Hiatus?

So I'm not sure if I'm taking an official hiatus or not. Obviously writing has been the last thing on my mind lately since it's been nearly a month since I've gone to my blog and each of the posts immediately before that were few and far between. My idea was always to force myself to write regularly but as my job gets more involved, I have less inclination to take up time to write.

I'm just not going to force things right now. So, for my few regular readers out there, it may be a while. Or not...I may suddenly have the urge to record again. I just have to wait and see.

As it were, I'm sitting at my little desk in the production offices of San Diego Opera on my third week of prep before we start a jam-packed season. We jump in with both feet right off the bat with a new production of Wagner's "Tannhauser," then move directly into four more operas with absolutely zero breathing time. Everyone I've talked to who's done this season says it's a crazy maelstrom every time. We'll see how I fare in terms of time for outside projects. I'm not hopeful right now.

As far as after that all ends, my summer is up in the air. I'm thinking of taking a trip to Italy to do a language immersion program, or going to Upstate New York to study up on Edna St. Vincent Millay a little more, or perhaps going to England/Scotland just for the hell of it. We'll see what pans out. I feel strongly that if I take the summer off from working on a show or at a festival then I need to be improving my skills that will help me be the best director I can be. Maybe a summer of me is really what I need.

I just got off of an airplane taking me back to San Diego from visiting my parents in Missouri for the holidays. It's the last time I'll have to fly until next May/June-ish. I'm hoping that my nerves will right themselves as I remove the travel-factor from my life for a while.

I feel out of order still and am hoping for some repairs. I'll keep you posted.

Someday...

Rainy Travel

Writing has not been my strong point while working at the Dallas Opera. This particular show kicked me in the butt harder than I've been kicked in quite some time. I came here thinking that this show would be a bit of a breeze and I would get all sorts of stuff done in the meantime. Truly not so...I've been playing catch-up since we opened and now I'm sitting at DFW, waiting for a delayed flight (no explanation...just delayed), and thinking about the fact that I have to go into work tomorrow to a brand new job and I feel totally and utterly unprepared (I'm sure that's not the case...but I'm a preplanner. I get sick if I'm not 15 minutes early and if the check's not in the mail a week before the due date).

The good thing is that I'm going home and if this plane isn't delayed further I'll actually be home early enough today to get my ducks in a row before making my first entrance at San Diego Opera tomorrow. We start prep for a stint of five operas in a row. I need to feel confident with all five scores before the first rehearsal because once we start it's like a downhill soapbox race: there's no stopping us until we hit the hay bales at the bottom.

Despite any stresses I've experienced in Dallas, we had a very good closing last night. Quite a few pranks and loose ad-libbing, but my director seemed pleased as punch that the cast was relaxed enough with each other to dive into the unknown in such a way on stage. I never watch final performances because I know what happensk when there's no recourse. I was a performer for years and did my share of onstage pranks...was also the butt of many jokes as well. I've been part and parcel to many a "let's see if we can make so-and-so bust up in the middle of this really serious scene" schemes and I've added a little something-something to quite a few closing nights. One of my favorites was my Junior year of high school. I was a dancer in "Hello Dolly" and our little group of dancing waitresses chose to wear racy garter belts underneath our circle skirts. We gave all of the geeky band boys in the pit quite a show.

Of course I wrestle with how much to frown upon now that I'm in a position of authority. I try to keep a straight face and discourage bad behavior, but the performer inside knows how hard it is to keep enthusiasm and wish I could be out there too, yucking it up.

Boarding soon. Maybe someday I'll get back to regular writing.

Yet Another Tech Week Survived

I'm at the end of two days off. I needed the time so badly. I go through a tech week about every two months and they still rear up in front of me and knock me on my ass. Generally speaking, once we start the lighting sessions, I have about two or three days in there where I come into work before 9am and leave just before Midnight. By the third day, coffee does . . . well . . . pretty much nothing.

The other thing that always amazes me about Tech week is, no matter how much of a mess a production is on the first piano staging, it always seems to come together as a show by the time final dress rolls around. I left final dress on Wednesday night with weightless shoulders. There were a couple of off moments: props getting stuck in pockets, hats rolling down stairs, a drop off it's in-spike....silly things - easy fixes. But the show itself was there. People were laughing, the dancers were beautiful, the dialogue was on. It was a huge relief for me and I KNOW it was a huge relief for my director.

So yesterday, instead of stressing about notes, thinking about whether or not people would go on, wondering how something was going to come together, I did nothing that had to do with work. I went shopping. I bought a dress for the opening and had lunch at Neiman's with my stage manager. It was all very chic, ladies-who-lunch, holiday cheer etc, etc, and it felt great to be weightless.

My health is starting to return. I still feel my heart rate speeding up at night when my thoughts go wild, but I'm waking up feeling rested and looking ahead to home and Christmas with the fam, and all of the important things in life on the other side of my work...

Holidays Away...

Holidays away from home are tough on many levels. Part of it's the obvious missing of family members. Part of it, for a foodie like me, is the inability to cook holiday foods with the meager kitchen utensils and amenities I have in my little corporate suite.

There are also smaller problems. The reason I didn't go home for Thanksgiving this year (besides the poor factor) is that I have rehearsals on both sides of the holiday. There's a guilt that washes over me when I take a full day off while rehearsing a show. I worked all day yesterday so that I could take today - a holiday - off, but I still woke up feeling like I should work. Holiday breaks in the middle of a deadline-based gig are horrifying for the workaholic.

There's also an anti-social aspect that sometimes comes sneaking in. There's always a part of me when waking up on a holiday that wants to spend the day in my pajamas watching Christmas movies and eating takeout. I know myself enough, however, to know that if I don't go to my holiday plans I'll regret the lost connections and I'll never truly be able to relax and blow off steam.

A member of our production staff had access to an incredible home this holiday season and so he invited us all over for Thanksgiving dinner. Ten of us showed up. The table was set with real china and crystal, we toasted with champagne, we went around the table (just like my own family's tradition) and told everyone what we were thankful for, and we feasted. My, how we feasted! All of the trappings of a traditional turkey dinner plus a few little extras here and there. I brought pineapple timbale, an old family recipe that dates back to when my ancestors were whalers... It was my own contribution to the family atmosphere.

Afterwards we laughed hysterically while cleaning the kitchen, then collapsed in front of a roaring fire and talked for several hours - until the tall candles on the coffee table burned down to nubs. I sat there and looked around at everyone smiling, red-cheeked, clutching pillows, and thought about this idea of connections that I keep coming back to as I slowly try to figure out this business. We get close so fast in these little 6-week gigs. Everyone I work with is like a member of some sort of strange, dysfunctional family. We keep coming together and falling apart, but if I find these people in another city we'll be right back where we left off.

It's a comfort to know we're all in this together and I'm thankful to have so many people who share in this traveling existance wherever I go.

What else am I thankful for? I'm thankful to have a husband who is so unbeliveably supportive in this crazy career I'm carving out. I'm thankful for a family who loves me no matter how different my world is from theirs. I'm thankful that my career is still growing; that what I'm doing thus far seems to be working.

I'm thankful for life experiences and evenings like this.

Detour

So here I am in Dallas, putting up an operetta that has proved to be a scheduling nightmare. We're done with the show (in a week mind you). Everything is blocked, the dancers are here and fitting themselves in beautifully. They actually flew in from Los Angeles the other night, walked in the door straight from the airport, suited up in their off-the-shoulder sweatshirts, legwarmers and flexible dance sneakers, and ran through this show they hadn't done in months with nary a flaw in their unison. Muscle memory is an amazing thing.

