The 1960 Boston Arts Festival, which recently concluded its annual run in the Public Gardens, was the center of more than the usual controversy. As in previous years, the main subject of contention was the exhibit of paintings. Last year, the Festival's painting exhibition was wholly invitational; in rebellion, a group of painters banded together to set up nearby a vying exhibit of their own. This year, the Festival reverted to a policy of holding an open competition; and it instructed the all-artist selection juries "to seek out artistic essence in whatever form or garb it may appear."

For this ninth annual Festival, the painting jury made its choices, and the battle was on. The jury stated that it recognized certain common denominators in all art: "competence, craftsmanship, honesty, and individual vision." It went on: "Skillful manipulation of pigment has taken precedence over the expression of deep human involvement. The Festival entries underline this generalization. . . . In particular we missed the more disciplined constructive aspect of image making, and, at the other extreme, the painter's pure joy of uncovering the visible world. We observed with regret that some of the most vigorous painters of our regional community did not participate in the exhibition."

The jury was in effect saying: (1) most of the painting submitted was not good; (2) the prevailing style today is "abstract" or "non-representational"; (3) too many of the best local artists are still harboring grudges from previous years and refusing to submit.

There is no denying that a large percentage of the 148 painters exhibited (from the body of 1500 paintings submitted) were practitioners of non-representational art. There is also no denying that the general public prefers representational art (it was no accident that, in the balloting for the Popular Prize, 40 percent of the votes went for one representational work, Robert Bliss' "Balanced Figure," a skillful if too slick view in shades of gray of a kneeling man on a tight-rope as seen from above).

But a jury should not try to choose what it thinks the public will like best. Looking at William Georgenes' "Curtains in the House of the Metaphysician," a lady next to me summed up her basis for aesthetic evaluation by exclaiming admiringly, "Imagine all the work that had to go into that!" Then there are people who believe: those who can, do; and those who can't, become critics or members of juries. To answer these, the Festival included an ancillary exhibit of two paintings each by members of the selection jury: Loring Coleman, Fannie Hillsmith, Gyorgy Kepes, Walter Meigs, and Richard Ziemann. These were all excellent of their kind, though only Miss Hillsmith, with her (to me uncongenial) neo-Grandma Moses manner, could be said to be committed to a wholly representational style.

Two Juries?

Edgar Driscoll, art critic of the Boston Globe, suggested as a solution for next year that there be two juries, one for representational and one for abstract art, each in charge of picking half the paintings. One trouble with this idea is that a true artistic climate is not necessarily reflected by such an arbitrary 50-50 division. But a more serious objection arises from the fact that it is not always possible to relegate a painting to one or the other of the two categories. The work of many artists is semi-abstract or semi-representational; some of the best entries this year were just such items, like W. T. Cummings' "Beach" and Robert Harnilton's "Crucifixion." The war betwen traditionalists and modernists is useless; the only valid war is between the good and the bad, both of which can be achieved in any style. Ernst Halberstadt's representational (and Oriental-influenced) "Landscape" was fine, as was John Gregoropoulos' abstract "Olympian Landscape"; Yukata Ohashi's "Equilibrium No. 4" was abstractionism at its worst, while William Hardy's representational "Bridge at Portsmouth" couldn't even get the bridge towers in proportion.

The 'Herald' Attacks

The staid Boston Herald stirred up the biggest tempest with an editorial, "Arts Festival Bludgeon," followed by an avalanche (poorly reasoned, for the most part) of letters to the editor, and another editorial. The first editorial accused the Festival of intentionally "propagandizing" abstractionism, and quoted in support of its stand some remarks by its art critic, Robert Taylor. Internecine strife resulted when Taylor, in hearty disagreement with the editorial, had to have recourse to the letters column in order to disassociate himself from his paper's policy.

