Rainy Saturday

It's supposed to pour down rain all weekend. My mother told me that my brother was going to bring his kids up to the zoo, but I have a feeling that's not going to happen if it's as dreary tomorrow as it is today. the weather channel showed everything covered in green with a smattering of yellow and red, spread across the entire Midwest. Rain is something I have very little use for in my life . . . cold rain . . . I love summer downpours that are warm and sticky. I remember one in Chicago that I trudged through on my eight-block walk home from the train. It was warm and incredibly powerful and after a few minutes, I couldn't see because my eyes were covered in rain water, and my pants were plastered to my skin and I laughed hysterically as I groped my way home. Those types of wind-free, pure downpours are few and far between, and the grey, grumbly, melancholia that's simpering from the sky today just doesn't fit the bill.

I'm settling in here easily. This is close enough to home and the pace is familiar. I am agog at the gorgeous deciduous trees in my neighborhood and remembering how beautiful and lush they can be compared to the palm and cactus "forests" I've been living with in the South. I actually settle into most places well; the only ones I was completely thrown aside for were Miami and, funnily enough, San Diego. I'm just a Northern girl at heart.

Everything starts today, then we can assess if my comfort level stays the same.

As the man falling from the roof kept saying, "So Far So Good."

Seeing Red

I had no idea how many red 1998 Ford Escorts were tooling around our country's roads. Everywhere I go I see John's car parked in a lot, stopped at a light, turning a corner. I know it's not him - how could it be? He's a couple thousand miles away, working hard and driving his red Escort up and down the 5. Yet it doesn't stop me from grabbing a gander of the bumper to look for the Ireland sticker on one side and the Tipperary sticker on the other. A ridiculous habit but one impossible to break, even in the face of the completely improbable.

It's what you do when you miss someone - you look for them in every nook and cranny, no matter how ridiculous. Like looking for your missing cat in the silverware drawer.

Despite, today is sunny and beautiful. I am in a relatively good mood as I sip my hazelnut latte and type away, send my emails, relax before our leisurely prep session at 1pm. It will not be like this for long. I've learned to enjoy (sometimes force myself to enjoy) the respite when it presents itself.

. . .We Will Dance The Hoochie Coochie . . .

The title of this post is an obscure reference (though locationally evident if one pays attention). Anyone who can tells me where it's from gets brownie points in my book..

I'm here in Webster Groves, not yet dancing the hoochie coochie, but I certainly think it could come to that if everyone parties here as much as they say they do. It's a far cry from Miami. I'm staying in a great location and may actually get to don a bathing suit and swim some laps in my backyard if the weather warms up at all. The people are all quite nice and I'm not feeling any sense of impending doom. I might just like it here.

It's strange to be in and around Webster University again. I spent two summers here at the State Ballet of Missouri School when I was 13 and 14. We stayed at Loretto Hall and performed at the Loretto-Hilton Center, which is also the home of Opera Theatre St. Louis. I stopped at a McDonalds on Big Bend Road last night on my way home and it suddenly dawned on me that this was the place where I used to go with girl friends to "pick up" especially cute members of the basketball camp. I remember throwing pennies at one of them and hiding in a booth laughing hysterically. Mating rituals have not quite matured when you're 13.

And so I'm in the familiar which helps while trying to figure out protocol with every other little thing at this place. I've got a little rent-a-car to tool around in, and all of the buildings are pretty close together. The bad thing is that OTSL is in the middle of a massive move from an office and separate rehearsal space to an all-in-one. There've been some snafus along the way (as there often are when big companies shift around), and so they haven't gotten into the facilities as soon as they would have liked. That being said, the season is starting off in a bit of logistical dissarray. Everyone here seems to have a head on their shoulders though, so I feel good about rolling with the punches. It will all work out in the end.