Our singers are all thinkers. They are analyzing their dialogue, asking for changes where things don't make sense, discussing character and audience comprehensibility. Our chorus has learned all of their movements, reactions and moments in three rehearsals. For all intents and purposes, this whirlwind rehearsal period has been pretty successful.

But for me in this moment, it all comes back to making this schedule every day, which has pitfalls and snafus in it that literally make me want to bang my head against the desk. I'm having flashbacks to when I first tried to learn long division. Ask my mother about that joyous experience. I'm not the only one feeling this pressure but it's getting to me all the same. It must be getting to me. I've visited the E.R. three times in the past week with heart palpatations, massively high blood pressure and dizziness/numbness/shortness-of-breath. The doctors at the E.R. (who I've gotten to know well mind you) all think it's major anxiety. I think they're probably right but it's hard for me to accept because I've always seen myself as someone who handles stress well. I've always been the unflappable one; the one who takes everything in stride and then gets things done as needed.

The more I think about it though, the more I realize that my way of working has allowed all of this stress to fill my coffer until it's truly overflowing. My job is to listen to and absorb other people's stress and problems and I think I've finally hit my limit. I've spent the last few rehearsals fighting with an irregular heart beat and an inability to get a deep breath and I think, "geez! What the hell is going on," but if I look back at every confidence I take, every problem I solve, every argument and disagreement I'm privy to, well....I guess it makes sense that my body would finally tell me to stop listening. This is my 7th show in a row and none of them in my home.

So enough about that. I'm going to see a doctor tomorrow with an actual appointment and hopefully I can figure out how to manage this in the few weeks I have left of traveling, living in a hotel room by myself, working on a show at my makeshift desk/kitchen table while watching bad television and eating take-out.

This life. This life gives me amazing experiences. Amazing. But I think there's only so much a psyche can take before it needs to regroup, refuel, rejuvenate.

Already?

I have two days off! I've worked two days and now I have two days to catch up on work...

I'd better take advantage because this surely won't last. Rehearsals begin on Monday and I foresee craziness, long days and much, much homework.

I'm going to work out, make breakfast, get a hair cut, see a movie, browse a bookstore, get all of my paperwork in order, explore my neighborhood, shop...

Or maybe I'll just sleep. I have a feeling I'm going to need to store it up.

Death By Scheduling

Death by Diva? ...Not yet...

Singers haven't arrived yet, but that's the season t-shirt for Dallas Opera. Seems an appropriate way to start my work here. I spent 10 hours at my new opera home today. A small portion was spent taking a tour of the large facilities; a small portion was spent eating lunch with the production team of which I am now a member; a small portion was spent tabbing out my score and matching page numbers to my scene breakdown.

An abnormally large part of my day was spent hunched over the schedule with my stage manager trying to reconcile what our director wants with singer releases with hour restrictions with conflicts that singers have who are singing in more than one show this season...it doesn't stop. Scheduling is difficult in any opera company. Time restrictions make it hard to get everything in and well-worked by the time we move to stage, and in a show this size with this many people to organize it becomes a literal headache of the highest order.

I stumbled from the rehearsal hall today with my eyes bugging out and my head spinning. All I wanted to do was come home and eat some frozen yogurt, put on my fleece pajamas and watch something ridiculous on television.

Every time I start a new job I get hit with new challenges that threaten to topple me. I think so many times the biggest issues happen before the rehearsals even start. And every time I knock myself out fixing problems and figuring things out only to emerge on the other side realizing I've survived and I'm capable.

John always jokes about my job, calling me "A.D. Girl." (as in..."I'm A.D. Girl, come to save the show!" Arms akimbo, post-it cape blowing behind me, armed with a highlighter and a mag lite...). But you know what, I am good at what I do. Days like this make me have confidence in my abilities to problem solve and get a show up and running. I'm up for any bomb you can drop and yes, that's a challenge.

Do. Your. Worst.

The Stars at Night are Big and Bright!

I arrived in Dallas, Texas this evening. Earlier than I thought actually. The flight I was supposed to be on was hopelessly delayed so they shoved me into an earlier flight. I crossed the arid Southwest in the early afternoon and touched down at DFW somewhere around 6pm. I was glad to get in earlier. The more time I have to settle in, the more comfortable I feel when I wake up and start working the next morning.

The flight was pretty smooth. Arriving in Dallas was a little rockier. Because I was early and couldn't get ahold of anyone at the opera, I ended up, somewhat grudgingly, taking a cab after standing on the curb in a state of semi-disorientation. It's so odd to drive through a completely foreign terrain in the back of a taxi. No matter how many times you've looked at a map, the streets still wind in confusing patterns and all of the directions seem to get switched around. Fortunately, all Midwestern cities hold similarities. We passed strip malls galore, churches, and the "President George Bush Expressway" before finally arriving at my corporate housing. Actually...we didn't even arrive there. We arrived at the apartment building next door. The robust cab driver pulled my three immensely heavy bags out of the trunk, left them in the doorway and drove off. As I watched him go, my eyes dropped down and I noticed the door mat with a completely different name than what I was expecting.

A little old man hobbled towards me with his walker and pushed the handicapped button on the side of the door. As he passed I said "I think I'm in the wrong place," asking him where my hotel might be. "Oh dear, you are in the wrong place," he eked out. "This is an apartment complex. You want to be next door." He hobbled past me pointing and I looked up the hill to the big hotel sign, then grudgingly lugged my 100 pounds of luggage down the street. Everything else had been so smooth and quick. My two bags were even the first ones out at baggage claim. Ultimately it's just not possible for me to have a smooth traveling experience. I've accepted this every time I travel. It gets exhausting.

So finally after a long, disjointed day of travel, a Cuban sandwich and a beer at Cheesecake Factory, and a somewhat delirious shopping trip to the local grocery store, I'm settled in and unpacked and sitting on my couch in my great little apartment. My bag is packed for the morning, my coffee's ready to brew and all of my papers are in order.

Let's get this show on the road.

Briefly

I'm prepping five scores at once right now. Four of them are for San Diego Opera. I start work there in December but I want to have my scores ready to work by the time I walk into prep there. The fifth is this "Merry Widow" I'm doing in Dallas come next week. Prepping consists of adding tabs so I can flip to specific scenes easily, marking in any cuts we are doing, and highlighting each character's vocal line in a different color so I can quickly tell who should be singing what line on any given page. It's a lot of tedious busy work but completely necessary for me to do my job later on.

Incidentally I've been watching a lot of "Law and Order SVU" while madly highlighting and tabbing...

John took me on a Hornblower Dinner Cruise tonight through the San Diego Bay. It was a terrific evening and we both deserved it so much after a whole week of not feeling so hot. We didn't really date much before attaching each other at the hip so it's nice to go out on a bona fide date every once in a while. We dressed up, drank champagne, stood along the railing letting the wind hit us in the face and ate cheesecake. The only thing we didn't do is dance. John doesn't dance. I may have to see about fixing that...

Monday I have to pack for another five weeks away.

I don't wanna. (stamps foot impetuously).

Feu

So I come home from New York and all of Southern California goes up in smoke. It seems to happen that every time I come home from traveling somewhere the weather changes for the worst here. When I came home from Cooperstown we were dealing with record highs and record humidity. The first week I was home was pure misery. Now I come home from the City and the weather is beautiful. John and I travel to San Francisco and have a gorgeous time. On the way back we drive down the coast and hit some pretty smoky air around Los Angeles County. Unbeknownst to us we were driving straight through the beginnings of the Malibu fire. I'm in town for one more week before I go to Dallas Opera and we are dealing with fallout from the Witch and Harris fires. Unbelievable.

