Finding My Voice, #249

Photo by Michele Oh

Last year, I volunteered to work for six months at The Artist Co-op, a new co-working space with rehearsal rooms, geared towards connecting and supporting artists from theatre, film, opera, dance, etc. I met actors, singers, filmmakers, producers, directors, lighting designers, dancers, and most importantly, people who have and will continue to change my life. I’m grateful to be singing in a concert to support The Artist Co-op this Friday night, and I hope you’ll attend, if you’re in the greater New York City area.

On a couple of occasions, I mentioned to members of The Artist Co-op that I wanted to learn to expand my vocal abilities to include belting and musical theatre techniques. Although I’ve had a couple of really wonderful musical theatre gigs, I always knew I had work to do to really learn how to sing that repertoire at the best of my natural ability. Having several friends in an incredibly unconventional, grammy-winning group called Roomful of Teeth, I’ve been inspired for years to learn to expand my voice outside of the purely classical realm.

Growing up, I wanted to be Debbie Gibson. I learned how to sing like her, mostly with a pop mix and an unsophisticated teenage belt when needed. One night, at a karaoke bar in Koreatown, I reached the pinnacle of those childhood dreams when, while singing “Lost in Your Eyes,” a man dropped to his knees at my feet and shouted, “You ARE Debbie Gibson!” As a fully realized adult who had earned a living as a respected classical singer for two decades, I knew I could do far more if I trained my whole voice – not to mimic an 80’s pop icon, but to find the limitless possibilities within my own voice.

When the universe speaks, I listen. Personally, this means paying attention whenever more than one source produces the same message or advice. Several people mentioned the tiny street on which I now live, for example, as I was searching for an affordable apartment in Manhattan, and I cannot imagine living anywhere else. So when two different members of the Artist Co-op praised their teacher Jon Stancato and recommended I work with him on my much of a coincidence. “Are you Jon Stancato, by any chance?” I asked, and my journey began.

Since then, I’ve had several lessons, sometimes a week apart, sometimes spread out by months because of my performing and travel schedules. Now, preparing to sing everything from Troubadour songs to Alanis Morisette with medieval harp on an eclectic concert on Friday, June 14 at the Highland Lodge in Vermont with Christopher Preston Thompson and Heidi Lauren Duke, I have the privilege of meeting with Jon weekly. He’s an incredibly intuitive coach, working with me as we experiment together to find the authentic and meaningful sounds that color each song fully and appropriately.

On days like today, feeling raw with the emotions of loss and mourning and worn down by allergies and the thicker vocal cords that greet young women once a month, working with Jon reminds me so much of my intensely mindful work with Josh Pais, or training to become a life coach. I make sounds I wouldn’t dare to make in front of almost anyone, and Jon tells me that he can learn just as much from my voice on what I would consider a bad day. I relax into the present to play with what we have, which apparently is a lot more than I expected.

Singing, as a career, creates a life of wildly glorious and meaningful highs, coupled with social needs cut short, an unparalleled need for body awareness and physical health, and constant sacrifices to keep that voice, which earns me money and keeps me fed, fresh and strong. Today, I found a new way to play with it healthily and, as I so often do on this journey, I felt at turns vulnerable, scared, empowered, and exhilarated. Finally, we found a really rich resonance with which I can play across my range, and I felt good, as we heard a knock on the door, and the lesson came to an end.

As the door opened, a classical conductor with whom I’ve previously worked and who I respect walked in the absolutely not soundproof door. We briefly hugged, and I mentioned that I was working on some belting techniques, before he said, “I know, I heard. Sounds good,” and rushed off to setup for his rehearsal. Upon exiting, I passed by sixteen of my most talented friends and colleagues from the classical singer world, half happy to see them, half awkwardly mortified that they all heard my rather vulnerable exploration of self and voice.

Although I still wonder a bit how it all sounded and think perhaps I should start audio-recording my lessons, I trust Jon’s assessment, that I sounded great, and it’s a good thing they heard me. Despite a decent deal of stigma in the classical world about non-classical techniques, I’m nothing if not a proponent for change and plan to embrace the role of helping others to both embrace and seek it. If the three deaths I’ve experienced this month have taught me anything, they’ve increased my need for vulnerability, authenticity, and a mindful exploration of life. Finding my whole voice, accompanied by a talented and compassionate guide, fills me with just the right combination of nervousness and joy that tells me I’m on the right path. I’m glad my friends heard me, and I can’t wait to sing for that audience in June. This life is worth living fully, with every color, sound, and expression I can possibly find for the artistic manifestations of my spirit… Not just tomorrow, now.

