Gratitude - Day 2

While it was perhaps the rose in the bouquet which inspired me to start this photographic journal, I'd be a fool's fool if I didn't post, right at the start of this endeavor, a photo of my Prince Charming - who has single-handedly made me understand the magnitude of true gratitude. Grazie, Amore!

Gratitude Journal - Day 1

So in a risky move, I am going to mix two of my cyber worlds even more, and post more pictures from my photo blog here on my 'whatever this is' blog. In theory, however, they do cross-polinate in a way, so I should be OK with the CBP (Cyber-Blog-Police).

I know I'm not alone in this (at least I pray I am not) but for all the travelling musicians out there, life on the road can be quite difficult. Don't misunderstand me - I am well aware that I am not shoveling coal for a living, or doing hard labor under a scorching sun for $.48 a day -- I am without question living out a dream, and I'm well aware of that each and every day. But I'm also aware that my lifestyle challenges me on many, many levels: how to maintain balance in my professional and personal life (HA!), how to navigate through the pressures of new roles and openings and constant demands on your time and energy and talent, how to keep perspective amongst the pursuit of perfection and idealistic, unreachable goals, all the time being good to your psyche, knowing you'll never reach that utopian perfection you strive for, etc. I found years ago that it all comes down to what I choose to see, what elements of this life I choose to focus on: the good or the bad.

Since coming to this realization, I've been successful more often than not in focusing on the positive, but God knows there are still periods of true difficulty and struggle in this business, and through those ghastly moments, we still have to breathe in and "turn it on" for a public that deserves our everything and, rightly so, could not care less about how hard it was for us to get into makeup and warm up that particular night. I consider it a LARGE part of my job to keep healthy mentally so that these difficult moments happen less and less. (In part, it's wishful thinking, I know, but it's my goal!)

In a slightly unrelated topic, for the moment only, I've recently taken up a hobby of amateur photography, relishing how it takes me out of the world of music for a moment or two, but how it also fulfills part of my desire for art and beauty. I've got loads to learn still, but here's the beautiful part -- I'm not a pro, so I don't have to be perfect or brilliant! I was thinking recently, "what do I actually want to do with my photos?" I don't HAVE to do anything, but then again, that's not exactly my nature -- my mind is often going in the direction of, "what do I hope to accomplish with this", as I tend to be a bit result-oriented! Well, last night, I hit on it: I can use photos not only as a way to chronicle my travels, but I can use it as a type of "diary of gratitude". (I think I may be stealing this idea in some form from Oprah!!!) I know it sounds horribly cheesy, but I have found that when I start thinking about looking through a lens to capture a moment in time, I look very differently at the world around me - my observation takes on a much deeper, slow-motion quality, and I LOVE that! I thought, if I can attempt to take ONE photo a day, to show something that I am grateful for or something that brings beauty into my life, then my search for balance and perspective will surely have a better chance for success!

So, that's a big prouncement, and considering my procrastinating tendancy, I will STRIVE to make this a "365 day" project, but you know, I will give myself a lot of latitude on that front -- it sounded like a great idea at 4:00 am this morning, we'll see how I feel about it in 2 months!

So, my first submission:


"Opening night rose"
I think Geneva florists must do some of the most beautiful arrangements in the world. This is from opening night of "Ariodante" here in Geneva, and the colors in this bouquet are amazing!

"Live from Geneva, it's Saturday Night!"

In the hopes of giving a bit more advance notice than we gave for the "Rosenkavalier" broadcast a few weeks ago, the new production of "Ariodante" from Geneva Opera will be broadcast live on Saturday, Nov. 17th on Radio Swiss Romande at 8:00 pm in Europe. (2:00 pm EST, 1:00 pm CST) If you can tune in, I certainly hope you will enjoy it! Cheers!

Photo: "Scherza infida" by Pierre Antoine Grissoni

"Quick Change"

In the theater, when a character must change their costume (or wig, or makeup, for that matter) very quickly, we call it a 'quick change'. My fastest quick change to date took place not quite 10 years ago in one of my first professional productions: I was singing the Muse/Nicklauss in "Les Contes d'Hoffman" for Houston and the staging required that I step off stage as the Muse (clingy gown, leafy crown and all), and return SEVENTEEN SECONDS LATER as Nicklauss, dressed in business suit and tie. My all-star dresser, Larissa, pulled off the minor miracle with great aplomb, and I was ready to try and keep Hoffmann from making yet another feminine-inspired misstep. Many other quick changes have followed, but that one was perhaps the most harrowing.