The final paragraph of Taylor's reply was the most sensible and sane statement on the whole controversy: "My objection to the art, like the jury comment, is based on the fact that it reflects a declining aesthetic climate. The early 1950's saw the break-through of our native abstract pioneers into fresh realms of feeling; today that movement seems in a cul-de-sac in which imitation and repetition have momentarily taken the place of creative statement. If the art in the Festival has little to say, why blame the Festival because we're in the tag-end of a stylistic period from which new forms arise? The cure for the atonal music of Schoenberg is not more and more Victor Herbert. The cure for the Boston Arts Festival is not to kill it off because it does its job."

The graphic arts were very little in evidence in this year's exhibit. Twenty-nine sculptors had works shown, but these were of lower quality than usual. One especially intriguing item, though, was Richard Boyce's "Fall of Icarus," made of steel, polymer, and ivory. And the Festival's over-all Grand Prize went to Marianna Pineda's "Prelude," a life-size representational bronze of a supine woman about to go into labor; the presence of a bit of covering drapery left the viewer with the impression that the sculptress (and perhaps the subject) wanted to eat her cake and have it too.

Design and Dome

The New England architecture exhibit was, qualitatively, one of the best in the Festival's history. One could not cavil with the award in any of the five categories. In the Educational Group, the award went to Harvard's newly-opened Quincy House. The jury commented: "A courageous and successful attempt to prove that a building well designed in a modern idiom can take its place in a Georgian style environment with dignity, assurance, and grace. The structure has been thoughtfully organized in plan and elevation. It is fresh and a real contribution to the Harvard campus, thoughtfully and beautifully detailed and executed in excellent and appropriate materials."

Commercial: the Dorr-Oliver Building in Stamford, Connecticut, with handsome floating sculpture over the main facade. Religious: Temple Reyim in Newton, Massachusetts. Residential: the Beach House of L. W. Spear in Gloucester, Massachusetts, with a quasi-Japanese overhanging roof. Public Use: the Wellesley Free Library in Wellesley, Massachusetts.

The whole architectural exhibition was housed in a specially designed "geodesic dome," an invention rated as "one of the 100 best industrial designs of the 20th century." The dome is part of the dymaxion theory created by Buckminster Fuller, who visited Leverett House a couple of months ago and lectured on his structural ideas. The aluminum skeleton of the Festival's dome is handsome enough; but since the dome is to be used in succeding years, a more aesthetically satisfactory covering ought to be procured.

The 1960 Festival did without the usual exhibit of crafts, which are frankly peripheral anyway. But I must protest the exclusion of photography, which was such an outstanding part of the 1959 Festival. Photog- raphy is certainly an "art," even if not on such a high level as the other acknowledged arts.

Orestes Revisited

The Festival's stage events--encompassing music, dance, and the spoken word--were particularly rewarding this year. The play offering was the New England premiere of Jack Richardson's The Prodigal, which has been enjoying acclaim and a long run in New York this season. Written during a fellowship to Europe when the author was still in his early twenties, the drama is a retelling of the ancient Orestes story. It is indeed a distinguished script, except for the last few minutes, which, with direct address to the audience, constitute a serious miscalculation. The production by the Charles Playhouse, under Michael Murray's direction, was little more than adequate; and only Pauline Flanagan, as Clytemnestra, provided a wholly satisfactory performance.

Devotion and Debauchery

The Lexington Choral Society, supported by the Festival Orchestra, devoted its concert, under the direction of Allen Lannom, to two major works: Vaughan Williams' Dona Nobis Pacem, and Orff's Carmina Burana. Acting on his premonition of World War II, Vaughan Williams wrote his cantata in 1936, in which he fashioned his text from a phrase of the Roman Mass, sizable excerpts from Walt Whitman (who is full of superlative choral texts), and bits from John Bright and the Bible. Composed with a knowing hand, it lacked only vitality in performance.

Orff's Carmina consists of settings of two dozen medieval Latin and German poems on the subjects of fate, spring, drinking, gambling, and love. All the performers summoned plenty of vitality, and there was fine solo singing by Aletha Munro, soprano; Robert Patterson, bass; and Charles A. Campbell, tenor. The audience was wild in its approval. Personally, however, I found that this work does not wear well at all. It is monotonous, and its unvaried strophic repetitions soon become tiring. Only in the short, lyrical "In Trutina" (No. 21), for soprano solo, did Orff touch greatness.