Singing for Hope

Living in New York City enlivens, pushes, and challenges me. In a subway car, you might find me working on my attitude toward life, reading a book like The Fifth Agreement by Don Miguel Ruiz and Don Jose Ruiz. The other day, I stumbled onto a concept that confused me at best. In the book, the Ruizes combat an often heard saying, “Nobody’s Perfect.”

In their Toltec beliefs, “the truth is that everything in creation is perfect, including the humans.” Continuing to explain the concept, they further insist:

“Everything about us is perfect, including any disability or disease that we may have. Someone with a learning difficulty is perfect; someone born without a finger or an arm or an ear is perfect; someone with a disease is perfect. Only perfection exists, and that awareness is another important step in our evolution.”

Perhaps I present these inspired authors unfairly by dropping you in the middle of a probably unfamiliar and weighty concept; however, after my morning volunteering at The Cerebral Palsy Center of New York, I can honestly say I met some amazing people, perfect in their current state. About a month ago, my work as a soloist began with a concert at Mt. Sinai Hospital for some incredibly grateful patients and staff. On that day, my definition of an audience changed forever.

Today, singing with Jacqueline Ballarin, I caught a glimpse of happiness in handshakes, stories, and wheelchairs. George and Karik came in early and talked with us about puppies and trips and asked what we would sing. The pure joy oozing from Karik’s face when we shook his hand melted my heart.

When looking for a quiet concert venue, do not choose The Cerebral Palsy Center of New York, where the inhabitants laugh, sing along, and joke uncontrollablly as they experience the emotions we usually temper and control with a beautiful abandon. Jacquie boldly navigated the crowd as she sang, making them feel wanted and entertained, and they responded with exclamations of “Wow” and “I wish I could sing like that.”

After our songs had ended, Timothy showed us to the front door, pulling his wheelchair along with the wooden railings installed on every wall. Smiling as brightly as the applause that had rung through the corridors, Timothy thanked us, laughed, and corrected the staff member we passed who insisted that he raps. Apparently, he writes poetry and sings R&B. After seeing the paintings along the walls done by artists in their community, I don’t doubt it one bit.

Perfect? I suppose that depends on how you define the word. Despite their illness, these stunning people find and share joy by the mile – a talent we could all stand to develop further. Personally, I cannot imagine a better way to have spent my day. I don’t know for whose hope I just sang – theirs, or my own.

Imperfecting Life

At the Wright family dinner each night, everyone always seemed to have a story to tell. Something happened at school or work, and perhaps a new theory on the universe had recently hatched. Compliments of my father, politics, science, technology and current events graced our table regularly, and I have always admired him as a true, Jeopardy-excelling, information sponge.

His tireless love of learning continues, whether he studies a new way to enhance his MRI images at work, reads a science journal, or checks in to see how other sailors live aboard their boats. When I called my family the other day, my mother said, “Your father’s scuba diving in the living room.” Not literally. Excitedly he re-lived his last scuba certification class, as he exclaimed, “I got a hundred.” Perfect.

In my own efforts to ride the learning curve, I on the other hand usually need to abandon my instinctive desire for perfection, my need to “ace the test.” As a singer and actor, I’ve recently witnessed the power and importance of living and performing in the moment, as a real and flawed person. Isn’t Julia Roberts perfect? No. In fact, her breakthrough role came in Pretty Woman, where her character fantastically broke just about every rule imaginable in a quirky and unapologetically real personality.

My ego would much rather I strive for perfection at every turn, as a safer, more self-protective option. When I cantor at St. Jean Baptiste, trying not to make mistakes leads to one of two problems: errors from my lack of presence in the moment, or fake and stale worship. This weekend, after allowing myself to relax and sing an honest Lord’s Prayer, a perishoner approached me to say how he’d never understood it before hearing my delivery of the prayer. He also told me I sounded like Julia Roberts, and while I’m not quite certain her notoriety comes from singing, I took it as a high and beautifully human compliment.