Not nearly as unbelievable, I'm sure, as all of this is to the thousands and thousands of people who have been displaced in San Diego County alone. Despite my bitching I am one of the lucky ones. The city has not yet been threatened and we are only suffering from the bad air, hot weather and lack of services due to businesses being closed while everyone figures out where they are going, what they are doing and whether or not they still have a home.

I feel helpless somewhat and can't help thinking in the back of my head that this is all my fault. Why do these things happen only when I come home? Dallas was a last minute gig and I was actually not really looking forward to it since I have been away from home so long. It doesn't look so bad right now as I see the mild temperatures on their weather forcast. Just to get away from the campfire air will be a blessing. I only wish I could bring John and the cats with me.

The picture is of the setting sun from our front porch. It's beautiful and horrifying all at the same time. Interested in helping out? Please follow this link to the San Diego chapter of the American Red Cross and this link to the San Diego chapter of the Humane Society. Many, many displaced horses and other furry creatures : (

Last Night in the City

I started this blog to give insight into this strange, disjointed life that I lead. This world of crazy career, far-away home, coming together and falling apart. Keeping this up is harder than I thought it would be. Partially because there are so many things I want to talk about that aren't always appropriate in a public forum (memoirs someday...when I don't care anymore) and partially because when the most interesting things are happening I become too busy to sit down and write.

We opened Agrippina today. I wasn't sure how to react, as usual, to the end of my work. I loved watching everyone on stage. I got to bow, which is always an exhilirating experience, and I have a great time when I can dress up and mingle. On the other hand, I felt like my foot was partially out the door. I stood around after the curtain fell and watched everyone bustling around. For them this is the beginning of a run and so their priorities in the moment are different. I had a friend tell me I looked sad which was really not the case at all. I was more....well....I think I had already moved on. It's the only way I know how to survive these frequent transitions. To survive living out of a suitcase and leaving people I care about every few weeks.

Because I haven't written in a while and I have to pack now, I'm leaving you with a journal entry from the summer. I wrote this sometime in late July or early August. I don't know why it seems appropriate right now, but I think it reflects my feelings about life and the way I am living it.

I've got major goals right now. For the first time in my life I'm feeling like my future (or the one I want) makes sense. But I think we never stop searching for the meaning behind it all...

I went to the grocery this evening and as I walked back into my kitchen I had this sudden feeling of claustrophobia and panic. I had to get out. I dropped my bag and purse on the counter and jumped onto my roommate’s bicycle, sliding out of my flip-flops, wide-legged jeans flapping against the chain, ballcap pulled low.

I rode around the block and down a side street, over a creek I spent hours peering into on a late, thundery afternoon and into the glassy, gravely driveway of an abandoned factory I’ve been drawn to lately. There was an eerie quiet there. A tree rustled greenly against an old propane tank. A bird flew through the broken panes of glass to a hidden roost in the depths of the decimated building.

I was tempted to ride all the way into the back of the grounds but looked at the falling sun and felt that female twang of fear that comes from being alone and unprotected. That missing father syndrome that women fall prey too when their entire childhood is predicated by an understanding of their comparable weakness.

I peeled out of the loose stone and cigarette butts to ride back up the hill, calves squeezing out every last pinch of oxygen as I passed the boarded up bowling alley, the shingle-free dive with the fish-fry sign flapping about over the front door, and a green house that always has the strains of a sad country song creating a desolate wrinkle in the surrounding airspace.

As I passed the firehouse, origin of a strange, wailing horn Richard and I’d heard several times over the past couple of weeks (turns out it was a call to volunteer firemen throughout the area), I looked up and saw a flock of large birds flying towards me. Hawks. Beautiful brown hawks with majestic, pointed heads and large beaks, riding the wind space over my head. One flew so low I could hear the air compressing downward in a rush of swept-up sound as he flapped his impressive wingspan.

I counted seventeen as I stood over the catch bar of Richard’s bicycle. None making a sound but for the fwoosh of the wings as they picked up speed. The last one to pass was riding on the tailwind of his neighbor as one of his wings was broken, laying at an odd angle when it was fully spread from his back.

I burst into tears. There was something so amazing, so unprecedented about this flock of majesty flying over my head. I didn’t know how to react but to feel the breeze of their flight on my cheeks and let the tears of intense beauty roll down my face and drip off the end of my nose.

It’s those moments that life dawns on you that bring about a yearned-for perspective that sometimes seems just out of reach.

Almost Home

Agrippina opens tomorrow. The picture on the left demonstrates, I think, exactly how this experience has been for me. Lots of good knowledge and moments, some incredible people and amazing talent, but ultimately stressful. That's me drinking a manhattan in Manhattan with members of the creative team after our piano dress rehearsal.

It's funny. I'm so excited to go home, but I'm feeling really sad about leaving New York. Every time I come to work in this city I love it more and more. I've become extremely fond of the Upper West Side. I love meandering along Central Park West from the Natural History Museum to the Dakota. I love noodles at Ollie's on 84th (better than the Midtown location). I love walking through Zabar's, taking in whiffs of cheese, olives and coffee and listening to the hustle on all sides. I love hazelnut or pistachio gelato at Grom and the Civil War Memorial on Riverside. San Diego just doesn't feel the same. The good stuff there all exists inside my house: my husband, my cats, my books, my stuff...

The end of each project is always, always bittersweet, and always for different reasons.

Tension Personified (That's Me)

Some shows take more effort to get to stage than others. It could be that the action is more detailed or the sets are problematic to move through or the music gives the singers substantial issue. Sometimes the reasons behind the extra stress and effort are harder to pin down even though everyone involved knows they exist.

"Agrippina" is a complicated show in the fact that it's a baroque comedy. Comedy is detailed and nuanced and tremendously hard to get perfect, and Baroque opera is known for its difficult coloratura and (in the case of this opera) its massive, endless recitative.

We have a piano dress rehearsal tomorrow and in some ways it seems too soon and in other ways we already seem long in the tooth. I don't really know which end is up right now. My reasons for not writing stem from this...

I love my job. Dearly. I am in constant awe of what I get to do for a living. I am also very proud of the group of people I'm working with. I think they've put together a very good product and are working hard to get it up and running. I think it will be a tremendous show.

At this point, however, I think I'm just ready to go home.

Much, much more after we open and I am back in California...

Nothing's Gonna Change My World...

Day off today. I usually look forward to days off but John left this morning after five lovely days together in the city.

I spent the morning doing laundry and then had to get out of the house. The loneliness is strongest immediately after one of us has left.

Saw "Across the Universe" at Lincoln Square. Seemed like a good diversion. I had a really bad taste in my mouth about this movie when I first started seeing the trailers, but I have to say that I enjoyed the experience. My biggest issue with Julie Taymor - and I feel this way about her movies and operas (see myreview of "Grendel" at LA Opera) - is that she has a flawless design sense but she consistently falls short on story. If she never set up a narrative to begin with, I wouldn't care so much when these left-field moments show up half way through the film.

The film is beautiful with some great imagery. I tried to let it wash over me with no expectation and on that level it made for a great afternoon. When I started trying to follow the story too hard I started to get frustrated. The character of Prudence kept appearing and dissappearing, there was an obligatory puppet moment mid-stream that was apropos of nothing, and Bono showed up for a ridiculous moment of psychadelia. But, as I said, there were some moments of pure visual genius.

