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...

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Unexpected Respite

A nice surprise to the end of my work day as Lillian gave all six hours of tomorrow's rehearsal to Maestro Wachner for music work. This means a day off for me tomorrow. Don't get me wrong, I plan to spend several hours working on my woefully scribbled up score and I'm hoping to finish my critical chorus document before our final room run on Saturday afternoon, but I won't have to get out of my pajamas until I'm good and ready and I may even have a chance to take a long bike ride, which I've wanted to do since I saw my roommate's Schwinn, filled with potential energy in our garage.

The other thing the unexpected news allowed me to do was spend this evening relaxing and spending some time NOT thinking about Gluck/Berlioz, Agrippina or any other upcoming projects. I sat on my Federalist front porch and read my book as a huge storm came up and thundered, poured and hailed all around me. There was very little wind, so I didn't get wet as I sat in the middle of the din of rain drops and grumbling from the sky. The photo is from the midst of the hail storm from my vantage point all curled up in the rocking chair. I played with macro and my telephoto lens to capture plants as they dealt with the deluge. It was a great afternoon.

We did some great detail work in rehearsals today. We're ready for this room run and for our final (and complete) move to the Alice Bush Theater. Our little shadow sat on the bleachers behind us for five straight hours, entranced. We even got her up working in the morning. As we worked through an aria that really needed the chorus to play off of, we asked her to get on stage and stand in for some chorus members. She was delighted and sat in her designated spot with prim posture and a wide-eyed grin. She's become our little mascot.

My roommate is at the theater tonight. All of the stage managers attend each other's first piano stagings to lend support to the one on the hot seat. That first night in the theater is stressful solely because of the locale change. Tonight the Offenbach team is in there and I am in my sweats in my giant living room playing on line and relishing in the fact that I have no set agenda for nearly 36 hours.

My Shadow

Inside all of the stress, changes and issues that come with the territory of putting up an opera, a really wonderful thing has been taking shape. The Gluck/Berlioz rehearses at Richfield Springs Central School. As we put together our little piece in the wrestling gym at the very back of the imposing campus, the rest of the school is still bustling with year-ending activity. School children from kindergarten to 12th grade attend school here, so we see all ages every time we walk down the hall to the bathroom.

One little girl, about thirteen, started last week sneaking into our rehearsals and sitting quietly at the door for an hour (sometimes two) watching us stage aria after aria with rapt attention. After a couple of days, Lillian finally asked her to come sit behind us. She's become my shadow.
Slowly we've learned more about her and shared our experiences in our own little world of opera-making as she's become more open with the questions. We found out she reads music and so we've handed her a score to follow. We found out she's on stage a lot herself and so we discuss staging choices and why things happen where they happen. She's been there for every change, every note, every discovery.

Her intense attention span reminds me of myself at her age. I was ripe with passion about stage work in any form and could watch professionals create endlessly. I was the only girl at DanceAspen who would sneak down to the company rehearsals to watch Hubbard Street or BalletMet prepare a show. Process fascinated me even then.
We've been in the theater for preliminary tech rehearsals this past Monday and Tuesday. Last night my little shadow showed up with her mother to watch. Lillian had given her our on stage schedule. She sat in the house entranced. I caught up with her on a break and asked how she was enjoying the rehearsal and she was ecstatic with her words and images. I felt like I was aiding in the creation of an artist by being there for her to talk to.

She's coming to a performance. She'd been saving up for a ticket and was ten or so dollars short so our stage manager whipped out some money the other day to help her meet her goal. We've all jumped on this nurturing bandwagon. Her spirit inspires all of us to give her the knowledge to back it up.

What a rare treat for this girl, and an amazing gift for all of us to have her energy from which to play.

One Week Down...

I just finished my sixth day of rehearsals at Glimmerglass Opera for the Gluck/Berlioz "Orphee," directed by Lillian Groag and conducted by Julian Wachner. We've staged approximately half of the opera at this point and I'm looking forward to a day without Gluck tomorrow.