This week, I’ve decided to use the excuse of the Chinese New Year to further my resolution already set earlier this month: to act with more kindness to myself. Letting go of perfectionism fits perfectly into that plan; although, it seems I may have to work hard to take that word out of my lexicon. As I sing with Opera Collective tonight in the Union Square subway station, I plan to “play with imperfection” (Dallas Travers) and have a grand time just being me. Wish me luck this year of the dragon.

An Autumn Awakening

This last day of Autumn, I find myself surrounded by the common theme of new dreams, uncharted challenges, and new adventures to discover. Last week, blessed by four completely different performances for which to prepare and perform, I had the opportunity to check in with my incredibly talented and diverse friends and colleagues. One friend had just produced her second one-woman show. Another contemplated her next steps to her rise to hopeful fame, while a third shared her desire to sing jazz despite not knowing quite where to start. Bold steps by brave people.

Taking me to a black belt Aikido test, another adventurous man opened my eyes to the calm intensity of a challenging practice that intrigues me, and I had the chance to watch even a handful of elderly participants test for their black belt after years of training and discipline. Finally, at a party hosted by some invaluable friends, a photographer friend Michael Chadwick convinced me to run a marathon with him. So, for next Autumn, I’ve decided to run the ING NYC Marathon to support Team for Kids, a non-profit organization working to keep children active and combat childhood obesity. I’ll have more information in future posts, hopefully including details about a team to join if you’d like to take up the challenge with me! In the meantime, please consider helping me get off to a running start with a donation of any amount.

In the similar rush of these changing seasons as Autumn comes to a close, New Year’s seems already upon us, and my friends and I contemplate actions of almost spring-like renewal. In celebration of the rebirth we each have when we wake to a new day and open ourselves to new possibilities, I leave you once again with my dear friend and hero, Kara Morgan. Her ability to create her dreams literally and figuratively, always with a dash of humor, inspires me regularly to take the leaps that scare me most. May we all have such courage to wake up to our dreams this holiday season.

Peaceful Pandemonium: Reflections on Tableau Vivant

Once upon a time, several of my readers asked, “Why?”  They continue to ponder, “Why the nudity,” “Why the Bulgarian music,” “Why you (a question more likely uttered by acquaintances or colleagues)?”

Rehearsal for Tableau Vivant

My answer, written in January but as yet unpublished, seems all the more poignant to me as we prepare for our upcoming, much grander, longer (less than an hour), and far more ambitious performance this coming Monday and Tuesday, May 23 and 24 at 7pm and 8pm, respectively. Within this tableau, one will find weddings (yes, actual weddings), dance, improvisation, Bulgarian folk singers, a string quartet with a few additional players, opera singers, new compositions (none of mine in this production), classic opera arias, and just about every body type imaginable, both clothed and exposed. Within this preparation time and Tableau Vivant itself, I hope to find the peaceful pandemonium of life so perfectly expressing the imperfect we all discover each new day.

My answer:
The Peaceful Pandemonium of Tableau Vivant
By Abigail Wright

In September, at our first rehearsal for the current incarnation of Sarah Small’s Tableau Vivant, a large circle of fascinatingly varied introductions confirmed my role as the only nude singer. Although CJ Body joined me in my exposed expression as an unclothed upright bass player for our fall tableau as part of the DUMBO Arts Festival, I bore that undertaking alone in January’s Bathhouse Studio performance. Rima Fand, a brilliant composer I’ve had the extraordinary joy of knowing in three separate artistic endeavors, entered into the equation and introduced an unusual task for most of the models as well. As musical director, she and Sarah Small designed an aural tapestry that placed almost every performer equally far from their comfort zones by layering voice upon voice (mostly untrained), until each added his unique sound to the swelling chorus of suspended, sighed, and soared tones.

Since September, the larger group of artists composing Sarah’s tableau has grown closer in companionship and familiarity, and something about the quality of the picture and drones of the sonic landscape feels more cohesive and powerful as we join together again, now at Bathhouse Studios. The Black Sea Hotel, a hauntingly beautiful Bulgarian folk quartet fully clad in bright crimson wool dresses, ever-powerfully intones a stirring folk song about a man waiting for his friend’s death in order to marry the woman for whom he pines. Sarah Small, whose musical arrangement they sing, enters into the living picture to enliven selected groups of models, static poses beginning to unfreeze and interact with one another.