I'm three weeks away from this opera opening. The hard part of directing this piece is thinking about it before I walk into rehearsals. I've truly enjoyed the rehearsal process. I think perhaps the harder part will be scooting over into the assistant's chair in two days. I'm a very good assistant, but I've started this momentum and I'm worried that my inertia as we make the turn may knock me pretty hard against the wall.

The positive in all of this is that, not only do I love, love, love this opera, but I know that I can stand up and do this. I feel ready to do my own thing.

Boy isn't it all about confidence.

Not Dead Just Working

I've been in New York City for 7 days. That's why I haven't written in what seems like an eternity.

I'm in charge on this production until the 27th. I've put up half the opera in 5 days and am looking forward to slapping the rest of it up before next Thursday. This business works at such a rapid rate.

I'm in love with this opera, so that helps push aside any stress I feel from being the go-to-guy throughout the bulk of the rehearsal process. "Agrippina" is deliciously funny and evil with some of the most gorgeous music Handel ever wrote. We have a lively cast, full of laughter and ideas in rehearsals and ready to jump into any ocean I present to them. That's a lucky fact....and not always normal.

The pic is of me after my first day at City Opera. No rehearsals that day, only a big presentation about the opera, but it felt amazing to kick it all off on the right foot. Now it's just details.

A WHOLE LOT of details.

But still. My director comes in next Thursday and I hand the whole kit and kaboodle over to her. I'll have more time to write then. If I could handle getting the whole thing off the ground myself, I can easily handle being the copilot on the landing.

4 by 4 in 48

These last two weeks have been totally overwhelming with planning for "Agrippina" which is coming so fast and furious I sometimes feel like Indiana Jones running like a madmen in front of that giant stone ball...

Part of the problem is my intense lack of concentration that stems from the first week being so incredibly hot that I couldn't do anything but sit on my couch in front of a fan wearing a t-shirt I'd just removed from the freezer, and the fact that I only get to see my husband for fourteen days and I'm trying to soak up all the home I can before I head to the airport yet again.

To add to all of this, I agreed to perform in a little series that Sushi puts on every second Tuesday of the month called 4x4.

The performance takes place at 8pm at Bluefoot Bar in North Park (corner of Upas and 30th if anyone's interested) this coming Tuesday. A 4'x4' stage is set up in the middle of the bar and ten performers get up in succession and do their thing. We have ten minutes a piece to do whatever we want. Some people talk, some people dance. I'm doing a little of both in a piece I literally threw together called "36,000 Feet." It's about traveling for work. Big surprise.

They say you should always write about what you know...

The cool thing about this performance is that the stage is so small. I have no problem rehearsing in my dining room as the photograph proves. The bad thing is that I decided to do it last minute when I was so blasted busy, but maybe that's good because I won't overthink the piece. We'll see what comes out when I'm finally there and in front of all of those sweaty, intoxicated people.

Otherwise, not much to report. I'm just plugging along, trying not to get run over by stone balls and hoping that everything at City Opera is copacetic. My mantra right now is "October 15th, October 15th, October 15th..."

More Opera Sadness...

Just read that Pavarotti passed away at the age of 71. Yet another giant in the industry to cross to the other side this year. 2007 has most definitely been tough. It seems that much of my blog this season has been dedicated to memorializing those we've lost.

Pavarotti was another superstar who put opera into Everyman's household. He'd been suffering from pancreatic cancer for quite some time.

More, happier, news soon.

Summer's End

In twenty minutes I will load my bags into a volunteer's car, lock up this cool, empty house, and head to Albany to fly home to San Diego for two weeks.

Last night was no roommate and no cat - they left right after our closing matinee. The quiet in the house was good closure. Any semblance of sadness I felt about leaving this place was cut by the empty, swept-up air in our once lively household. I sat on the wide porch after dark and it felt like I was sitting in my past.

It's time to move on, go home, reconnect and get ready for the next adventure.

Words on this blog cannot begin to express my joy at finding my home once again.

But leaving these temporary mini-homes always holds a modicum of bittersweet.

The Show Must Go On!

We had our second-to-last show on Saturday night. The weather was unbelievably bad. About an hour before the downbeat we experienced a massive severe thunderstorm. Many of us were standing on the porch to the wardrobe house, watching the lightning get bigger and listening to the growling thunder. In one fell swoop the sky opened up, the wind picked up and we were caught in a deluge. The trees seemed to touch the ground as they were blown this way and that. Later driving home there were branches and full trees all over the roads. It was that bad. You can see in this first picture that the air was a strange color. It's that greenish haze that settles in when the air is ionized. It's tornado weather.

I used to be terrified of storms to the point that I would cause bodily harm to those who attempted to change channels from the Weather Channel if a dark cloud appeared in the sky. I would hide in the corner of the basement and listen to weather reports on repeat until I was satisfied that no danger was in sight. I'm not like that anymore. Myself and the cast and crew stood in the doorway and watched the rain and hail and lightning and thunder with glee. The electricity went off and we squealed with delight in the late-afternoon shadow.

The problem is that the electricity didn't come back on. Oh sure, the theater has emergency generators that kicked in, but it's not enough power to run a show. As we got closer and closer to showtime, the powers-that-be became nervous that we wouldn't be able to perform. No power, no stage lights, no monitors, no calls, no performance.
Eventually a decision was made, unprecedented in my meager experience (and many of the others' as we began to talk) that we would present the opera in a concert version for at least the first act. All of the generator power was channeled to light up the pit and send a few flood lights both onto the stage apron and into the audience for people to see. Everyone was in costume so we would keep it that way, but chairs would be set up on the stage and the chorus would sit in two rows with principals along the side. The principals would have free range of the stage apron while they were singing and the chorus would simply stand when needed and sit quietly when they would normally be off stage.

As soon as the decision was made, everyone kicked into high gear. There was this sense of adrenalin coming from the unknown. We were going to give a concert in veritable darkness, no monitors, no stage lights, barely enough light to get on stage and sit. There was no way to make backstage announcements, so everyone gathered in the green room to wait for the stage manager to tell us what was happening. My two dancers were asking if they even needed to be there. I told them to hang around until intermission because if the electricity came back on, we would do the fully staged version of Act II. (which didn't happen).

This is why I love live theater. It's these crazy moments of improvisation that make my job amazing. Everyone who works in the performing arts has to be so incredibly adaptable because life is uncertainty and theater is risky. I stood in the relative darkness of the backstage area and watched the chorus climb into their seats (the second photo). The nerves were palpable. Several singers had expressed memory nerves because their muscle memory had so closely equated what they were singing with what they were doing. There's that moment of worry that they wouldn't be able to remember the words and order if they weren't handling props or doing the movement they'd executed so many times. They weren't sure what the experience would be to sit on stage for the entire show.
We made it through beautifully. Maestro Wachner indicated to the chorus when they should stand or sit and the principals did a less kinetic version of their staging (sans props and large set pieces). When we got to intermission, Michael McCleod, our artistic director, came on stage to announce that we would continue straight through since there were still no lights and the rain was so heavy that intermission would be difficult to achieve with no shelter out of the theater. That's a photo of him cupping his hands to amplify his voice up to the balcony. The assistant stage managers brought bottles of water out to the chorus since they wouldn't have a chance to leave the stage.