Not a day without opera, mind you. Lillian and I are also doing "Agrippina" together at New York City Opera in September, and so we are spending the day in planning mode tomorrow followed by a big dinner which we shopped for after rehearsals today. Hard work is no problem at all as long as it's compensated with good food and better conversation.

The picture is me in the rehearsal hall at Richfield Springs Central School after a long day. My director, choreographer, stage manager and ASMs are in the back discussing the process.

The process is often the best part.

Box o' Music

I picked up, literally, a box of scores the other day from San Diego Opera. A whole season's worth of music from "Aida" to "Tannhäuser." It was interesting to see them all kind of dumped in a box - heavy and a bit ungainly - as I lugged it out to my car and thought about when I was actually going to start working on these.

Right now I'm working on "Agrippina," the opera I'm staging for Lillian Groag at City Opera in September. I know this piece like the back of my hand but the set I've worked on is different than the set for New York, and so it takes more preparation than if I was walking into the exact same scenario. Most of the concept is the same, but entrances and exits have switched around and there are some gags, etc. that can't be executed with this scenery. It's a slow process of comparison, but I am armed with paperwork and video galore, so it will eventually come together.

Gluck's "Orphée," which I'm actually beginning sooner than the rest of these operas, is the easiest to prepare because it's never been done before. I've done as much on this score as I can at this juncture. I have a relatively detailed scene breakdown, I've highlighted all of the text, I've listened to the opera 4000 times and I've put together a preliminary schedule. Everything else will have to wait until I'm in rehearsals next week. I leave for Cooperstown on Sunday.

There are so many other things I'd like to work on right now, but my opera preparation seems to dominate my time. I have, of course, become somewhat obsessed with Flickr, so that's taken up the rest of my free time, and in the middle we have quality time with John and the cats.

Sunday morning is a backwards dive off of the high dive into a pool I've never seen before. I love that moment and it scares the crap out of me every time. All I can assume is that the pool has water, though I have no idea how deep or what temperature.

Why Can't We All Just Get Along?

I've been thinking a lot about the state of the performing arts since I attended Opera America. Much of what was discussed was the survival of opera, but the theme of cooperation kept coming up. Opera is the perfect combination of all of the arts. Sets and Costumes embody the visual arts, theater is embodied in the direction and many operas include dance and movement to tell their story. And of course, in the middle of it all, is vocal and instrumental performance. It's all there and yet opera does not reach out to its fellow art genres.

They're not alone. I feel like so many art forms are totally insulated from the rest of the art world, and in this society where the arts are so often thrown aside as frivolous and unimportant, I feel like we all need to come together with a common goal or we'll perish.

I'm working on "Samson et Dalila" right now, and as I was reading about Samson's story before we began rehearsals, I realized that Samson was the one who took all of the small, disparate Hebrew tribes and brought them together to create one Jewish faith. For all intents and purposes, this is why the Jewish faith still survives today . . . the whole "united we stand" idea. I think this is a relevant story for the arts. We are all sitting in these tiny little tribes. If we don't start banding together soon, we may truly be erased.

Cross Marketing is going to be imperative as our funding slowly slips away and our audiences (especially in opera) slowly die off. It will take brainstorming and creativity and, ultimately, it will take a complete overhaul in our little, insulated, pretentious worlds. Companies forget that other arts organizations exist most of the time - definitely to their detriment.

The other big thing that kept coming up was how we speak to our public. Society (especially American society, in which we sit) has changed rapidly in the last twenty, thirty, fifty years. Opera, however, has not. Our society has become relatively addicted to technology and telecommunications. Opera, however, has not. Our society is driven by pop culture, American Idol, reality television, football, etc. etc. etc. We've had a complete overhaul that's resulted in a dumbing down of our everyday world. Opera, however, has not.

Now...the last thing should never change for opera. So many of our speakers, Dana Gioia, being one of them, were correct in saying that to truly keep opera alive in this era, we will have to exact a cultural shift back to a learning and learned society. Opera can't do this alone (again . . . we're back to the whole "cooperation" thing), but it can learn to speak to our society in a language that they can understand.