As eventually the motion quiets and our once crescendoed chorus comes down from the swell, this photographer/composer/creator adds her voice as a soloist which then melds with the folk quartet to conclude the perplexing but poignant song. Almost ominously, as the melodic love story ends on the Bulgarian word meaning “death,” each of us personalizes it, as chanted, spoken, shouted, and vibrated pitches echo a resonant “umre” throughout the space. Upon this scattered final iteration, each person in tableau releases her individually held pose, engages the eyes of a random audience member, and waits for the first note of my aria after extended silence as a signal to fade away and drop her head.

In September when Sarah and I first met to discuss which aria I might perform to conclude her Tableau Vivant, I had a comparatively vague sense of the profound nature of her living picture as a whole. After hearing her focus for the tableau as a means for exploring life and death, I chose music and a text that would minister to her spirit as the creative energy behind such a feat. In “C’est l’amour vainqueur,” commonly referred to as “the violin aria” from Jacques Offenbach’s Tales of Hoffmann, the character of Nicklausse sings this song to the poet E.T.A. Hoffmann, imploring him to write. Referencing the beauty of music, its transforming power, and finally triumphant love, Nicklausse exclaims, “It is all-conquering love, ah, poet, give your heart!” Little did I understand at that moment how much the aria and tableau as a whole speaks not only to Sarah Small as the creator of the concept, the musicians and the models inhabiting it, and the audience in the room, but especially to everyone as a microcosm of life as a whole.

In my brief but meaningful experience with the art of tableau vivant, I have enjoyed an insider’s view of her “Delirium Constructions” as a means to explore in public all of the common human experiences most hide. Fusing truly implausible combinations of the primal with the classical, musically and visually through the clothed and bare, static and engaged, healthy and deformed (some models in particular have body paint and positions to indicate bruises, rashes, and injury), proud and meek, this odd concoction of life without pretense explores some of the most profoundly universal themes in a short twenty-minute span. Reminiscent of the musings of Shakespeare as Hamlet tells Claudius how “a king may go a progress through the guts of a beggar,” this photographer brings to light in one small space a truly living picture of the simple complexities of humanity, seen and unseen. By insisting upon such an unapologetic depiction of existence, Sarah Small presents the most honest public offering in which I have ever taken part. As society imbues her art with love, death, life and its intricacies, may she continue to inspire audiences in the peaceful pandemonium of her Tableau Vivant.

April in Paris Press Release

We finally have a press release for our April in Paris Recital, thanks to the help of Kit Emory! http://www.abigailwright.com/FORIMMEDIATERELEASE.pdf

Photo by David Michael

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:

March 10, 2011

CONTACT: Abby Walter at (347) 767-6476 or abbywalter78@gmail.com

http://www.abigailwright.com

APRIL IN PARIS:
A Romantic Recital by Opera Singer, Abigail Wright and Pianist, Eugene Sirotkine

Ah spring! Retreat to Paris this April 16th at 7pm with mezzo-soprano, Abigail Wright and pianist Eugene Sirotkine for a romantic recital with a French accent at St. Mark’s Episcopal Church in Teaneck, NJ. There will be a reception immediately following the event.

Ms. Wright is an accomplished singer/actor whose wide-ranging career has taken her from the Metropolitan Opera stage to modeling to the world of puppetry. She has been critically acclaimed for her remarkably wide vocal range as well as for her sensitive musicality while delivering intense and dramatic performances. Eugene Sirotkine brings his expertise as a pianist, a world-renowned conductor, and a composer to their rich collaboration, inviting Ms. Wright to perform at St. Mark’s and also to sing one of his brilliant compositions, Sensation (poetry by Arthur Rimbaud).

The evening also features the song cycle Le passage des rêves (“The passage of dreams”), an exquisite new work by composer Benjamin C.S. Boyle, exploring the lush poetry of French philosopher, Paul Valéry. Other selections include Claude Debussy’s Ariettes Oubliées, set to the poetry of Paul Verlaine’s Romances sans paroles (“Songs without words”), the magically evocative Shéhérazade by Maurice Ravel, and a set of English language songs – including Vernon Duke’s April in Paris, of course!

