Finding my Post-Apocalyptic Peace

The world did not end yesterday, making possible at least three weddings and two performances in my path. Today brought a long day sprinkled with filming, choreography, singing, posing, robing and disrobing, all to prepare for another day of the same and two performances of Sarah Small’s Tableau Vivant. I can’t wait to sleep tonight. The only portion of this week I await more passionately? Tuesday night, after the second performance and the fourth aria, after singing for the VIP vault event, when I get to relax with my incredible friends and have a drink.

Although I imagine that my dear friends Matt and Liz felt the same way before their wedding yesterday, as likely will all three couples participating in the wedding portion of our two tableaux, such a step in one’s relationship requires as much courage as singing nude, alone and in front of an audience. In my recent history, I’ve grown to accept my marriage to my career, a commitment to which I’ve felt drawn since birth. Among other pursuits of mine (like participating in Tableau Vivant), friends, family, and strangers have asked so many questions surrounding this passion that sometimes I feel overwhelmed, as if my silly head might spin itself off and away from their doubts and my fears.

Despite the sometimes good intentions of those inquiring, questions such as “Why aren’t you singing solos at the Met,” “Doesn’t it make you nervous to…,” “Don’t you feel like you should get more compensation,” “You’re so busy, why don’t you have more time for…,” and “Why don’t you try doing this other job on the side, since you do it so well?” frankly, make me want to scream sometimes. All performers also deal with the pressures of other artists and industry professionals working beyond our fiscal or physical boundaries and have to constantly draw our lines and weigh the benefits of the product and experience with the inevitable trials that affect someone within the process. Some seem to handle these pressures brilliantly and easily; others quit the business.

After months of drawing few and often last-minute and therefore less successful and more stressful boundaries, I have learned some incredible lessons in sanity and personal integrity. First and foremost, the word “yes” works best when never used against one’s own judgment and instinct. More than about just wanting to please others, I struggle most trying to make sure everyone understands me. I really do care, work hard, want to help, and want everyone with whom I work to know that. No wonder I feel stressed, trying to control others’ ability to empathize with me, an actor, opera singer, puppeteer, nude model, ex-conservative divorced woman living alone in the city and preferring it that way!

As I smile to myself writing this post on the subway, I feel oddly like one of the sane ones today. I’ve decided to let go of how others perceive the articles by Huffington Post writer Daniel J. Kushner, part one and part two, from which I have discovered my tendency to say “like” far too much. I do not know what tomorrow will bring (aside from a long day and exciting tableau performance), but I finally! accept that I can not control the outcome. Magically I seem to breathe more deeply, letting go of my drive to make everyone “get” or accept me. I can’t wait for tomorrow. This tableau promises to surprise even the performers in its many but honest intricacies. If you have any interest or curiosity in seeing this completely unique artform live, I recommend buying your tickets now for tomorrow or Tuesday, in advance. General admission tickets especially have increased sharply in sales since our listings in Time Out NY and the New York Times, and I’d love for you to experience it. If you find such an eclectic and exposed medium uncomfortable, offensive, or not your cup of tea, I’m okay with that… Well, at least I’m working on it. Finally.

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.

A Night at the Museum

Times in my life quite like the present don’t present themselves terribly often. Never before have I had so many varied jobs and gigs at once. Within the coming month, I rehearse and perform an intensely musical puppet play, prepare and perform April in Paris (my French-themed recital featuring Eugene Sirotkine and Benjamin C.S. Boyle), rehearse new music written by Sarah Small for our Tableau Vivant and a music video, and begin rehearsals at the Metropolitan Opera to revive our production of Orfeo ed Euridice with Mark Morris.

Meanwhile, because many of these gigs still leave me mostly unemployed, I’ve taken a side job or two in art modeling, in focus groups, and with the charity auction ibidmobile team mentioned in last week’s post. With little money and only two fully open spaces on my calendar between now and April 25, every second, penny, and friendly face feels almost painfully precious. Given the recent news of earthquakes, tsunamis, radiation leaks, and explosions, all from one unexpected event, perhaps I ought to continue this attitude throughout and beyond each of my busy days.

Last evening, I had the chance to earn a little money again with ibidmobile, a somewhat tiring but important job helping to facilitate silent auctions for charities. Five hours on my feet with an ipad, talking over music and hundreds of guests? Not a situation I generally would seek out as a singer who needs to rehearse in the morning. I could have grumbled about at least a handful or two of things, as any work provides such an obviously tempting atmosphere for complaints. I may have even heard one or two from other employees in passing.