This show seems to be pretty colorful. The production team walked over to the scene shop this afternoon and got the first view of the giant, mechanical moving house and oven that the witch will be operating and falling into. All sorts of things will be flying and puffs will be exploding and colors will be whirling and I think it should all be a pretty great time. This is a small show and a big show all at the same time. The cast is quite tiny and most of the opera involves only four of them, but the concepts are big and the set will take some maneuvering and getting used to. I'm looking forward to the challenge.

As I told the assistant artistic admin. yesterday, "I've put up John Conklin's "Fanciulla Del West" in the aftermath of a major hurricane. Nothing will ever phase me ever again."

Onward and upward . . . the train is a' smokin.' Here we go!!!

In Memoriam

I just wanted to take a moment to mention the names of the five singers who perished in a plane crash in Indiana last week. I do not know them, but I have friends who do, and their collective loss is one I cannot begin to imagine. What devestation for the Jacob's School of Music and for the friends and families of these five talents.

Rest in Peace: Chris Carducci, Garth Eppley, Georgina Joshi, Zachary Novak, Robert Samels.

IU has created a website and blog to memorialize these five students. You can read thier bios and say a few words if you want.

Me? For the moment, silence.

I'm Leavin' On A Jet Plane . . .

I am on the verge of leaving. John takes me to the airport at 10am tomorrow and I will be off to spend 5 whole weeks in St. Louis. This trip will feel different I am certain. I'll get to spend time around my family and I get to see the Indianapolis 500. Things will feel more like home and I won't feel so unbelievably alone in a hole in the humidity and mold of Miami.

Despite all of that, I feel like I just got home. I feel like staying. I don't think I'm ready to leave again. Lucius is just starting to look like he's beginning to adjust and I've just put everything away and cleaned out my files and paid my bills. I've JUST done all of this stuff and now I'm off again to let everything pile up and feel a little further away from my grasp.

I've started working on the piece I'm hopefully doing with Celebrate Dance in August. I've spoken to two incredible female dancers about schedules and I'm feeling optimistic that we will get it all to work out. I'm feeling such a need to create - even stronger than my fear of rejection which usually keeps me from creating. John and I were talking about this at IHOP yesterday while enjoying scrambled eggs and sweet coffee. He told me that he didn't see me as being fearful about putting myself out there and I reminded him that I haven't actually done a piece completely on my own in almost ten years. The fear usually outweighs the desire.

I just hope that I can get this to work the way I want it to - that it won't push me to retreat into my mind and stop exposing myself to an outside audience.

What a scary profession this is. Leaving the people and places we love to make art, ripping open our souls and putting them onstage . . . surely we sit in a somewhat masochistic state to find this a job we ache for.

A little more packing, a little more sorting, to the bank, to the post office, to the arms of John and to sleep. Perfunctory and lovely and I will miss it until I have it back..

Mourning a Loss

I just read that 5 students at the Indiana University Music School died in a private plane crash last night just outside of the school. The Indianapolis Star had not yet released names because not all of the parents had been contacted, but I know this is a great tragedy for the families, the school and the music community at large.

News like this makes my heart hurt.

Mea Culpa

I hate upsetting and offending people. I have this huge sensitivity button that gets set off at the slightest tap, and the fact that I said something or did something without thinking or without proofreading rolls endlessly around in my head until I've made myself half-sick. This was something I really thought about when I first began writing about my life and career on line, and I think it's a topic that continues to come up. How do you explain what it is to be in this world, this life in the arts, if you never say anything that someone might take the wrong way or take issue with. The fact is . . . you can't.

And so all I can do is try. After my first few postings I made it a practice to always talk about difficult situations in the general way - not naming names and pulling away from specifics that might make someone's role easily recognizeable. There are a lot of things that I him and haw over then choose not to write about at all. Names are only mentioned when I am writing a full-out rave or praising someone for their amazing abilities. I am self-deprecating enough to still have the ability to talk about the difficult times and lament about the trials of my life as an artist without meaningless gossip.