Tickets can be purchased at the door, for a suggested donation of $15, to benefit St. Mark’s.

SUMMARY HIGHLIGHTS:

What: “April in Paris: A Recital with Abigail Wright and Eugene Sirotkine”

Who: Mezzo-soprano Abigail Wright and pianist Eugene Sirotkine

When: April 16, 2011 at 7pm; reception to follow concert

Where: St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, 118 Chadwick Road, Teaneck, NJ
Directions:  http://www.stmarksteaneck.org/directions.php

Tickets: Purchase at the door.  Suggested donation $15 to benefit the venue.

Links/Info:
http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=204042609612475
http://www.stmarksteaneck.org/music/concerts.php
http://abigailwright.com/images/aip8x10web.jpg (8×10 flyer)
http://abigailwright.com/images/aiparisweb.jpg (event postcard)
http://www.benjamincsboyle.com
http://www.stmarksteaneck.org/directions.php

 

Social Media Begins with the Letter “S” ~ 171

That’s right, boys and girls. Today, and for the remainder of this week, the world receives a free education in social media and all its myriad uses and possibilities. If you currently live or visit New York, San Francisco, London, Rome, Paris, Hong Kong, Saö Paolo, or Istanbul, you have the incredible opportunity to hear lectures, party, play, and experience everything live. In other words, you can attend lectures, party, play, and experience social media in real time with companies like MTV, Comedy Central, Youtube, and Microsoft at venues like the Google Science and Technology Hub and the Gramercy Park Hotel.

For those of you residing in a different location this week, all you need is an Internet connection to access much of the free instruction and discussion happening globally. Visit Livestream to watch events happening now or talks you may have missed. I know many of my friends and colleagues still react towards social media as unnecessary, distracting, or evil and haven’t yet decided to learn how to make the most of so many tools available to us as members of a complex and changing society of corporations, freelancers, citizens, and participants in the history to come. If Facebook, Twitter, Youtube, MySpace, Tumblr, and WordPress all make you want to run for the exit, I highly recommend dipping your toes into the wading pool this week for free. You may find a way to enhance your life with our more connected twitterverse and if you don’t, you have invested only a bit of time.

 

Relative Virality: How to Explode in Your Niche, at Sesame Workshop

Deciding to begin my #SMWNYC adventure in a less gigantic-corporation and free stuff sort of way tonight, I headed over to the offices of the Sesame Workshop to learn from the successful marketing campaigns of three separate Jewish organizations. Stephanie Wilchfort of Shalom Sesame began the discussion of how to leverage as many platforms as possible to succeed in marketing to one’s niche. Within five minutes, I had at least two pages of ideas already reproducing further ways to promote my career to the very specific industries within the arts and entertainment world to which I belong.

Motti Seligson of Chabad discussed ways in which seemingly underdog high schools won large sums of money in an online challenge sponsored by Khol’s. Most importantly, he stressed the value of empowering a passionate community to rally behind one’s cause and reminded us all of the necessity of keeping such a rallying point personal and relevant. Reaching out as human beings to the rest of humanity seems a crucial theme for this Social Media Week in New York, and Andy Neusner of Jewish Community Heroes spoke last and extensively on working more closely through as many channels as possible to individual. Specifically, he addressed the importance of avoiding polarizing issues that might distract from one’s mission and ways to engage with individual “thought leaders” in smaller parts of the community that one wishes to attract.

Discussions on hashtags, listening tools, automation points, email blasts, efficiency, time management, and the impossibility of overexposure ensued. This panel agreed that the ROI, or “risk of ignoring something,” far outweighed the potential danger of oversaturating one’s niche by posting the same information in too many places. Why should anyone care? Social media will change throughout the years, but our ability to connect as a society will likely continue to increase for quite some time. As a freelance singer and actor, I have a duty to myself and my career to promote and encourage future current and future work. With an obligation to my friends, readers, and supporters to treat them with respect and not as a number, I highly value the input given to help me consider every option available to me to intensely market myself, but with grace and consideration of my audience.