And so we persisted. My Orpheus and Eurydice still did their second death sequence, which was actually pretty spectacular in the low light with the chorus getting broken up behind them. I sat in a box on the right side of the house with the assistant conducter and another young artist. I was nervous and grinning and watching every split second decision made by each principal as they decided how to stage themselves and how far into the blocking they could go with this improper, truncated space.

The ovation was deafening, far outweighing the pouring rainstorm and thunder outside. Our audience went with the changes completely. We gave them everything we had.

I went backstage, thrust into blackness, afterwards to congratulate. Singers were in their blackened dressing rooms trying to change as quickly as possible. The dark air was punctuated by little blue lights held in the teeth of wig and makeup crew as they rapidly pulled hair pins out of wigs and tried to light pathways up and down stairs. It was like a secret society...

The show must go on, truly. With each trial that presents itself in this little world of theater and art, I slowly discover what me and my colleagues are capable of dealing with and achieving.

Three more days until the end of this adventure. Our final show is on Tuesday. Hopefully with full power.

Opera and Baseball

Opera first. Brian Thorsett and Katie Calcamuggio had their recitals at the Otesaga Hotel yesterday afternoon. These were the two young singers for whom I staged a Britten Canticle. I felt more involved in this rectial than I did for the others because I had such a stake in the staging and presentation. It was kind of fabulous to be so entrenched.

The recitals went very well. I sat in one of the deep, bright windowsills along the back wall and continued to wipe my palms on my pants as they became sweaty through the hour and a half of music. As always, I felt like a mother hen watching and crossing my fingers that everything went well. I was so proud of them at the end. They had a lovely reception with hoots and hollers and an endless receiving line of hugs, photos and cheering outside of the hall - very well deserved. Brian tried to get me to come up and bow with them and I just didn't feel right. I blew them kisses from the back of the house - my contribution seemed small and I was more than happy to give them that moment. My need for fame and recognition has dissipated as I've gotten older. I think it's when it's not even offered that I become sore about it.

The recital was the last big moment I have here. From now until Wednesday it's only two more shows. One has a chorus member missing but we've solved most of the problems surrounding that and so I think it will be minimal maneuvering to make it all work.

Home is looming large and lovely.

Now baseball. Earlier in the day I finally succumbed to the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown. I've been here two summers and never gone and I'm actually really glad that my roommate suggested it. I forget how much baseball figures into every Midwestern American life. I knew more names than I thought, was fascinated by the history and had many flashbacks of my brother's Little League games, Jim Eisenreich signing baseballs at the Royals field, beer and hotdogs at Wrigley Field and spending an entire summer in Aspen watching Braves games with my bunhead roommate, Maggie.

Particularly fascinating were the Negro League exhibit, the Women in Baseball exhibit and the little pass-through room on Babe Ruth, who is so mythic at this point that he exists for many of the younger generations as a Paul Bunyan-esque creature. And I think that was what was so fascinating about the museum itself. Baseball persists because it is entrenched in myth and "whopper" stories that kids still hear and tell. Whether fans or not, most people have heard of Shoeless Joe, Babe Ruth, Lou Gherig and so many others. Not many other American sports have that kind of cultural spread.

A worthwhile morning.

Appalled on a Friday Morning

I am consistently taken aback by Bush and his Regime's insistence on rewriting and misconstruing history for the benefit of their war-time desires.

Like so many societies that no longer exist today, we should all remember and think about the fact that those who do not listen to and learn from history (truthful history) are destined (and doomed) to repeat it.

The transcript of Bush's speech at the VFW convention can be read here.

Professional Eyeball

That's what I am right now, an observer. All of my practical work is done. I've gone through all of my final rehearsals, given my last notes, done my last brush-up.

Tonight I will put on a suit, get a ride to the new Cherry Valley High School, and sit in the auditorium to watch the short and sweet Scenes Program with bits and pieces from the current operas, next years operas and some recital superlatives.

Thursday afternoon I will put on a suit, get a ride to the Otesaga Hotel, and watch Brian and Katie give their recitals. I coached Brian and staged a piece for Katie and Brian together - Britten's Canticle #2, a gorgeous narrative of Abraham and Isaac's journey to the sacrafice. The picture is of my two singers working musically through the piece at Grace Episcopal Church in Cherry Valley. All of our rehearsals sat early in the process, so my work is done. It's all about the two of them and Leesa, their pianist, now.

After that I have a Saturday night "Orphee" to watch and a closing matinee the following Tuesday. I won't watch the last show. I never do. I sit backstage and watch the action behind the scenes. I like to watch it wrap up from the inside.

The good part of being finished with my practical work is that I have time to work on other upcoming projects. I feel like I've put a lot of things aside while working on scenes and recitals. Finally I can take a week to catch up and prepare myself for the deluge ahead.

Out of Context

I rehearsed scenes today for a program that the Young Artists do to wrap up the summer. All of the staff directors get a little chunk of scenes to direct in a madcap amount of time and then they are placed on a spare stage as a veritable smorgasbord of operatic morsels. The program we're doing this summer contains scenes from the operas we're doing this season, scenes from the operas Glimmerglass is doing next season, and a few things thrown into the mix for good measure.

The interesting thing about scenes programs is that each scene is presented as its own little mini-narrative. Very rarely is there a through-line between scenes and if there is it's generally contrived at best. Like monologues in an audition process, scenes can be presented in two ways. The first is to do it very true-to-form, taking for granted that the audience knows the opera from which the scene has emerged and will understand what's come before and what will come after. The second way is to come into the scene understanding the opera and characters in full but seeing the scene itself as its own little whole. In other words, giving the scene its own distinct beginning, middle and end so that it easily stands on its own regardless of backstory or looming foreshadow.

I much prefer the latter version of scene work because I think it allows me and the singers more creative freedom as we try to figure out these character's motivations in their own private scene hell (appropriate because I'm working only on chunks of Orpheus operas). For example, the scene I'm doing with my Gluck/Berlioz covers is a duet between Orpheus and Eurydice immediately before he looks at her and she drops dead a second time. The duet begins with him urging her to follow him and ends with her screaming one last murderous epitaph in his direction. We are given no set-up or backstory. If we didn't already know the story we would have no idea that they were clamoring out of the Underworld and that he couldn't look at her. We are also not graced with a typical ending to anything Orpheus-related. For all intents and purposes, Eurydice leaves and Orpheus never gets the chance to turn around and kill her.

So I've used this in our retelling of this scene from the opera. I've kept the staging nearly the same but given them intent to play from. When you look at the text of this duet, this could be any horrid middle-of-the-night argument between lovers. He's woken her up from a deep sleep in some sort of distress, she wants to know what the problem is, he refuses to tell her, she blows her top and eventually leaves. We can all see and understand these motivations and in that my two singers can create a complete story out of a truncated tidbit of a larger work.

I actually kind of like the exercise of pulling these pieces out of their construct. It forces you to see the timelessness of the words and the full story inside each beat of the opera.

My second duet is a love duet between Orpheus and Eurydice from Haydn's "L'Anima Del Filosofo." This piece is being performed this season but in a concert version so there are no preconceived notions of staging. I had a lot of trouble with this piece when I first began to look at it because, while it is a lovely duet, it's ten minutes of "I love you, you're my treasure, oh darling we shall never be separated," and I started my work on this at a complete loss as to how to make it interesting as a stand-alone.

