- I believe, I have
experienced the Stendhal syndrome or something very similar to
it in three very different situations.
The first time was in 1998, during my first travel to
Western Europe, visiting the museum of modern art Moderna
Museet in Stockholm. There, for the first time I saw works of
world famous artists whose works until than I have been
admiring only from books. Going through the collection
exhibition I came in front of a blue monochrome by Yves Klein.
In that moment I felt that I was growing weak, my flesh
creeps, grasping for air, I felt like crying. I stood in front
of the painting for a while, until I got back enough strength
to move away. Shaken and touched, as if I just witnessed
something big and important, I had an urge to share this
experience with someone, so I looked anxiously for the company
I parted from in the museum.
-
- Second situation in
which I found myself experiencing the same symptoms was
triggered by much more prosaic cause – food. On a service trip
to Switzerland, for a workshop (I believe it was on
storytelling) we stayed at a hotel specialized for conferences
in the mountains somewhere over Bern. The hotel food was
excellent! The meals were carefully thought thru from the
starters to the deserts. Each new course complemented the
taste of the previous. The presentation was exquisite, done
very tastefully, never too much, but also never too little. I
remember a pumpkin cream soup and glazed vegetables. The last
day of our stay, at the last dinner, after yet another perfect
main course, we were served the last desert – a mango cream!
Probably incited additionally by the realization that this was
our last meal in the hotel (as I was never that crazy for
mangos) I had pretty much the same reaction to its taste as to
the Yves Klein painting. I even ate very slowly in a fruitless
attempt to prolong this (almost orgasmic) feeling of utter
bliss.
-
- The third experience,
totally unexpectedly, was in 2005 at a music concert. My
girlfriend and I love Portuguese Fado music, and that year at
a festival in Skopje one of the great Fado star Mariza was
performing, so we went to her concert. Each festival evening
two musicians performed. Mariza as the star of the evening was
performing second, and Danyel Waro from Reunion with his all
percussion band started the evening. As I was not familiar at
all with his music (Mayola), I did not have any expectations.
From the first moment, as they started in a frenetic rhythm
and Danyel Waro sang on Creole with a
hoarse voice, I again found myself totally moved. Waro
was introducing shortly each song on very bad English. The
songs were about simple things and emotions – his mother, the
love for his wife, his son, the slaves. The awareness of these
straightforward messages, as well as the frequency of his
aged, rusty voice seem to daze me even more. Most of the
concert I was standing, clapping in the rhythm, with tearful
eyes and goose bumped, unaware of my surrounding. The
performance of Mariza (who we initially came
to see), which followed, seemed just exaggerated and
staged and could not match the energy of Danyel Waro in any
way.
-
- Now, when I am retelling
these events, I still react, I get goose-bumps. Since these
events I have seen couple more of the Klein’s monochromes, and
recently managed to obtain CD of Danyel Waro, and although I
undoubtedly continue to enjoy and appreciate both, the initial
strong reaction never recurred.