Tonight, I feel incredibly thankful for all of the sponsors, speakers, and participants in Social Media Week 2011. Take advantage of it, if you can. Tomorrow, I attend a case study of the marketing platform for the Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear with Comedy Central and MTV and a discussion entitled “High Art vs. the Masses” about the art world’s use of and reaction toward social networking. In the meantime, Sarah Small has one of my newly favorite pieces of writing in hand regarding her Tableau Vivant and hopes to have it published. I don’t know exactly what tomorrow will bring, but I can guarantee I won’t be bored, depressed, and hiding from winter anymore. Progress.

Laila Tov!

Answers for the Patient Anonymous ~ 168

Ms. Wright,
Just a repost question from November 29th. If you don’t want to respond, it’s ok, but I thought since you were working on a new post about the Tableau Vivant you may want to combine the issues. I am sorry to hear about your feelings, though I think getting out of the house, showering and doing something (anything, reallly) is quite helpful. Kudos to you for doing so, for blogging about it and for holding yourself responsible to keep up your promise to yourself. It ain’t easy but you only get one life and you, for better or worse, get to run a business around your life. Being a solo practitioner is a hard and stressful task and you should give yourself credit for doing it.

And kudos to you for owning the Tableau Vivant and being so open about it. I suspect that one reason you get so many hits on this issue is that only your blog (apart from Ms. Smalls blog) comes up in Google if you search for it. You are the only artist to publicly identify yourself as one of the artists in the performance (at least by Google search standards). Not fully understanding the purpose or intent of the Tableau Vivant performance, I’m not sure why this is, or what it means or says, but others have apparently not embraced their performance in the same way that you have. As a result, you get the Google hits for having so publicly embraced your performance.

I read your blog a while back after the Dumbo Arts Festival and commented on your being a part of the Tableau Vivant show. You were kind enough to respond in the comments. For background, we stumbled on the performance when we went to the bookstore and was told a performance was about to start, so we stayed.

First, more power to you for posting the video where all your friends could see you. It is one thing to perform naked in public and have it disappear, or to have it appear generally on the Internet, but another to directly link it to yourself for the world (and your friends, family and future significant others) to find and see it. Perhaps this is part of your liberation and “skydiving” experience.

Second, and more importantly, can you please explain what the performance meant? we watched the original performance, and the video, and remain confused. I’ve also read Ms. Small’s site, but I still don’t get it. Since it was apparently such a significant experience for you, I’m also curious what you got out of it (beyond the freeing experience of being naked on a stage).

By that I mean I don’t understand the message or meaning other than the nudity and singing (beautiful by the way). Perhaps I’m not that understanding of modern art or concept pieces (I once saw a “play” in the East Village, I think by Mac Wellman, and had similar difficulty). Yes, it is rather interesting to see naked people, and the different bodies, sizes and types, and to watch them sort of interact or move about, and to have it done to music, but to what effect? How was the performance described to you when you auditioned and during rehearsals? What was Ms. Small telling or describing when she wanted the actors/actresses to move? Were the movements choreographed in a particular way for a particular reason? This was why I had googled Tableau Vivant after the show and found your blog.

Thanks for listening and I look forward to your response (but rest and have fun–no need for an immediate response, or any if you prefer). ~Anonymous

 

Original Photo by Andy Stromberg

This past week, I have once more had the honor of participating in Sarah Small’s Tableau Vivant, singing in my church choir, rehearsing for an upcoming Valentine’s Day concert at the Cornelia Street Café, and recording Lorca-inspired music for the talented composer Rima Fand, among other fantastic activities. I’ve worked with incredible friends, colleagues, musicians, actors, videographers, makeup artists, models, directors, composers, and seemingly average folks living quite extraordinary lives. For those who believe that the artistic community gives or collaborates too little or has reached a point of stagnation, even in the winter, my little life in New York and I beg to differ.

While speaking on the phone with Sarah Small tonight for more than an hour after my recording session with Rima, I felt overcome by gratefulness for the small role I have to play in her world and art. In a brief moment, I understood how her work exists as a microcosm for life itself, in all of the common but sometimes unexpected pieces of ourselves and our relationships with one another that we so often hide from the public world. In the next few days and posts here on Skydiving for Pearls, I hope to take you on a journey inside my understanding of one woman’s Tableau Vivant.