Entrancing Entrechats

For its four ballet evenings, the Festival presented a company headed by Andre Eglevsky (who had also performed at the 1956 and 1958 Festivals). Paired up with Melissa Hayden, the two demonstrated their renowned artistry in pas de deux from Tchaikovsky's Black Swan and Delibe's Sylvia. The pleasantest surprise was the dancing of young Edward Villella; his entrechats were breathtaking, and his consummate general control clearly places him on the verge of a noble career. Most of the dancers in the company were from the New York City Ballet. Among the other items on the program was the world premiere of Soiree Musicale--music by Rossini as arranged by Benjamin Britten, with mediocre choreography by John Taras.

A New Shrew

Three evenings were given over to performances of Vittorio Giannini's comic opera The Taming of the Shrew. Composed in 1953, it proved to be one of the finest operas yet written by a native American. The libretto uses only words from Shakespeare: the text of Shrew, a speech from Romeo and Juliet, and some lines from the Sonnets. Unlike the Cole Porter musical comedy version of the play, Kiss Me, Kate, Giannini has given equal weight to the two pairs of lovers in the original tale--Katherina and Petruchio, Bianca and Lucentio. The result is a highly dramatic and serviceable opera libretto.

Musically, Giannini's work is eclectic and often reverts to an almost 19th-century style. Yet the music is no hodge-podge; everything works, and everything is appropriate. It is heartening to find a composer willing to write for the voice as though it were something besides an instrument. Vocally, the score is in the Verdi-Puccini tradition; orchestrally, it recalls most frequently the sonorities of Richard Strauss, especially of Rosenkavalier. Giannini did not shy away from penning a beautiful, lush love duet for each pair of lovers. The first act has a fugal trio that can take its place with the finale fugue in Verdi's Falstaff; and the third act has a masterly vocal sextet.

Essentially, the production was the same as that given at New York's City Center. The staging and settings were exemplary. Julius Rudel conducted with complete authority; and the singers--headed by Gail Manners, Walter Cassel, Dolores Mari, and Robert Williams--were uniformly excellent down to the smallest part. In all, a stunning production of an important addition to the American operatic repertory.

Breath, Brass, and Brawn

The program for the final evening was called "Music for a Festival." The two participating groups, performing both separately and together, were the Chorus Pro Musica, conducted by Alfred Nash Patterson; and the Festival Brass Ensemble, conducted by John Corley. Both bodies displayed some raggedness, but on the whole performed well indeed. The first half of the program was devoted to 17th-century music by Buxtehude, Purcell, Monteverdi and others; the second half offered 20th-century works by Hindemith, Rachmaninoff, two Harvard-connected composers -- Walter Piston and Daniel Pinkham--and others. The most unusual part of the program came with Jacques Casterede's settings of three proclamations of Napoleon (well narrated by Robert Brooks), winding up with an over-whelming musical representation of the Battle of Waterloo for brass and full percussion.

In my review of the 1959 Festival, I urged the use of a concerted brass ensemble as an effective outdoor medium, after the predictable failure of setting puny strings afloat on a swanboat in the lagoon. Now that the brass proved so successful on the Festival stage, let's have a brass ensemble on a floating swanboat next year.

Included among other events that I was unable to attend were: Pulitzer Prize-winning poet Robert Lowell, winner of the 1960 Festival Poetry Prize, reading from his own works; an evening of international folk dances and folk music; two evenings of jazz, with Woody Herman an other soloists; and several lectures on the art exhibits.

Hopefully, the officers will solve during the coming year the problem of getting the best paintings submitted and chosen, decide to reinstate photography, and maintain a high standard in the stage offerings--in order to make the decennial Festival of 1961 a fitting milestone in Boston's cultural life