The answer, as is so often the case, was in the question (I hope). I've pulled the piece apart for these two singers and given it meaning beyond its operatic storyline. We've messed with time a little, played with the notion of love beyond death, and given a physicality to the music that portrays a story far beyond the lyrics (apropos to but not dependent on the Orpheus myth as well). We worked for two hours today on this 10-minute piece and I think we've got something juicy enough to play. It was wonderful to allow two singers to discover work and worth inside a piece that, generally, is all about two people simply staring into each other's eyes.

For all of my frustrations and sometimes hatred towards the freelance gypsy lifestyle that I lead, I love my job.

Don't get me wrong...I'm terrified of my job. I throw myself into huge nervous frenzies about getting my point across, crossing over into the land of the trite and presenting something that is truly, truly worth seeing, but I think that's okay. It's part of adoring the art form that means I always want to do it justice with my contribution.

It's accepting that My output won't always be aces that proves to be the most difficult thing. It's all learning: the triumphs and the failures. You have to learn to love both.

Two More Weeks

I've begun a countdown. That's not a good sign.

Or maybe it is. It means I haven't come to like this place so much that I prefer it to my home and husband and cats.

I'm actually working a lot. I've coached several young artists on thier recital material and am staging a couple of them in some various scenes. It's good to have some sort of creative work to look forward to every day.

In the rest of my time I'm uploading countless photos to Flickr. I've taken nearly 3000 pictures with my birthday camera. It's truly become a hobby outside of my stage work. I've been trying to discover everything I can about this camera - using the macro feature, playing inside the manual mode, testing how clear the digital zoom is... John says that once I've mastered my G7 then I'll be ready to move on to a single lens reflex. So much of my free time (and sometimes my work time) consists of me looking around to find good things to photograph. I've begun to notice the light more, to look at detail on flowers and furniture, and to see framing in my mind wherever I am. It's not an obsession. Yet.

I've also subscribed to the podcast "Opera Now!" and am catching up by listening to some of their past shows. It's a few singers out of Chicago and their banter is quite entertaining. Smart too. Their last show featured a conversation about both Monteverdi and Regietheater (or what is commonly called "Eurotrash") stagings of traditional works. Everything about opera seems relevant to me right now, but I think it's because I am so entrenched in the art form by being out here for three months.

I had a matinee this afternoon and then ran off, on a complete whim, to Glimmerglass State Park. I don't know what made my car turn right instead of left at Highway 20. Perhaps it was the impeccable weather or some sort of headspace that I wasn't conscious of. Perhaps it was the realization that I am losing my mobility on Monday. Whatever it was, I found myself turning into the park 15 minutes later and shelling over a bit of cash to park near the lake. I found a picnic table under a tree that was lazily swaying out over the lake, sat down and wrote in my journal for a while.

Sometimes solitude is magnificent.

Coach

I'm coaching recitals right now.

Not exactly what I thought I was going to be doing with my extra time here, but rewarding all on its own.

From talking to other singers, it's apparently not common practice to have an acting coach for recital work, but I think it's invaluable. The change I've seen in the singers as they step up to the plate (oy...Cooperstown for too long....everything's a damn baseball reference) has been tremendous. Recitals aren't staged; there are no costumes, no sets, only a piano and about ten feet in between the singer and the first row of audience. This doesn't mean, however, that the storytelling should be anything less.

That's where I've been coming in.

It's been fascinating to go through all of these art songs that my young artists have chosen. They aren't pieces of music that I usually think much about so it's been good for me to break down the text of what mostly consists of pastoral poetry and sea shanties. The story's still there, though, if only in the atmosphere that the singer creates for the room.

My advice and direction has run the gamut from telling a singer that it's okay to use their hands to asking who the poet is speaking to, to breaking down beats and focus changes to explaining the myth of the nightingale and how that can inform the emotional quality of a song that includes it.

Every young artist at Glimmerglass Opera gets a 45 minute recital all to themselves. This is an unusual opportunity in a young artist's program and has created some very nervous singers since they've also been told they have to introduce their songs to their audience. Some have written memorized introductions for each set and some seem to be winging it, but I haven't seen one singer falter yet. They've been pretty solid and I sit in the audience and feel completely maternal when the singers I've coached stand up and begin their program. My palms get sweaty, I mouth along with the words. I'm a total stage mom.

I'm like this in the audience during a mainstage show as well, but the house is usually dark then and after opening I calm down. Recitalists get one chance, and so I am overtly anxious. Silly perhaps, but I watched them work and grow, and it's my advice they're taking or ignoring.

Today I'm procrastinating terribly. I need to get a projected schedule for NYCO out and I'm having scheduler's block. I have no idea how fast my singers will work and no idea how fast I will be able to work to put up the material effectively. All I can do is put something on paper and hope that everyone knows how changeable it is... Directing isn't all glamour and fun.

In Memoriam

Lucius Stickann
1994-2007

I loved my friend
He went away from me.
The story ends, soft as it began,
I loved my friend.

Langston Hughes

Split Focus

I'm in New York City for two days.

It's a beautiful, warm sunny day. Not a cloud in the sky and the city is glorious. I had meetings at City Opera for a piece I'm staging in the fall and I'm having dinner tonight with a friend who I get to see so seldom that it almost seems criminal. I should be singing down the street, skipping to the rhythm of the traffic, throwing my hat up to the tops of the building.

This city turns me on like no other.

I am, however, under a pall of sadness and perhaps fear for my kitty, Lucius, my best friend for twelve years. In the two weeks that my husband was in Cooperstown breathing new life into me and us, his health declinded rapidly and as John arrives in San Diego this afternoon, we may be making decisions that mean the end of an incredible relationship of mutual love, laughter and comfort.

It kills me that I can't be there. It also kills me that, even being in the most distracting city in the world, I am no closer to shutting my mind from the grief-house in San Diego than I was yesterday in my little room in Richfield Springs.

It's the waiting that's unbearable.

Reasons for Not Writing...

1. My husband's come to town.

That could easily be the only reason for not blogging for the last week. I have to soak up every moment I have with him since he's near me so seldom. When he's around I want to spend all of my time leaning against his shoulder, walking hand-in-hand, talking rubbish with him.

But the list continues:

2. We're shooting a bit of an impromptu piece of screendance. The piece is about a woman who gets lost in the depths of the country after her car breaks down. I spent a lot of my free time before John arrived scouting remote locations, especially gravel roads. We've spent the last week running from deserted road to woodland field, pulling out our little camera and shooting footage of me dancing. It's coming together well, but I feel like we spend half our time chasing the proper sky around. New York weather is so fickle in the summer. Our first two shooting days were brilliant sun and the third day was spitting rain and overcast. Today we were hoping for some clouds and as soon as we began to shoot the sun came out in all its brilliance. Murphy's law's been our constant companion.













3.John and I have this sudden and overwhelming obsession with Ricky Gervais' "Extras." Richard, my roommate, has both seasons on DVD and we can't seem to get enough. Daniel Radcliffe chucking a condom at Diana Riggs is reason enough for me to plop down in front of the telly.

4. I have a friend overseas who urged me to join Facebook. I'm obsessed. I don't know how to stop.

5. It takes bloody 1/2 an hour to get anywhere in this huge, bucolic county. I drive constantly. Makes me long for the city.

So it's after midnight and we're watching the last episode of Extras and we're driving to the Berkshires tomorrow. . . hopefully to shoot a little more footage. Facebook is on a separate screen on my desktop and I'm leaning my head against my husband's shoulder. Finally I have time to write.