For my patient anonymous reader, thank you for your persistence in questioning our motives and inspirations. You’ve truly helped me to “flesh out” the meaning in a piece that has instinctively meant so much to me and opened up my heart to a new confidence and vulnerability. I hope these next few days will shed some light for you on a performance that has illumined my life in so many ways.

Irresistible Investments ~ 149

Visiting my friend and photographer David Michael‘s most recent website update, I paused to see his use of the word “investment” when referring to his fees for photographs and photo sessions. As my friend, David has used this word rather often over the years when speaking of friendships, relationships, and our careers as singers. Unfortunately, understanding the concept surprisingly doesn’t necessarily lead to keeping it in mind as a general practice.

I wonder how many performers purchasing a photo session pause to think of this yet another business expense as an exciting investment, rather than an annoyance, a financial burden, or one of the many initiation rites involved in keeping oneself current as an artist. Furthermore, how many dates give one the impression of purchasing dinner, paying her cover charge, and buying her drinks to invest in the future of a potential relationship? When someone flew 2500 miles to visit me this New Year’s Eve after only knowing me for a week, I began to understand the concept. Arriving a few days after his departure, two dozen red roses made his message ever clearer.

When faced with the option of making bold gestures and sizable undertakings with our finances, time, efforts, or talents, many of us pause in fearful protest, “I’m not ready for this.”  Teaching and looking after six to ten children per week, nearly twenty-four hours each day, I clearly remember not feeling prepared for the task of working as a camp counselor at seventeen. Of all of the many lessons I learned those two extremely rewarding summers, I regularly recall the priceless value of making even a seemingly risky investment in something truly worthwhile.

Handing out my first business card at my first rehearsal for my first puppet opera (Don Cristòbal, with ten performances this spring), I couldn’t help but contemplate the investments I have recently made of my money, time, and talents. Although I definitely need to monitor my finances and debt in order to survive as a performing artist, I don’t regret having spent money on new headshots, union dues, trade publications, opera tickets, etc. I did gasp for a moment when a promotional box of matches arrived in the mail with a 5×7 photo, both of which had an image of four women including myself (yes, nude) from Sarah Small’s Tableau Vivant in September.

After my initial shock, I weighed my experience with Living Picture Projects, new skills and strengths discovered, and my belief in Sarah’s vision against the handful of those who might innocently judge what they don’t understand. I realized that if I intended to continue appearing in her performances, with one later this month and another in May, I needed to embrace and celebrate overcoming such a challenge as part of my life. Now, the box of matches lies in plain sight next to a candle in my bathroom for any visitors to see.

To remind myself of the extreme personal profit I gain each time I defy the inner voice who constantly chimes, “I’m not ready,” I displayed the 5×7 of my first Tableau Vivant, framed on the wall by my bed, under another photo from this summer’s skydive. Hung for inspiration every day, they may help me remember to face the cold a bit more happily tomorrow to sing at church, act and puppeteer with some brilliant artists, and enjoy the fruits of everyone’s labor at the 3rd Ward Moviehouse for the premiere of Wolfy’s Journey at 8pm.

Wolfy’s creator, Leat Klingman, knows all about investment. She has done everything on this project and for many months has given her time, money, effort, love, and sleep to creating something magical, beautiful, and original. Presenting timeless themes of searching, loneliness, meaningful art, faith, and community, I expect the film to give back generously to the audience and its creator. As for me, I have already received so much more than the hours and effort donated to Wolfy’s Journey in skills learned and friends encountered. With an exciting day ahead of me tomorrow, I confess I most look forward to seeing how the journey ends – mine and Wolfy’s. Hope to see you there.

Defeating the Seasonal Funk, Day 147

In a funk, not quite functional, preoccupied and a bit derailed – so I felt a few days before Christmas. We all have known a stray day here or there like this. I suspect the homeless man currently ranting across the subway car at another passenger who somehow insulted his honor has had quite a few himself.