Instead of joining in, something came over me tonight in a very exciting way that required no alcohol whatsoever, and I hope to take it from last night into each of my every endeavors this month. No, at last evening’s Nightingale-Bamford School charity event, I chatted with friends about fun auction items near NCG 1350 and the Andromeda Galaxy at the American Museum of Natural History while waiting for the guests to arrive. I helped at least a few people win their coveted experiences, wines, and lunches, ran into a friend who works at the school, and met a drummer interested in hearing me sing for his world music group. When for a brief moment signal interference paused the auction, we danced with incredibly fun and generous guests under the blue whale. At the end of definitely my favorite of these events thus far, a great girls’ school had raised a very significant amount of money for tuition and scholarships.

Tomorrow brings more recital rehearsal and an evening of running from a puppet with a club. I hope you’ll join me here and in person for the rest!

Soon = Wolfy’s Journey DVD Release
March 31 – April 10 = Don Cristóbal
April 16 = April in Paris, A Recital with Abigail Wright and Eugene Sirotkine/
(April 17 = Private Music Video Filming with Sarah Small)
(April 23 = High Fall Stunt Class)
April 29-May 14 = Orfeo ed Euridice
May 23, 24 TBA = Tableau Vivant at Skylight One Hanson
(June TBA = Skydiving trip #2 – join us!)
July 29-August 7 = Das Liebe der Danae

Tableau Slideshow Saturday ~ 176

Inhale, exhale, rinse, repeat. A fantastically busy week deserves at least an update. At least four posts to come include a great concert in which I sang on Valentine’s Day for the Cornelia Street Café, my first scuba diving class with Pan Aqua, a second StripXpertease class (this time an unbelievably challenging exercise class in heels – read about the first class here), and a concert I attended by Roomful of Teeth. I already know I have to use the word “badass” in my review of that night of singers and composers who perform fearlessly. Such an inspiration!

In the meantime, thanks to The Opera Insider for giving me the chance to attend and review an inspiring concert at Carnegie Hall last week! My friend Suzanne Schwing and I enjoyed excellent seats for Natalie Mann and Jeffrey Panko‘s recital at Weill Hall, and The Opera Insider has posted my review on their blog and Facebook page! Although I still have no news regarding my article on Sarah Small‘s Tableau Vivant, I hope to publish it here, if it doesn’t find a home elsewhere soon.

Because of a weekend packed with rehearsals for our upcoming puppet opera, Don Cristòbal, and next Wednesday’s performance of L’Africaine at Avery Fisher Hall, I’ll have to miss a fun event featuring Sarah Small and Tableau. In Brooklyn on Saturday at 7:30pm, 3rd Ward will host a slideshow, live bluegrass music, and a chili cookoff with beer from Brooklyn Brewery. Yum. Although the festivities start at 7:30, the slideshow itself starts around 9pm and features thirty images from our last Tableau Vivant at BathHouse Studios and a movie clip from the event. This short clip reveals the previously undisclosed location for Sarah’s largest Tableau Vivant in May, with one hundred twenty models in total.

Rehearsal Photo by Glen Glasser

If you have the opportunity to venture to 3rd Ward for Saturday’s event, you’ll see work from at least twenty-five other artists now listed on the Facebook Event Page. Wishing I could join the celebration, I may have to live vicariously through anyone else who can attend. Please let us know here if you have the chance to experience it yourself. With so many great experiences for myself this month, I look forward to whatever comes this weekend and wish Sarah Small a successful slideshow and some excellent chili!

Good Things Come… ~170

Yesterday began with another incredibly inspiring voice lesson with W. Stephen Smith and ended with subway singing with Carla Wesby and Robert Arthur Hughes of Opera Collective and some fantastic time spent, during and afterwards, with marvelous people. This morning, I had a one-on-one voice-over introduction lesson via Skype with Voices for All, as part of a deal I purchased through a deal-a-day website specifically designed for the entertainment industry called Holdon Log. All this, plus a full weekend and a packed upcoming Social Media Week signal a return for me to the very best of committed, happy living.

Although I continue to write about the Tableau Vivant, I take a brief pause in this content until at least Monday. Photographer Sarah Small has asked me to draft a portion of my perspective on the project for potential publication. Potentially good news for me, I obviously feel the need to focus on that direction for a few days before returning to write more here. Not believing in teasing my readers, I do promise to answer the long-awaited question of “what it all means” shortly. For now, I leave you with the top six things I’ve very happily learned in the past twenty-four hours (too good to narrow down to five). Until next time, enjoy a weekend worth living.