Fast-foward a few years, and I feel like I pulled off a slightly less time-challenged quick change, but a no less harried or frenetic one: what about a 29-hour trip from Geneva to New York City and back? I'm certainly not the first singer to pull something like this off, but it was a first for me, and it was a blast! I received a call 2 hours before the piano dress rehearsal for my first "Ariodante" to see if there was any possibility of flying to NY the next morning to fill in for Susan Graham who had fallen ill. I told Barry Tucker, the initiator of this crazy idea, "If you can find flights that will put me in NY in time to shower and warm up, and back to Geneva the following day in time for my orchestra staging at 2:00, I'm game." 10 minutes later the fabulous Tucker Staff had me set up to go. And so go I did.

Yes. Perhaps I'm a little loony.


I'm thrilled that I was able to make the journey, because this year the Tucker Foundation secured invaluable funding to broadcast the event live to nine universities across North America, with plans to air it later on PBS, returning to a long tradition of Tucker Broadcasts which I believe has been sorely missed. I'm quite certain a connection exists between the revolution Mr. Gelb has initiated at his theater across the Plaza of broadcasting operas live, with the resurgence of the Tucker Gala on TV, for he has single-handedly given opera and music lovers a chance to show, in large numbers, that there is a definite appetite and desire for high quality arts and culture in this country. All of a sudden, I feel like don't live in such a culturally malnourished nation anymore, and that is a sublime feeling. To be a participant in such an endeavor is an honor.

Back to practical matters, how does a girl pack for such an occasion? THANKFULLY I had with me 2 gowns which I had just worn for my recent recital at La Scala, although they had not yet made their needed trip to the dry cleaners. God bless the two lovely dressers backstage who took them out of the bag to steam them, in all their "lived-in-glory". (Was that tactful enough?) But there remained a rather large obstacle: how in the world could I present the Silver Rose (actually, the "Tiffany" Silver Rose, courtesy of the MET Prop department, thank you very much!) in a rather form-fitting sequined gown? I thought, "I know it's not ideal, but it's a gala, I had no warning, sequins are better than jeans, and so surely people will get over faux-pas!" Well, when I told my poor Sophie, (the divine Diana Damrau) "Just avoid looking at my neckline when I bend to hand you the rose," she was rightly appalled, saying, "Well, there is no way we can have that!" And so for you opera trivia lovers out there, you'll be interested to know that the outfit "Octavian" was wearing for the 2007 Tucker Gala's 'Presentation of the Rose' was actually the outfit the "Sophie" wore to the theater that night! Diana actually gave me the clothes off her back, right down to her shoes, and THAT, ladies and gentlemen, was my first outfit!

While I was very happy with the way the concert went, there was no denying that I was quite proud that I could pull off 3 outfits on such short notice. See? That good quick change karma is following me! However, as thrilling a feat as that may have been on one level, to stand in front of such a warm public, singing with the stupendous MET Orchestra to Diana's delicate Sophie, and Renee Flemings exquisite Fiordiligi was a definite "pinch me" moment. Another opportunity to relish how much I love what I do. PS - kudos to Maestro Asher Fisch for talking through "Una voce poco fa" with me minutes before the start of his long evening, and leading the orchestra through the piece without any rehearsal - that was improv at its best!


Quick changing back to Geneva, I'm back to the world of Handel, chess boards, and khakis, very, very far away from the glittering sequins of Avery Fisher Hall! (I don't want to spoil anything, but Polinesso's "death" involves a chess board.) After a long week of final rehearsals (often referred to as "hell week" for the grueling hours and intense pacing required), we open tomorrow. This Prince has long been at the top of my list of 'dream roles', and in a way it's a bit sad to move it from the unknown, virginal stage of "maybe one day I'll get to sing it" to the reality of premiering such an iconic role, knowing that there is only one 'first time'. I have high hopes for this role, as artistically it feels like a perfect fit, and I am surely challenged in every single way with the demands of the role. But the hardest part as I go into Sunday's premiere is that I want it to be so, so good. I want people to breathe each breath along with Ariodante, to feel his naive and unfiltered jubilation at the start of the piece, to walk with him as the poison of doubt enters his veins, as his heart breaks in two when he believes his love to be untrue, not to mention when the realization erupts in him that ultimately he, himself, is the only one to blame for the betrayal, and finally coming full circle to joy again -- but this time, a joy which bares the wounds of his mortality, that shines through the scars of his all too human nature. I want people to take this journey with him, so that at the end of the (nearly) 4 hour evening, they will have experienced a rich odyssey of human fraility. I also want them to be completely absorbed by the almost painfully beautiful music Handel created for his masterpiece, for this is truly, a masterpiece.