Operatic Ecstasies

I had breakfast with some friends today and the topic of favorite operas came up. I mentioned “Figaro,” which I do love but one friend started talking about all of the “bits and pieces” of operas that she loves. This got me thinking. . . my favorite bits of opera can’t be confined to one composer and definitely not to one opera. My favorites come in tiny moments of sound, little smudges of voice, and those brief, fleeting moments of compositional genius when the emotion mixed with the perfect combination of instruments, of harmony, of voice-types creates an instant physical reaction – that puts me in a sweat or a frenzy. Following are a few that come to mind:

The first one I always think of are those last few bars of Britten’s “Death in Venice.” That little final tremolo up in the stratosphere finally fading into nothingness as Aschenbach lay dying is so simple and so fleeting, but it hits me right in my gut and all the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.

I love the moment in Puccini’s “La Fanciulla Del West” when all of the miners, from their gruff recits at the beginning, break into the sweetest pianissimo waltz refrain. Singing only “la” over and over and clapping out the “2,3” they sing a sweet simple version of the waltz theme for Minnie and Dick until the orchestra takes over with the first satisfying swell of said theme indicating the moment that Minnie and Dick fall in love…Of course that swell is undercut almost immediately by a looming darkness as the male chorus comes back in under the waltz wailing “Allacio” (sp) – “Hang Him!” as one of Dick’s cronies is brought in. In that 45 seconds of music, Puccini shows us tentative flirtation, love’s bloom, and that horrible foreshadowing of a relationship’s demise. Brilliant.

The prayer in “Hansel und Gretel,” “ Abends, will ich schlafen gehn,” makes me burst into tears every time I hear it no matter where I am, what I’m doing, or who I’m with. Perfection in its brevity and its mixture of sadness and hopefulness.

“Akhnaten,” Philips Glass’s Egyptian Opera yields two moments in my aural memory – perhaps because it was my first opera and such an amazing experience for me. The first is the transition into the first scene where the narrator, speaking of a pharaoh’s passage to heaven after death, yells out “On the wind. ON THE WIND!” and like a lightning crash those drums begin smacking out that syncopated heartbeat of triumph laced with a bit of fear, a bit of grief… The second is the first strains of the “Hymn to the Aten,” which make my heart swell, and then when the chorus joins in towards the end of the hymn when that swell finally bursts.

The trio of Gilda/Maddalena/Sparafucile in “Rigoletto” always blows me away… There’s something about the build at the beginning with the three of them in their own private hells…it’s a maddening trek up the hill and oh, so satisfying as the trio actually begins with Sparafucile’s proclamation and that huge crash from the orchestra. Eventually, as everything breaks loose, their voices and torment couple with the orchestra to create the perfect storm. Verdi gives it time to warm up, however, which is where his genius comes in. Like a teasing lover, he leads the music nearly to climax, and then pulls back to nearly nothing . . . to three little knocks and a tiny scared voice, to confusion among the siblings as they recit for the final time . . . He does this twice until you’re twisting in your seat, waiting for that little death, and finally with that final vocal cutoff he unleashes an orchestral tempest that trumps all three swells. Fabulous.

“Pensieri Voi Mi Tormentate” from Handel’s “Agrippina” is Handel at his absolute best. He starts out following the ABA form we all know so well, but then jumps into a tortured recit and returns to the A form again for one final blow. My favorite, tiny, moment is the beginning of each A section when “Agrippina” wails out “Pensieri,” and the oboe echos her in that hollow, horrifying strain. Each return to the A allows her a more ornamented version of “Pensieri” and the oboe is right there with her, like a twisted musical representation of her tortured thoughts, boring right into her brain.

In a completely non-operatic piece, Reinhold Gliere’s other-worldly, off-tempo Charleston from his ballet “The Red Poppy” is horrifying and life-changing. It’s written as if Master Gliere had never actually heard a Charleston, only read about it. It’s got the right time signature, the rhythm and basic structure but it carries a sense of horror and dysfunction inside of its joviality that makes the whole thing a little mixed up and tragic.

Most recently, the moment that knocks me out is the death sequence in Carlson's "Anna Karenina" where a distraught, drugged Anna stands at the train tracks in a trance and sings out, "How bright it is," letting the word "bright" linger on a downward spiraling scale. Her despair is pervasive and horrifying in that moment.

And finally, coming back to “Figaro,” the moment that gives me goosebumps is at the very, very end when the Count pulls everyone on stage and starts to call out the Countess before he knows the joke. From right after she reveals herself to him and the violins start to go nuts and the guys start singing piano (under their breaths), “Oh my god, I can’t believe this,” until their final “non so” and that long fermata where you’re not quite sure what the Count’s going to do, I am in goose-pimply frenzy.

There are many more delicious moments but these are the ones that sit in the front, easily-accessible place in my mind. The more I work in this business, the more moments I will add to my storehouse.

Endless Possibilities

We opened. I know I mentioned this in the last post, but it's such a great feeling. Read a really nice review of our little show here. Lillian and I enjoyed champagne on the lawn in the middle of the afternoon. It was a matinee opening, which I find a little strange. The only other place I've ever opened a show in the afternoon was at NYCO, and I found that a little weird as well. Opening nights should be exactly that. . . nights. As exciting as it was to get the Gluck open, there was something a little anticlimactic about opening the show as the sun leaked through the windows and under the doors. This is not to mention the fact that Offenbach's "Orpheus in the Underworld," which had many of our chorus members in it (including Juliet Petrus, the young artist who went on in place of a sick Jill Gardner as the leading role), opened the night before. Our chorus was tired but still riding on the adrenalin of a great season opener, so they rallied to put on a beautiful show.

I understand the reasoning behind an evening opener followed by a matinee opener the next day. Cooperstown is a little weekender resort town for people from the city. Tickets sales are much stronger when people can take in two shows over the weekend and still be back in the city by Sunday night. It's always lovely to drive into the theater lot and see tons of couples and families having picnics on the lawn. Sometimes it makes me wish I was only an audience member.

A word about Juliet Petrus. She went on at the last minute as Eurydice in "Orpheus in the Underworld." She was pulled out of a Monteverdi rehearsal at noon to go into emergency rehearsals and wig/costume fittings. Her advantage was that she'd done the role before, though not in this translation. But she knew the music and understood the intent. This is the reason that good covers are so important. Covers going on in place of principals is certainly not the norm, but it's not completely unusual. It's a wonderful opportunity for the young singer who jumps in to save the day, but is not all fun and games. I can't imagine the nerves that took hold as she left her rehearsal that afternoon and started cramming for a test (a sweaty, critic-filled, completely public test). It's the potential big break that everyone wants to be extremely prepared for but no one really wants.

I wasn't going to go to the opening since I'd seen the final dress, but as soon as I heard the news about Juliet I wanted to be there to support her. It was great to be in an opening night audience as it was...and the whole company came out to cheer her on to get her through her nerves. She looked terrific. I was so proud of her. She's not the first young singer I've seen go on as a cover for an opening (Ellie Dehn jumping in as the Countess in "Figaro" at Opera Pacific comes to mind), but the nerves and possibility is always overwhelming and puts me in a very maternal place about the singers I work with every day.