• Singing truly parallels life. Living and singing in the moment, willingly exposed and without hesitation or apology, makes both more compelling, unique, and beautiful – to both singer and observer.

• Performing underground with a group like Opera Collective can really help loosen up one’s acting in opera, jog one’s memory of older or newer repertoire, and provide a little extra cash. Don’t expect anonymity; five friends happened to stop by our location by the Times Square shuttle in less than three hours. Do listen to the accompaniment beforehand. If not, fully expect at least three of those friends to walk by during the absolute worst possible mistake of the day. Oh yeah.
• Although I apparently do not have a voice well-suited for motherly voice-over acting, I look forward to hearing what type of roles Leah Frederick of Voices for All does think would suit me in her upcoming coaching evaluation.
• When whisking Chukar Cherries Black Cherry Cocoa Mix, as per the instructions on the tin, one should expect a delicious and sweet-smelling mess. Some solid Andrew Bird, fresh juice, a bowl of cereal, and this fantastic hot chocolate make an excellent start to the day.
• It took me a few decades, but I have begun to understand that patience really is a virtue, and good things really do come to those who wait. Not just clichés.
• Although life best begins afresh when one decides to live regardless of the weather, the sound of birds chirping outside on a gray not-yet-spring morning never hurts.

Trading My Guises for Gifts in Tableau ~ 169

Old and new friends and acquaintances reunite, familiar music resounds, as Sarah Small and her brilliant cast and crew come together once more for another, more private tableau vivant. Set in the Bathhouse Studios in the East Village, this version has both a more intimate audience, set, and feel. The same challenges arise as each of the models hold their static poses, sing, and watch in our peripheral vision to catch the tempo, the changes in harmony by the stringed instruments, and the moments when Sarah Small might float in to signal our poses to come alive and interact.

 

Original Photo Copyright Cecilia De Bucourt

Earlier in the day, after a few hours of rehearsal for the tableau, interviews, hair, and makeup, Sarah also floated about the set, this time in a Tim Burton-like white dress and half upswept hair. We took our places afresh, this time for a new video concept involving Sarah as an obsession rivaling social media’s love of Justin Bieber, as we literally fall lifeless at her feet. Upon the long-awaited final entrance of a baby in the final shoot, lifted up to the heavens, we all breathed a sigh of relief at the prospect of a little rest and dinner before the performance.

Reminding me of my days of high school marching band, I felt a bit lightheaded but excited after our, “do it again, just one more time” (all lies!) kind of day. What could have possibly energized me so much after a truly exhausting day with little time to stop to eat or rest? With such a different venue from our DUMBO Arts Festival performance, a seemingly small change provided me the first and most profoundly personal inspiration from this tableau vivant.

Rather than enter through the crowd, the house opened to a space full of “sleeping” models, each of us frozen in static poses for twenty-five minutes until a Bulgarian wool-clad Kamala Sankaram powerfully sang “Caro nome” from Rigoletto to bring us to life. Amusingly, Kamala actually made the dynamic a bit louder than usual on her first phrase in case any of the models actually had fallen asleep, but having to hold a perfectly static pose for twenty-five minutes makes sleep fairly challenging. Although I have spent some time considering the prospect of life modeling (posing nude for artistic endeavors, usually classes) in the future, I never quite grasped the difficulty in maintaining even a seemingly comfortable but perfectly still position for twenty minutes or more.

Somewhere between odd but unresolvable back pain and moments of Zen where I actually almost dozed off despite the discomfort, my thoughts began to compare the sensation with the reality of living my life in a static pose of inactivity. Like many Americans, I struggle with the temptation to hide from the cold or the challenges of life in the comfort of my warm apartment, in front of the anesthetizing influence of the television, computer, or other media. Only after I stand up and attempt to participate in living do I perceive the alternating pain and sleepy haze into which my paralyzed state has thrown me.  Doubtless this observation provided the motivation to move slowly away from the television, one muscle at a time, and back to living my glorious life.

Although I’ve re-discovered a much fuller existence these past six days or so, since my first day of braving the hazy shade of winter relentlessly blanketing the city, I have yet to act on another gigantic impetus to change, once more inspired by my performance at Sarah Small’s Tableau Vivant. Somewhere between each palpably quickened heartbeat before singing “C’est l’amour vainqueur” from The Tales of Hoffmann, a familiarly impish spirit of adventure washed over me as I decided to wait longer than I could seemingly bear in the silence before beginning my first note in the nude. Similarly, at the end of an ever-present and confidently sung aria with no clothes nor poorly-acted pretense, I enjoyed my final high note in suspended time, without fear or reservation, before coming back down to end the piece and tableau.