That's all. Is that too much to ask?

Pierre Strosser, the stage director for this new production of "Ariodante", has chosen a look of very stark, clean and minimal theater. There is no denying that the music is the star of the show, as it becomes the central character, without question. I am still trying to find my way in all that he has asked of me, (and not asked of me) and will most likely continue to search for the balance I don't yet feel in all of the six performances, but in a way, that kind challenge is exciting, for you realize that your work is never, ever done. And this is only the first Ariodante, of what I can only hope will be many, many more.

So, here I am, nearly 2 months after finishing my beautiful vacation time this summer, having tackled 2 new and polar-opposite Handelian roles in as many months, basking in the joy of singing his music, with my head still spinning a bit from the enormity of the task, but loving every minute of breathing life into these jubilant roulades and aching, heartbreaking phrases.


Photos:

*The Tucker Gala simulcast live to Northwestern University/Credit: Eun Lee

*The "Ariodante" Chess Board

*Tulip from "Cafe Valaisanne", after our pre-generale

From Geneva to NY and back in 29 hours

I'm typing this from 33,000 feet somewhere about the Atlantic Ocean, fully aware that I may just be a bit (or a lot, ok!) nuts. I received a call yesterday, 2 hours before my piano dress rehearsal for my first Ariodante, which is set to open one week from today in Geneva. Switzerland, that is. The call was from the adorable Barry Tucker, saying, "I know there is probably NO way this can work, but...."

Fast forward 1 hour and I'm booked on a round trip ticket leaving in 14 hours, arriving in NY 4 hours before the Richard Tucker Gala at Avery Fisher Hall, set to return immediately after the concert, arriving in Geneva tomorrow just in time to step off the plane and into my first orchestra staging rehearsal of that Handel opera back in Geneva. By my calculations, that's 29 hours. Yes, I know. I'm nuts.

But I love the Tucker Foundation (not only for the obvious reason that I was the 2002 receipient of their generous, incredible award) but more importantly for the unwavering dedication they show for young American singers. Since the timing worked out perfectly, how could I say no? I'm very sorry that Susan Graham is ill and can't sing, and I'm sure there will be many disappointed opera fans in the hall, but I'm happy that I could jump in, fill in some of the gaps, and take part in what will surely be an exciting afternoon.

Incidently, our piano dress went very well, and I'm beginning to understand the atmosphere our director is going for. Regardless of specifics, it is a TRUE masterpiece, this Ariodante, and to sing a role this intense, complete, profoundly deep and beautiful is what it is all about for me. But for the moment, Ariodante takes a back seat as I revisit Dorabella (Good Lord, how long has it been?), Octavian, and the ever ready Rosina here in NYC.

(And in case any concert goers catch site of this little 'blurb', please excuse my dress - I know it's not appropriate for Octavian to present the Silver Rose in a sequinned gown with a plunging neckline, but I'm afraid my choices were a bit limited on this late notice! Entschuldigung!)

Why?

When asked, one of the fundamental pieces of advice I offer to young singers about pursuing a career on the operatic stage is to evaluate WHY it is you want to sing. In my most humble opinion, unless you have a rather concrete, secure idea of why it is you NEED to sing, or why you must devote so much of yourself to music, it can be quite easy to stumble and fall, losing your way very quickly. I'm finding that after a few years in this profession, my ideas have perhaps morphed a bit, my goals and aspirations modified here and there, but in the tough moments I pose this question to myself and search for the answer -- it is this answer which keeps my determination and passion alive.

I've dreamed of posing the question, however, to YOU -- the general public, ,my fellow singers, the odd nutcase -- why is music so important in your life? I stand on the stage and look out at 'you', and I wonder, "Is this touching you? Is this bringing something to your life? It this really worth it?"

As a performer, it is quite easy to get bombarded with thoughts of chromatic scales, double consonants, the french portamento vs. an italian one: but surely these aren't the primal things that keep you coming back? How much is it REALLY about "PR" these days? How important is the perfect publicity photo? How primed does today's public need to be that the singer they are hearing is a bonafide (according to the press) "STAR", and how much can they rely simply on how that singer moves them? Is it really about the cleavage and the high "C", or is it also about honesty and generosity? Why does one thrill, and the other not?

I'm most curious, and would love your input!

Cheers!

I may be a bit cold, but am I insane?