All of this is being said because, no matter how many precautions you take, people can still sometimes be upset by what you've written or how you've portrayed them and theirs. I just want to state for the record that nothing I say is ever meant to offend anyone at any time (unless you are a member of the government . . .and then watch out!). My email is linked to my profile, and if anyone ever sees something about themselves that they would rather not see, they only need to email me and I will take it off immediately.

This career is a tough one - glorious when you're in the midst, but sometimes gruesome enough to leave you crying yourself to sleep. I have the upmost respect for other artists doing their thing and hope that this blog may let other people in on how we operate in this life. I am not out to expose the soiled underbelly of the world of opera and dance (though I cannot deny that it most certainly exists), I want, instead, to give people insight into why we all drag ourselves endlessly through the tough, gristly moments to get to the juicy center and feast.

Thanks for reading. Keep it up: I've tons more to say.

Cheers!

Grendel, Grendel, Grendel!

Hooray!!! I just found out (mostly because John is absolutely incapable of keeping a secret) that John is taking me up to LA Opera to see the world premiere of "Grendel" for my birthday!!! It makes me want to overuse exclamation points!!!

I've never seen anything by Julie Taymor (no, not even "The Lion King") and have always been interested to see what the fuss is about. There's no better way than to see a world premiere opera - new all around, so there's no precedent for her to trample across.

I love seeing new works. Even if they're terrible, the house always has such an excited energy - nerves of the unfamiliar. It's like riding a new rollercoaster.

I love birthdays too.

Gender Bending Opera

John took me to the opening of Handel's "Julius Ceasar in Egypt" at San Diego Opera over the weekend. Baroque opera is so lovely, though can sometimes get static. This staging had its problems, but did a relatively decent job of relieving the sometimes endless da capos.

The production was from the Met and John Copley directed. I found that the copius amount of bald-pated supers seemed a bit underdirected and unsure of themselves, which sometimes distracted from the action, but mostly the stage picture was quite beautiful in golds and solitary obalisques, projected light in the shape of pyramids, glittering swords and breastplates, and a distinct 18th century feel. I found it interesting that the opera was put together both in costume and set (and orchestra) the way that we would have seen it when Handel first conceived of it. Singers then would have worn their own clothes with added acoutrements to bring out their character. By putting Cleopatra and the muses in 18th century gowns, we got to see, approximately, what it would have looked like during Handel's time.

What's most interesting to me about these older operas is the use of trouser roles and countertenors. Both the roles of Julius Ceasar and Sextus were played by women. Ceasar was sung by Ewa Podles, the Polish contralto with an incredible, honey-like masculine tone and low notes to die for. Vivica Genaux sang Sextus, the young man trying to avenge his father's death at the hands of Ptolemy. She's an incredible presence on stage and plays trouser roles very well, strutting around the stage like a young boy, running with a prominent heel, shoulders slung back. It was wonderful to see her march about with her hand at her sword, and the duet at the end of act I with her and Cornelia, her mother, was the most exquisite thing in the opera.

Countertenors are male singers with soprano voices. They have an otherworldly quality to their tone, which can make them boyish, feminine, or god-like. This show had two of them. The most prominent was Brian Asawa, who played Ptolemy, the petulent 12-year-old boy-king of Egypt with the bad temper. His voice rung out like the prepubescent he was and made his feminine qualities stand out even more as Cleopatra chided him. He was followed around my two fawning eunuchs, which made him even more ridiculous and wonderful.

I had a great time. It was a little long for me that night (over three hours), having just crossed the country, still catching up on sleep, but overall, the singers were terrific and I was entranced by the gorgeous scenic design. It's always nice to be back at SDO. I am sad to miss "Zauberflote" this year.