Afterwards, as we descended past the grateful audience down the frigid staircase to return to our fully-layered lives, I chuckled with an unusually cogent confidence upon the realization of a truly impressive feat. “Why,” I thought, “would I ever feel afraid or self-conscious at auditions when I know I can do something this amazing so expertly?” Those of you who have read my writing more than once or know me personally understand that while I must regularly promote myself as a performer, such self-assurance does not greet me readily when I rise each morning. For this I have to work so hard, such that I failed to attempt a single audition last month, even after agreeing with colleagues to apply for at least five monthly.

Yet somehow, performing with a roomful of dedicated and similarly vulnerable humans, without a single pretense or guise of fabric to call my own, the Tableau Vivant gives me the strength and faith to perform honestly and without apology, as the very best version of myself. In my life, I believe I have never received a greater gift; however, the offering each performer and creator lays out at the feet of their audience materializes into a much more profound treasure of creation. About this community at large, the performers within, and the message Sarah Small’s Tableau speaks to humanity, I have far more to say over the next few days. My thanks to those of you who have decided to join us.

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.

Moving One Muscle at a Time ~ 167

One typical day in my teenage years, I found myself lazily lying in bed, perhaps on a Saturday afternoon. Although I had a plethora of activities, friends, and work for school, certain days left me almost paralyzed in a lack of momentum. On this particular day, I remember very strongly deciding that if I could just convince myself to move even a muscle in my index finger, I could also insist upon continuing with the same energy through each of my muscles until I would get out of bed, stand, and begin a productive day (or at least one with some kind of purpose).

Last winter, I anticipated my tendency to want to hibernate and started this blog. I forced myself out of bed and out of my apartment on a daily basis. I took major steps in improving the quality of my life. Somewhere along the way this winter, I have fallen back into my old hermit-like habits. Perhaps my skills in social media and in socializing in general allow me to hide under a guise of business while I sit in my warm apartment watching reruns and finding little projects to engage me for hours online, not moving from my spot on the futon.

I haven’t fooled myself, and I doubt this comes as a complete surprise to any of my regular readers who may have noticed the disappearance of regular updates on Skydiving for Pearls. Most of my site traffic these days comes from people wanting to hear more about my experience with Sarah Small‘s Tableau Vivant. Although I have a post about Monday’s most recent performance mostly written and waiting to come to life, I have neglected many things, including my joy in writing and my impetus for leaving my apartment and truly living each day.

Slightly less than a month ago, while sick, my fellow singing and blogging friends Maren Montalbano, Amy Armstrong, and I formed a pact to audition or apply for auditions at least five times per month. Neglected. Groupons and other discounted classes I’ve purchased, including a samurai sword class, two more classes with StripXpertease, an online voice-over class (which I just attempted to claim via email more than a week past its expiration), a cupcake class at Butter Lane, Jazzercise classes, a high fall stunt class, introductory pole-dancing exercise classes, and a stand-up comedy intensive workshop? Almost entirely neglected (I do have one scuba class scheduled for February). For anyone wondering, I couldn’t have afforded all of those things without some serious discounts via sites like Groupon, Living Social, and TheDealist. Still, purchased over the course of almost a year, I also can’t afford to let them expire while I sit on my couch like a tired American stereotype.

Yes, I need to start caring again about sleep, eating, exercising, keeping a clean apartment, doing my taxes, filing, practicing, living, and making a living. One way or another, seasonally-induced or not, I know we call this depression. As much as I know a trip to Florida to infuse me with sunshine and grand-parental love would help for a little while, I have to begin closer to home. So tonight, I begin again as I did one year, ten days, and according to WordPress an official count of 167 posts ago, moving one muscle, keystroke, and (believe it or not) earlier bedtime at a time.

Day 167
Today I learned that the smallest moves take the most energy – and moved anyway.

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.

The Inestimable Value of Vulnerability (A Tableau Vivant), Day 128

The Powerhouse Arena fills with people, their chatter and curious glances, and a subtle scent of wine and excitement amidst the still few but consistent camera flashes. On Saturday at the DUMBO Arts Festival, I make my final dash to the restroom in my green satin robe, take one last gulp of water, and join the line of clothed and nude models waiting to take our places. Leah, Morgan, and I excitedly wish each other luck, and as we descend the wide cement stairs to our places and static poses, I feel equally vulnerable without my water bottle as without my robe. Listening to Kamala Sankaran sing “Caro Nome,” I feel the defiant but calm confidence that comes from a performance that teeters on an edge with other talented and committed actors. My hands behind my head, resting on the column behind me with a frozen but intentional look of shock across my face with bit lip, I know Christina wraps elegantly around the column behind me, Liliana stretches her tattooed body back to a casual but beautifully dressed and supportive Donna, Des and Dragonfly kiss, Dashiell stands looking dapper in an early century suit, and CJ Boyd keeps me company to my right, as the only other disrobed musician, clothed only by his upright bass.