Speaking of covers, I had my own cover run for the Gluck/Berlioz on Monday. I was a nervous wreck for them (and myself, having staged them into the piece in a relatively short amount of time), and tried to steel myself by taking a few moments of silence and breath. It was my last bit of business besides minding the show for about a month. They (my covers) were spectacular. Katie Calcamuggio, my Orpheus cover, stopped the show after her bravura aria, "Amour Viens." People were screaming and stomping and I imagined her shaking behind the upstage wall the same way I was shaking and tearing up in the corner of the audience. I was living vicariously. I woke up on Tuesday morning and looked at my calendar, realizing the endless possibilites that lay before me. My husband is coming in next week, there are so many things I want to see and I have the time to actually finish books I've been reading, work on projects I've set aside and perhaps even be a little domestic. It's rare to look ahead to nothing. I think it almost makes me more uptight because I start trying to cram in too much.



So, for the time being I'm trying to take each day as it comes, trying not to push too much into each day, and trying to take in the country and experiences around me. For instance, I went and saw the midnight premiere of "Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix" in Oneonta with a bunch of Glimmerglass-ites last night. It was packed and full of sweaty, noisy teenagers shoving in popcorn and junior mints, and I had a fabulous time. This morning I woke up without an alarm, listened to a spectaular lecture by Arun Ghandi on NPR about his grandfather's teachings, did a little housework and drove to the theater to pick up the scenes I'm doing next month. On the way I saw the little gal above, chomping away at the grass in that field. I took the time to stop and watch her, say hello when she lifted her head.

I have two more glorious days like this before our next show.

Free At Last!

No writing for a while. We've been in production week. It's unbelievable how busy I get when we're about to open a show...if I'm not working, then I'm thinking about working or preparing to work. We opened yesterday afternoon to a very appreciative house and we had a cover run for our three amazing covers at Richfield Springs Central School this evening. It was my last responsibility beyond maintaining the show for several weeks.

It's amazing to look ahead and see free time. Free time to visit with my husband who arrives next week. Free time to work on the other irons I have sitting in the coals. Free time to relax and regroup for the next deluge which will come in the form of a Scenes program at the end of the Festival season. Right now I'm exhausted and crashing pretty hard, as I usually do once we open. It's time to sleep.

The picture is of our intrepid coach and accompanist, Leesa Dahl, who just played the entire opera straight through for our cover run this evening. I've snapped several shots of her throughout this rehearsal period and she always jokes with me, saying, "Oh great. That's going to end up on your blog tomorrow isn't it?" So the answer for this shot, Leesa peeking out from the pit like Kilroy during a scene shift rehearsal, is "Yep!" This is for you Leesa.

To bed...

Beverly Sills, 1929-2007

Beverly Sills died today. I heard that she was sick only two days ago. I don't even remember who told me. This has been a hard year already. Two opera giants in three months.

The New York Times has a lovely article here.

She brought opera into our mainstream culture. I fear there's no one to fill her shoes in that respect.

This Ain't The End But You Can See It From Here..

Tonight is piano dress. The first in a series of three full-on dress rehearsals (meaning, wigs/makeup, costumes, full tech, full lights and - ideally - no stopping). Tonight is also the last rehearsal where the director has full control. In opera, where music is the key player, the Conductor takes over the last two run-throughs to fine tune the music with singers and orchestra together. Tonight is our last chance to fix staging problems before we can only sit back and take notes to type up and deliver at dressing room doors before the next run.

We've come a long way from our first wobbly steps in the noisy wrestling gymnasium in Richfield Springs. It's hard to believe that we finished staging there only three days ago. We've gone from this:

To this:

This is the exact same moment in the opera with the exact same people. We've lost most of the chairs, compacted the group so they're closer together, and of course added costumes and set and lights and everything else that turns a "play" into a "production." That's Maestro Wachner's profile in the down left corner by the way.

I've got to pack up and go. Piano dress tonight and still big changes to be made. We're all always striving towards that perfect stage picture and tonight is our last moment to find it.

Back In The Theater Again

Two days ago the Gluck/Berlioz cast and staff finished up their final rehearsal in a small wrestling gym in Richfield Springs. We move into the theater this afternoon. The production week countdown has officially begun.

This will be a smoother transition into the theater simply because we've been here before. Glimmerglass is unique in that they lump a chunk of piano stagings smack dab in the middle of your staging rehearsal process. There are advantages and disadvantages to this process. The advantages are the fact that we get to see immediately where staging ideas won't work.

The rehearsal room is notorious for giving directors (and singers) a false sense of ability. Stairs exist as mere tape lines on the floor, rehearsal chairs/tables/etc. are often chunkier and smoother than the real thing, and flying set pieces exist only in the imagination. Therefore, 5 foot mock-ups of 13-foot-tall puppets roll easily over the waxy-smooth surface of the wrestling gym and don't have to worry about stone overhangs and straw-covered arms that fly loose from their tiny bases. Tiny entrances wherein chorus members and dancers pop in from side doorways and quickly disappear are unencumbered by grievous sight lines. This is when we thank god for the early on-stage time to show us the error of our ways so that we can descend back into the studio and fix all of our misconceptions.

The disadvantage lies in the fact that any momentum and continuity gained in a dramatic sense is somewhat stymied at an earlier time than usual. We lose a bit of chorus time and dramatic discoveries are often prematurely knocked out because we have a truer sense of what will play in our own little stage space...

That being said, our little show is fully staged and ready. Most of the issues come down to pure technicality at this point, and so moving into the theater involves less nervous energy from the singers as well as the production staff. We have two rehearsals today. My hopes are that we will get through Act I this afternoon and finish up in the evening.

This afternoon may prove to be difficult simply because we are teching a major wig/makeup/costume change for all 21 of our chorus members. Everyone has galloped through the previous stagings in most of their costume, but this is the first time they will be dealing with makeup - a huge change especially because the Furies are such a drastic move away from the basic townsperson look they will be quick-changing out of. Just as I foresaw issue with our huge, beautiful effigies at our first tech, I foresee issues in this change.

As Harry Silverstein, the director who got me into opera, always says, "That's why we call it REhearsal and not simply HEARSAL." (And of course Lillian all reminded us one day, when we were repeating one little section for the 13th time, that the word for "rehearsal" in French is "Repetition").

So here I am, sitting in the Stage Management office in the Wardrobe House on the Glimmerglass campus. One of the few rooms with a/c, I'll be here until we begin, personalizing chorus notes and making sure I have a complete list of fixes before we step out on stage and start the freight train running...

In related news, I found the Glimmerglass Blog today. Check it out. It's a log of all four of the operas and their progress through the season. Everything begins in a week and a half.

Day Off

I had the day off today. Everyone at Glimmerglass did. I may have the day off on Tuesday also if things go well in rehearsals tomorrow. I relish in time to myself.

I took a long bike ride today on my roommate's bicycle. I rode all through Richfield Springs, past numerous churches and people out for Sunday strolls, then cut out of the village on Lake Street and rode up the hill until I found a beautiful cemetary. Graveyards fascinate me in their history, their statuary and their quiet (or disquiet as the case may be). Old cemetaries are especially interesting. You can tell a lot about a town by the graves that nestle into its outskirts.

The ones that particularly catch at me are children's headstones. Cemetaries in Ireland are full of children's graves and there's a cemetary in Charleston, Illinois, where a woman lost six babies, all under the age of 5. What incredible heartbreak that must have been. I think the death of a child, however tragic, was more commonplace in the century before...lack of modern medicine, more home births, etc..

So that put me into a calm as I donned the bicycle once again and turned back towards home. The rest of the day was laundry, work (neverending) on my score, cleaning the kitchen...more perfunctory chores, and yet I still was constantly thinking of coming upon this cemetary out of the blue.

Funny how sometimes the most spontaneous, beautiful, raw moments in life can still lead us back to thoughts of death.