Random Thoughts on a Day Off

I'm sitting at home after this long trip home, John off to UCSD-TV to madly edit the Opera Spotlight for Handel's "Julius Ceasar," and I keep telling myself I'm going to put everything away and go to the store and do all of this stuff that's nagging at me when all I really want to do is sit on my couch that I've missed so much and type and watch daytime TV and look at old pics and do a little Sudoku...What I can't do it eat junk, which is the other thing I feel like doing right now. That premenstrual state I get into once a month is in full force and I'd love to run out and pick up some Half Baked ice cream and shovel it down while continuing to do all of the b.s. I've listed above, but the willpower has to start somewhere.

Random Thoughts:

1). Tyne Daly plays a great mom on television. I've been watching "Judging Amy," which I think is a great view of a loving, somewhat dysfunctional, educated family. It reminds me somewhat of my own in the way they talk to each other and the shit they do to each other, and there in the middle of it all is Tyne Daly sporting her proud head of grey hair and her pithy comments. She's addictive.

2). I am most definitely in an off-period when it comes to politics. I've been deleting my "Der Spiegel" newsletters and ignoring the news bulletins when I go on line. I don't know why - every once in a while I just don't want to hear about it. Oh, I still catch wind of what's going on . . . had an outraged conversation with my family about some bill that the house of rep. in Missouri was trying to pass making Christianity the official majority religion of the state. Aargh, Aargh, Aargh. What the hell is going on in this country? . . . but for the most part I am going through a definite period of no interest. I think I am on corruption/bad decision/scary government overload.

3). On a similar note, I went to get some coffee today at a neighborhood coffeeshop and actually had the urge to buy a newspaper to read while I was enjoying my mocha. I put my money in and couldn't get the apparatus to open its damn door - twice. (what is that old adage about fooling me once shame on you...) Somebody is truly telling me to give it a rest. For now.

4). Commercials suck. Period.

5). Right now I've just looked out the window and it's pouring down rain while the sun is shining. I think I have to go look for a rainbow right now. The most beautiful rainbow I ever saw was while I was on my solo trip to the Southwest and I was driving past those incredible wind fields near Palm Springs, and this huge rainbow appeared out of nowhere and pierced the ground right in between two of the huge windmills. It was blinding and gorgeous and I swear it was reflecting off of a pot of gold. I've spent the last few years looking for a rival -- no such luck thus far.

I'll let you know.

The Curse of Monterone

And so I was not meant to be involved in any "easy" projects in Miami. This "Rigoletto" started out so well. The rehearsals were a breeze, everyone was getting along, we were finishing up in due time. The only probable issue was the humongous set with a massive slipstage that took the whole crew five hours to install (five hours to undue and then five hours to install again in Broward County). Otherwise, this show seemed like it would be a snap.

But Noooooooo....

At the very beginning of the opera, Monterone, a man who's daughter has been wronged by the Duke, crashes a party and puts a curse on the Duke and Rigoletto, thus starting off a chain of events that ultimately leads to Rigoletto's daughter's untimely death. Our Duke, a very young, strapping, David Crawford, dressed (per usual) as a very old, dying man, marched down to the edge of the stage, made the curse sign with his hand, raised his arm to Rigoletto and sang out his curse with enough verve to send the poor jester to his knees. What we were all, apparently, unaware of at the time, was that the curse was quite effective for all of us in real time.

As soon as the show opened, sickness became the norm. People were falling ill, having vocal issues, calling us to explain that they weren't sure if they could go on. In the midst of this, normally languid, time in the run, when I would be showing up, making sure no one fell off the stage or walked in front of light trees, going out for a drink and going home to bed, I was suddenly called into action to prepare umpteen people to possibly go on in lieu of the scheduled performer.

If a principal singer falls ill during a standard rep show (such as "Rigoletto), there are generally quite a few people out there who also know the part, so someone is found who has an open schedule, flown in for a determinite amount of time, and quickly put into the role by having last-minute rehearsals and sometimes (as was the case with Mr. Youngblood) staged into the opera as it's happening, with quick work during intermissions.