Kamala ends “Caro Nome” stunningly mid-aria after sensing the arrival of all of the other players and for a few minutes, we hold our charged but quiet poses to the din of flashes and growing whispers. Six plucked notes on the cello signal the singing of a Bulgarian folk quartet by members of Black Sea Hotel dressed in traditional wool attire, adorned with flowers in their hair. Half of their song about awaiting death and love ends as every model continues to carry the key to a single drowned pitch. The first pulsating and repetitive melody begins, one cycle of keys completes. The cello enters, another cycle finishes. My turn. Each group of models enters on their soli lines to add a layer to the now undulating round and at the height of our crescendo, our inspiration stands and enters the tableau to interact with hers.

Photographer and creator of this Tableau Vivant, Sarah Small ascends each cement stair and signals to various groups and individuals to activate their poses and more fully interact. Christina and I embrace and separate in a repetitive motion that somehow enhances our already connected singing until Sarah comes around once more to return us to our (connected) solitude and decrescendo the action and vocal dynamic.

As Sarah takes her position amidst us to sing her solo within the Bulgarian folk tune, I thank God that I remain as one of the few voices to support her in the background. I enjoy few things in life as much as supporting, literally and figuratively, an artist as talented and a human being as sensitive and creatively giving as she. Despite a week-long cold and directing rehearsal alongside Adam J. Thompson since 8:30 that morning, Sarah Small sings fully and with a clear, beautiful tone above the drone and few softer solo voices. As she fades away, the drone diminishes to nothing throughout the final section of the Bulgarian folk quartet who hauntingly and skillfully end the piece with the word “umre,” meaning death.

“Umre” resonates through the spacious arena as each model intones the word for death and passes it along to a neighbor while finding an audience member upon whom to rest his or her gaze. I sing the final “umre,” and we all relax our positions, standing straight toward the audience, with whom we interact for the first time as a group. For a heart-pounding minute and a half, we remain in silence this way as the noise-level amongst the non-performers in the room begins to rise. Unable to decide if waiting longer would make me more or less nervous, I end the standstill. “Vois sous l’archet frémissant…” I perform Massenet‘s passionate plea to the poet from Les Contes d’Hoffmann, and the models and other singers begin to exit the stairs.

With the refrain and a final return of the chorus remaining as I stand alone on the top step, vulnerable, unclothed, and with only a bass player to my right and the cellist and violist (diversely talented and skilled music director Rima Fand) far to the left, everything stops in a moment of surreal suspension. In the span of one short second, I see a friend or two and strangers packed into the large space from each wall all the way to the door, watching, snapping photos, taking videos, and ordering wine. I remember the long rehearsal day of singing and interacting with incredible and emotionally available people, from the models to the musicians, to the makeup artist who donated her time and cosmetics in part to “glam me up” with big hair, hot pink lipstick, and pretty little flowers in my hair.

Considering the lyrics, I share a deeply held belief of mine with the audience of strangers and friends, that music and love do heal and console all of us. For one brief moment, I allow all of them to see all of me, as I share my voice in a way I have never done and transcend a lifetime of countless barriers in performance. This, and the interactions shared in time spent with the creative team and models, makes every second of preparation and performance worth my time, talent, energy, and heart.

When I receive the video of Saturday evening’s Tableau Vivant of the Delirium Constructions: Part II, I will post the link here as well. Having learned so much about vulnerability and nudity, I have at least one more post to contribute on the subject from this experience. In the meantime, I can only say thank you. My most loving thanks to my dear friends Rima Fand, Charlene Jaszewski, John Rose, and Leat Klingman for your sincere and supportive presence on Saturday. Sarah, you inspire me to no end. Adam, thank you for your clear direction and kind friendship. I hope to work with both of you again soon and often. To all of the other performers, I feel so blessed to have met you and your beautiful spirits. May we all embrace the giving and vulnerable energy we shared on Saturday throughout our lives together and apart. Until our next meeting, all my love and gratefulness…

Stylist Melanie Randolph's Concept Rendering of Tableau Vivant