One of the many elements of working in Europe that I relish is the relative proximity of things: the pastry shop just downstairs from my apartment that tempts each morning with the buttery smell of the freshly baked croissants wafting upwards as I hit the snooze button "just one more time", the park around the corner that announces the arrival (and soon enough, the departure) of a welcome autumn, and 'my office' which is either a 10 minute bus ride or a brisk 30 minute walk, offering the opportunity for a bit of exercise and solitary contemplation.


After a month here in Geneva I've succeeded most of these mornings in avoiding the little evil, flaky temptations, I've enjoyed a few quiet photo ops in the neighborhood park, and more often than not, even though the blustery arrival of winter came out of the blue at the end of last week, I still use the walk to work to ponder many things, amongst which is often those little black notes Handel scribbled for his hero, Ariodante. (Remember those school fundraisers where the teacher would put a bunch of jelly beans in a HUGE container, and for $1 you could make a guess of how many there were, and the closest guess to the actual number, without going over, would win the entire calorie-ridden jar? I should do that with Ariodante: make a guess of how many notes Handel actually wrote for his hero, yes, including ALL those da capos, and the closest guess gets an opening night ticket! Hey, I may be on to something! But, then again, that would mean I'd actually have to count them up...)

Anyway, since my ipod is on the fritz (conveniently giving me the excuse to ponder the purchase of the new 'does it scratch your back, too?" i-phone), part of my walk these days consists of going through this many-noted role, especially the arias where I haven't quite determined which variations I want to employ. So I bop along, my steps fulfilling the role of the sturdy metronome, putting myself through the musical paces of this character. It's all well and good, except for the reality that I'm usually quite unaware that I'm not doing this entirely in the privacy and silence of my own head: in fact, the odd glances I get from Mr. Bankerman on the street quickly inform me that I'm giving a free concert to folks whether they wish to attend or not! I hate it when that happens.

Indeed, it happened yesterday. I didn't realize that I was 'quite' so close in walking just behind a lovely lady carrying her groceries as I was working my way through the tricky part of "Tu, preparati morire", and I became painfully aware that she was glancing nervously over her shoulder, and then, clasping her bags a bit closer to her side, dashed across to the other side of the street, continuining to monitor my 'behavior'. (Did she speak Italian? That might explain it!) I'm pretty sure she thought I was crazy!

I'm also pretty sure that this isn't the first time someone assumed I might be one F# short of an octave. I thought a bit more about it, and really, is there any difference between what I was doing, in my 'own little world', and the folks you might see talking to themselves in rapid fire dialogue around Times Square that make you clutch your bag just a wee bit tighter?

Hmm. Actually, let's make that a rhetorical question - I'm not sure I could handle the truth!

Photos:
*One of the last remaining signs of fall in Geneva
*My new best friend

Juggling

It's a good thing I welcome multi-tasking. Surely it's a trait I acquired from my Mom, who somehow was able to manage the rigors of a family of nine, (the laundry, the school lunches, the Brownie meetings, the grocery shopping alone!), and still manage to get her lipstick on for the evening's cocktail hour with her husband: the standard was a whiskey sour, but if she was lucky it would be an "Old-fashioned", with all the cubed bits of citrus crushed methodically by my Dad under the watchful supervision of his nosy 7-year old daughter.

My tasks fall into very different categories than hers did (although I still do like the occasional peanut butter sandwich, which often takes me back to the days of hoping dreamy Eric would come sit by me in the school cafeteria!), but the skill of managing the various facets of my life surely is due in large part to her expertise. I welcome this chaos, because the possibility of boredom simply doesn't exist.

Currently I'm in the trenches of rehearsing another new role, and you guessed it, it's real doozy. Just when I think I've discovered so much about Handel's genius and depth and BRILLIANCE, he goes and throws in a little "Ariodante". I'm tempted to don my sarcastic muscles and say, "No, seriously: ANOTHER heartbreaking, dissolve-me-to-blubbering-pieces, RIDICULOUSLY gorgeous aria from the cosmos?" I mean, sincerely, WHERE did this music come from? I've sung "Dopo notte" and "Scherza infida" a few times, and so those weren't real surprises to me (although they ARE, because to put them in the context of the entire opera brings an entirely different dimension to them.) "Con l'ali di costanza" is a constant surprise in the astounding technical demands it requires of the singer - but that's still a work in progress, and probably will remain so until long after closing night!