Now, I've spoken of all of this before. We had two women standing by at different times for our Gilda, who was dealing with illness but managed to go on for all of her shows. We had two men come in for Rigoletto, who DID cancel twice, putting all of us on our toes each time and making for an adrenalin-filled, sometimes frustrating, always exciting experience. By the time we moved to Ft. Lauderdale for our final three shows, however, we were all beginning to rest back on our heels a bit, feeling like the end was in sight, feeling like things would calm down and we'd have a normal three shows.

Not so fast, says the curse...

Our Duke had a family emergency after the final show at Dade County Auditorium, and flew immediately back to Italy. With three shows left, it would usually stand to reason that we would fly in one person to do the final three. This would still mean a lot of work, but by the second, and especially the third show, they'd be well integrated and the show would (or could) run relatively smoothly. The difficult thing about what we were up against, was that this was three shows in a row. An opera company is hard pressed to find a singer who is prepared that would come in to do three in a row, let alone someone who is flying by the seat of their pants. 'Twas impossible, and so we had two Dukes to throw in at the last minute.

Both men, I must say, were delightful, hard workers, sweet to be around, and generally thankful for the aid they got. This definitely made all of our jobs easier, but it was a whirlwind none the less. John had flown in for my last few days so he could drive back with me. He got to see my harried work first hand as I flew from the wings to the tenor's dressing room to the production office, to the chorus dressing room to talk about changes, and back again. Oftentimes, I was sitting in a chair next to the tenor as he got his makeup adjusted and madly flipped through his score, while I talked him through the next couple of numbers. This kind of madness was becoming old hat. I've never experienced anything like this before - nor have many of my colleagues.

David stopped doing the curse sign with his hand. A little too late methinks.

I finally got to sit in the audience for the last show. With my fiance. Without having to take notes. What a complete luxury. We had great seats in the front of the mezzanine. It was a lovely evening.

I'll miss everyone I worked with this season. For all of its frustrations and lip-biting moments, times I wanted to kick something hard and moments I felt like I was yelling into the (hurricane force) wind, I had a lot of fun too. I made friends, I learned a whole helluva lot, and I'll be back next year to do "Samson et Dalila" with them. It will be a welcome reunion.

Oh, the pic? Me running fight call with Leah Partridge and the two "abductor" supers. The one constant with every show.

From Sea To Shining Sea!

I'm Back!

It's been way too long since I've taken a seat at my desk and posted an entry on my blog. I just finished a long, four-day journey home to San Diego after six whole months of being away.

Coming back is a strange thing after so long. On the one hand, I feel very at home here, and on the other, I feel strange in this place. It will take some adjustment.

That may not fully happen for a bit as I leave again for St. Louis on the 25th. Only a little over a week to get myself reacclimated and ready to leave again. My cat gets to stay, however. I'm not sure he's all that happy about it though. He is not well socialized and realizing that there are two other cats in this house has sent him into a fit of despair. I have no idea how long it will take for him to pull out of it.

So, this post is short. The next one will be longer, and about the madness that was the last week of performances of "Rigoletto" at Florida Grand Opera. I was sad to leave the people I have grown to love, but I'll be back.

The pic? My hand feeling the cool breeze in Western Texas. It was that wonderful time of year when the breeze is still winter but the sun beats down like summer. In my unairconditioned car, the only way to get relief was to hang out the window and let the breeze cool you off. A convertible would have been nice.

The Last Few Days

I haven't been writing in a bit. Things with "Rigoletto" have gotten extremely crazy here at the end. Nothing that I can go on about right now, but suffice to say, these issues coupled with me trying to get packed and ready to leave this place, have left me with very little time to sit down and write.

I will be back on here with verve in a few days. I just HAVE to close this show and I think it may take everything out of me.

John arrives on a jet plane tomorrow while I am prepping for the opening at the Broward Center for the Performing Arts. He'll take a cab to the theater. I could not have found a sweeter man.

Right now it's bedtime . . . the final calm before the final storm.