 1994
Dinna Bjørn née le 14 Février 1947 Danseuse de ballet et chorégraphe danoise.
LA TAMISE THE THAMES
LE QUADALQUIVIR THE QUADALQUIVIR
LE RHÔNE THE RHÔNE
LE RHIN THE RHINE
INTRIGUE DU BALLET ROMANTIQUE DE NATHALIE
Rencontre entre August Bournonville (William Prat) et Marius Petipa (Moris Meskhia). Marius Petipa évoque à cette occasion l’histoire de Natalia et de son père, exilés en Sibérie. Kipiani (Rahael Spyker), un noble géorgien et jeune officier, a tout fait pour libérer Natalia (Ekaterine Surmava) et son père, Smirnov (Kakhaber Andriadze), noble et écrivain. Kipiani est un étudiant exilé en Sibérie à cause de ses intentions révolutionnaires, Ils seront finalement libérés et le père deviendra un véritable héros.
Michel-Victor-Marius-Alphonse Petipa, Мариус Иванович Петипа, Marius Ivanovitch Petipa (11 mars 1818 – 14 juillet 1910) danseur, maître de ballet et chorégraphe français. Il vécut en Russie de l’âge de 29 ans jusqu’à sa mort. Il compose une soixantaine de ballets.
LA REPRÉSENTATION DU 17 OCTOBRE 2019
Nathalie, Ekaterine Surmava Kipiani, Raphael Spyker Smirnov, Kakhaber Andriadze August Bournonville, William Pratt Marius Petipa, Moris Meskhia Le Grand-Duc Alexandre, Andrii Havrylluk la Grande-Duchesse Dagmar, Vika Kikabidze Petrov, Maksym Kamyshev Le Dieu des Rivières, Papuna Kapanadze Le Hoffmarshall, Nikoloz Pheikrishvili Le Divertissement, Anna Tkeshelashvili & Natalia Rigvava Le Rhône, Lana Mghebrishvili, Kai Kanzaki La Tamise, Nia Geladze, Tamta Bakhtadze Le Gualdalquivir, Tata Jashi, Ina Azmaiparashvili, Ekaterine Makhachashvili Le Rhin, Stephanie Watkinson, Papuna Kapanadze Enfants de l’Ecole de chorégraphie Chabukiani Ballet,Little Stars, David Potskhishvili
ქართული საღებავები LES PEINTURES DE LA GALERIE D’ART DAVID KAKABADZE დავით კაკაბაძის სახ სახვითი ხელოვნების გალერეა
ექსტერიერის შენობა LE BÂTIMENT EXTERIEUR
ALEXANDRE TSIMAKURIDZE ალექსანდრე ციმაკურიძე (დ. 5 აპრილი, 1882, სოფ. ქვიშხეთი, ხაშურის მუნიციპალიტეტი — გ. 24 მაისი, 1954, თბილისი) — ქართველი ფერმწერ-პეიზაჟისტი, საქართველოს ხელოვნების დამსახურებული მოღვაწე, პროფესორი. (né le 5 avril 1882 dans le village de Kvishkheti, municipalité de Khashuri – le 24 mai 1954, Tbilisi) – artiste peintre-paysagiste géorgien, artiste honoré de la Géorgie, professeur.
Gigo Gabashvili გიგო გაბაშვილი გიორგი (გიგო) ივანეს ძე გაბაშვილი (დ. 21 ნოემბერი, 1862, თბილისი — გ. 28 ოქტომბერი, 1936, ციხისძირი, ქობულეთის რაიონი, აჭარა) ( 21 novembre 1862, Tbilissi – 28 octobre 1936, Tsikhisdziri, district de Kobouleti, Adjarie) საქართველოს სახალხო მხატვარი (1929) Artiste du peuple de Géorgie (1929) ახალი ქართული რეალისტური მხატვრობის ერთ-ერთი დამფუძნებელი. Un des fondateurs de la nouvelle peinture réaliste géorgienne.