Last week, I experienced a much lesser version of such a day, bewildered by past emotions from months and even decades past in the face of present and future circumstances. Wondering if I would regret the choice to RSVP to attend Nancy Wertsch’s caroling-centric holiday party on my only full day off from singing in weeks, I dragged my issues and attitude up to Riverdale nevertheless. My good friend Alex asked, “How are you?” “Fine,” I responded not terribly enthusiastically.

We went to a local nursing home, Schervier Nursing Care Center, and donated our time and talents to wander the halls singing carols. Given the quality of the singing, we discovered many patients who seemed surprised to hear such caroling streaming through their rooms and corridors. It didn’t all go smoothly, of course. After cleaning vomit, into which I accidentally stepped, off my new boots, it seemed that one of the residents who requested our presence in their room really wanted to watch Family Guy instead. On the contrary, the patient loved us despite the background noise of the television, and everyone we encountered from the elderly to the nurses, supervisors, and maintenance workers greeted us with kindness and gratefulness.

On the fourth floor, a lovely pale-skinned woman in a wheelchair thanked us, offered to pray for us, and insisted that she would include us all in her will. Another woman painstakingly left her room with her walker to greet us in the hallway and listen. On the fifth floor, after a fantastically talented whistler couldn’t remember what carols he liked but kept whistling “Silent Night,” we began the song again for likely the twelfth time that evening.

Reminding me of our earlier encounter, my friend Alex said, “Why don’t I give you a ride home after this, and you can explain to me why you just feel fine?” At least an awkward twenty seconds later, I finally remembered to what he referred  – my mood upon entering the nursing home. “Oh, I had forgotten all about that! I’m actually doing something productive and worthwhile,” I responded, insisting upon basking in the goodness that for an evening filled the Schervier Nursing Care Center.

In an instant, I remembered caring for my grandmother for a couple of days in a similar center in Malone, NY years prior. Unlike most of the patients with whom we interacted at Schervier, she couldn’t walk by herself or even operate a wheelchair to sit and socialize with the others. Most often alone in her room, she began to lose her sense of reality, and I found it incredibly difficult to help her in conversation. Finally, on my last day visiting, I gave her a back massage. As she sat there, moaning a little and thanking me profusely, I thanked God that I could do something to make one moment of her final days just a little more livable.

Living at a much more rapid pace this year upon my return from Washington, I launched immediately into the hustle of a classical singer’s Christmas in New York, rehearsing or working at least two and often three gigs per day. I honestly forget how many Messiahs I’ve sung these past few weeks, and I know some of my colleagues worked more. Between performing in Amahl, the Messiahs, the Mozart Requiem, three Christmas services, and two temple services and recording a voice-over and with a choir for an Iranian composer,  I had plenty of stimulation. Friends somehow still managed to schedule time for lunches and coffees, two operas, overnight conversations, and a social media party. My apartment morphed a bit further, with new lighting fixtures and a few new shelves and pictures on the walls, and I survived an exhausted trip to visit family in Pennsylvania for Christmas and a blizzard that dumped a foot and a half on our Washington Heights roofs and vehicles.

Ultimately, after a moment to pause and reflect, I have so much for which to be grateful. What a wonderful, if hectic, season I’ve had! I feel infinitely better about the present and optimistic about the future. I’ve had a chance to let go of expectations and longings and, perhaps more importantly, to embrace the grand gestures of those interested and willing to make investments of time and effort in my life. Such time and effort spent for free on my only day off at the nursing home caroling party, after all, turned out to give me even more joy and fulfillment than any of the truly wonderful gigs for which I received payment.

Unfortunately, the time between Christmas and New Year’s has a reputation for inciting more depression and suicides than any other throughout the year. During these days, we pause, we reflect, and sometimes we don’t like what we have or lack. Another friend tonight confided in me that he often doesn’t feel good enough or worthy of affection from loved ones. Once we sense ourselves entering such a holiday funk, we have to climb out in ways that sometimes seem to make us uncomfortable, challenge us, and help us to refocus. I may have stepped in some vomit along the way, but giving joy to those gorgeously happy faces in a nursing home made every minute worth my time and investment. This truly is a season best spent in giving.

On a personal note, I have a very dear visitor from Washington this week and may not have a chance to write again until after the new year. May yours excite and enliven you, give you joy for the present, and show you infinite hope for the future to come. I can’t wait for us to share next year’s challenges together.