The real shocker for me? The one which in the early stages I would just sort of gloss over and think, "well, it's no 'Scherza infida', but Handel had to put something here, right?": "Cieca notte." We staged it yesterday, and it was as if a ton of "duh!" bricks fell on my head and slapped me upside it at the same time! The impression I have in the beginning stages of this piece (we still have 3.5 weeks to go, mind you) is that during "Tu, preparati a morire", in which Ariodante vigorously defends his love's honor, an odious poison begins to enter his veins - the poison of doubt and mistrust. He all too readily accepts Ginevra's apparent betrayal, which launches him into the famous paragon of arias, "Scherza infida". The poison now engulfs him, and in utter despair, he goes to end his life.


But this IS baroque opera, after all, and nothing is ever that simple -- that darn fate mercifully intervenes to keep him from dying, and consequently provide more music making opportunities. But herein lay the surprise for me, for in my quick dismissal of the next scene, I completely overlooked the necessary psychological conclusion of this wrenching poison. (OK, I'll be honest - in my preparation, by the time I turned the page on the 3rd act, most of my energy was being poured into the famous tune to follow, "Dopo notte!" Bad singer, I know!) So what did I uncover? With the crushing discovery that, in fact, Ginevra did not betray him, but instead he was the one who failed in his devotion and trust in her, the tragedy is actually far worse. Earlier he sings of her betrayal, of how he goes to die while the fault lies completely at her feet; instead, he now sees that HE is the one who has destroyed their bond. The anguish penetrates far deeper with this realization - and hence, Handel gives us a crushing, jagged "Cieca notte" for Ariodante to make this realization and collapse in shame and agony.

Luckily, he is the hero, so surely he will accept the responsibility and make everything better so we can have a cheerful, unifying chorus at the end, right? We haven't staged that part yet, so we must wait to see what happens...

This particular rehearsal process fascinates me, because the director has a very different method of working; aside from conversing in French, which is a small, but certainly surmountable hurdle, his language of theater and movement provides the bigger learning curve for me. My first instincts are never the reactions or impetus he is looking for, so I am relegated to a LOT of stripping of gesture and impulse (and I don't generally think of myself as being overly-dependent on operatic 'gesture'). The key element here is that while I may not initially understand what he is asking for, I do trust him - and without trust, we singers are flailing around naked on that cavernous stage -- we must have faith in what our directors are asking of us, else all coherence is lost. (Yes, this trust is rare, but that's a rather old story by now.) So this faith in Pierre is enabling me to take risks, and see where it leads. Finally, with our 3rd week of work I'm beginning to understand this language, and the challenge definitely intrigues me.

The juggling: while deep into the preparations for this role debut, I'm also performing a recital this weekend, working on new concert rep for the week after we close here, planning recital programs by sifting through piles of music, juggling the preparation of other new projects, trying to keep all the little black notes separate, all the while avoiding the pages of any calendar or scribbling of the date, for it reminds me there are still far too many days until I see my husband again. I plunged into the 21st Century with gusto this past weekend as I took a voice lesson with my teacher, Steve Smith, via SKYPE, the most brilliant invention ever for those of us that travel! It was a very needed lesson, as I can feel that there are some issues that need to be addressed, and via webcam he was able to see my problems in all their glory! This use of technology is a brilliant find.

Being a bit run down, it's hard to know whether to rest your voice, or vocalize attentively and work the new repertoire into your body. (It's that horrible singer psychology of: "I think I need to rest, but if I don't figure this out, I won't get it in time.") I'm in a bit of a quandry over it for the moment, but I'm certain that I'll find my way through it. My decision yesterday was to take the afternoon off and dive into the pleasure of my new photography hobby, enjoying a stunningly beautiful day here in Geneva. I finally snapped a photo of my favorite billboard ad I see on the walk to work each morning:

Loosely translated:
Guy on left: "I eat butter."
Guy (or probable steroid user) on right: "I don't."
"Butter. The rest isn't natural."

Fabulous.

On a side note, I definitely want to thank Alex Ross, not only for his mention of this blog in the latest issue of the New Yorker, but much more importantly for his upbeat and critical assessment of the state of classical music and it's true potential in our modern age. It's such an exciting time to be making music - scary, yes, for I think there are a number of questions about where we will actually end up, but this is a subject for another day. Meanwhile, I've got notes to juggle: while I may not be able to boast of tossing 5 rings of fire in the air simultaneously while standing on one foot, or juggling endless loads of laundry with the creation 7 peanut butter sandwiches (some with jelly, some without), my brain does seem to be attempting a similar 'virtual' feat these days, so "thanks, Mom" for the example!

Photos:
*Statue from Parc de Bertrand, just around the block from where I'm staying
*Park bench from Parc des Bastiens, in front of the Opera House
*Billboard ad, Avenue de Champel, and various other stratgic places in Switzerland, I imagine