Gigo Gabashvili გიგო გაბაშვილი
ნიკო ფიროსმენი NIKO PIROSMANI 1862-1918
ნიკო ფიროსმენი NIKO PIROSMANI 1862-1918
David Kakabadze დავით კაკაბაძე 20 août 1889 à Kukhi (Iméréthie) – 10 mai 1952 Tbilissi peintre géorgien d’avant-garde
David Kakabadze დავით კაკაბაძე
Elene Akhvlediani ელენე ახვლედიანი 1901-1975
ლადო გუდიაშვილი LADO GUDIASHVILI 1897-1978
Félix Varlamishvili ფელიქს ვარლამიშვილი 1903-1986
Robert Sturua რობერტ სტურუა (უფროსი) რობერტ ივანეს ძე სტურუა Robert Ivan Sturua (დ. 4 მაისი, 1916, სოფ. ნაბაკევი, დაბა კულაში, ახლანდელი სამტრედიის მუნიციპალიტეტი — გ. 21 იანვარი, 1982, თბილისი) (né le 4 mai 1916 dans le village de Nabakevi, Daba Kula, municipalité actuelle de Samtredia – 21 janvier 1982, Tbilissi) ქართველი ფერმწერ-მონუმენტალისტი Peintre monumentaliste géorgien საქართველოს სსრ სახალხო მხატვარი (1965) Artiste du peuple de l’URSS (1965)
Alexander Bazhbeuk-Melikyan ალექსანდრე ბაჟბუკ-მელიქიანი 11 septembre 1891 Tbilissi – 20 juillet 1966 Tbilissi 1891 წლის 11 სექტემბერი თბილისი – 1966 წლის 20 ივლისი თბილისი artiste, designer graphique et sculpteur géorgien soviétique d’origine arménienne. ქართველი მხატვარი, გრაფიკული დიზაინერი და სომხური წარმოშობის მოქანდაკე.
Ucha Japaridze უჩა ჯაფარიძე 17 août 1906 Gari (Racha – Géorgie) – 6 juillet 1988 Tbilissi 1906 წლის 17 აგვისტო გარი (რაჭა – საქართველო) – 1988 წლის 6 ივლისი თბილისი Une des figures les plus importantes du développement des arts visuels géorgiens du XXe siècle. Il aimait créer des portraits détaillés et est responsable de la production série de portraits de personnalités telles que son croquis au crayon de 1949 de Vano Sarajishvili, actuellement conservé au Musée d’État géorgien du théâtre, de la musique, du cinéma et de la chorégraphie à Tbilissi. Artiste honoré de Géorgie (1943) Académicien de l’Académie des arts de Géorgie (1958) Lauréat du prix d’État Shota Rustaveli (1987) Citoyen d’honneur de Tbilissi (1982). Chancelier de l’Académie des arts de Tbilissi de 1942 à 1948.
Givi Guliashvili გივი გულიაშვილი 1913-1995
Makharadze Koki Konstantine Makharadze კოკი მახარაძე კონსტანტინე მახარაძე 1929 ოჩამჩირე– 6 იანვარი, 1992 (საბურთალოს პანთეონი, თბილისი) 1929 Ochamchire – 6 janvier 1992 (Panthéon Saburtalo, Tbilissi) დაამთავრა თბილისის სამხატვრო აკადემია 1953 წელს Diplômé de l’Académie des Arts de Tbilissi en 1953.
Konstantine Khutsishvili კონსტანტინე ხუციშვილი 21 ივლისი, 1914 – 17 ნოემბერი, 1980 21 juillet 1914 – 17 novembre 1980
Korneli Sanadze კორნელი სანაძე 1907-1984
Mikheil Khvitia მიხეილ ხვიტია Né en 1923
Radish Tordia რადიშ თორდია Né en 1936
Valeri Margiani ვალერი მარგიანი Né en 1941 en Svanétie
Guram Kutateladze გურამ ქუთათელაძე 1924 – 1979
Givi Toidze გივი თოიძე Né en 1932
Alexandre Bandzeladze ალექსანდრე ბანძელაძე 1927 – 1992
LE CHÂTEAU DE RABATI ex Château de Lomsia რაბათის ციხე
Fondation au IXe siècle par le roi de Tao-Klarjeti, le roi Gouaram Mamphali (roi de Tao-Klarjeti), vers 850-870, est longtemps connu comme Château de Lomsia. Occupation sans la prise du château en 1393 par les troupes de Tamerlan. 1590, Traité de Constantinople, l’ensemble du territoire devient ottoman.
LA REINE TAMAR თამარ დედოფალი & ამაღლების ეკლესია Eglise Amaghleba
L’Eglise SAINTE-CROIX წმინდა კროიქსის ეკლესია განახლებული კათოლიკური ტაძარი ახალციხეში Église catholique rénovée à Akhaltsikhé
L’église Sainte-Croix a été restaurée à Rabati. L’église du XIIIe siècle, qui a ensuite été rénovée au XVIe siècle et détruite à plusieurs reprises au fil des ans, a été consacrée à la Vierge de Savard le 6 octobre 2012. Les travaux de restauration ont duré deux ans.
PASSAGE DE CHARLES AZNAVOUR EN 2012 CONCERT A Akhaltsikhé
Le père de Charles Aznavour, Mamigon (surnommé Micha) Aznavourian, Arménien, est né le 26 mai 1897 à Akhaltsikhé