We have to learn to embrace technology, not only on stage but as a marketing tool as well. We have to learn how to market our opera seasons to appeal to what our society is looking for. This doesn't mean creating productions that cater to our culture of ignorance so much as it means that we should learn who we're actually talking to in the first place. I honestly believe that if we can get people in the door, large portions of them will enjoy what they see.

Perhaps that's a bit utopian but I really think that people don't "like art" because they weren't exposed to it when they were young so it hasn't become part of their fabric. We have to let them in slowly, but the most important part is that we have to LET THEM IN. They won't knock on the door of their own volition.

How we open the door and offer the reward is the real question. And Dana Gioia made a very good point when he said, "It's not about the money." People will pay $200 to sit in crap seats at a baseball game. It's not the ticket price - it's the interest in the first place.

I know a big part of our problem is that so many of our organizations are all talk and no action when it comes to true audience development. Changing people's minds is hard work and I can't sit here right now and say that I have any answers that haven't already been thought up, but we have to keep brainstorming and trying and, ultimately, FIGHTING for the importance of arts and culture in this society.

It WILL go away while we're busy being snobs. Truly.

So I'm not sure I said anything profound here, but this is what I've been thinking about a lot. I need to put my action where my mouth is I know, and hopefully the more I hash out for myself, the more ideas I'll have and the more I can put into action. Arts education (which is ultimately the genesis of audience development) is what I'm talking about here, and perhaps we all just need to realize its true and PROFOUND importance.

Enough. I'm leaving this post with two quotes I liked from Osvaldo Golijov's keynote address on the first morning of Opera America:

In order to understand who we are now, we have to understand who we are. Period.

And

Opera is the possibility of absorbing and transforming the spectrum of human experience.

Anna Opened

"Anna Karenina," the new opera by David Carlson with a libretto by the late Colin Graham, opened last weekend. I actually had a seat in the house which was terrific and unexpected.

I love opening nights. There's a wonderful energy in the air that doesn't exist during the rest of the run. This is especially true for new productions, and even more so for world premieres, where this is the absolute first time that the public will be experiencing any aspect of the performance. Not only are the sets and costumes and direction new, but all of the notes and voices are too. The excitement (and nerves) that surround the fated evening permeate everyone's spirit as they walk into the theater.

I loved the show. I think the singers sounded and looked great! Kelly Kaduce is a terrific actress as well as vocalist and everyone looked beautiful in Neil Patel's giant, open set. I love knowing people in shows when I'm out in the audience. I felt so proud of everyone out there, having seen the hard work they put into the product and heard about the trials they went through to get this piece to stage.

At bows I burst into tears. Silly, perhaps, but the crowd was on its feet and roaring, stomping and cheering. It's an awesome sound and I know what it's like to realize all of that noise is for you. Your psyche can barely handle it sometimes.

The New York Times was there and gave a very favorable review, which is great publicity for Florida Grand as well as the opera itself, which is traveling directly to Opera Theatre St. Louis and then I think will go to Detroit.

New and young work is what excites me. There's something about being in on the creative process from the very, very beginning that opens up so many more possibilities. New productions are great because they allow the artistic team to reconceive the look and feel of the piece despite the familiarity of the music. But working with a new score altogether is the absolute tabula rasa. I hope I get to work on a new opera someday. The opportunities are few and far between, and shouldn't be...

The picture is from the New York Times of Kelly Kaduce and Robert Gierlach (who played Vronsky). The opera plays in Miami until May 13, and I would encourage you to see it if you're in Southern Florida. If you're in the St. Louis area, the opera runs from June 3rd through the 21st.

Support new work! It's the only thing that will truly keep this art form alive and kicking. Remember that every opera you see in every opera house in the world was a world premiere at one time in history, and needed the same support that new work needs today.

Here's a YouTube video of my friend, Liam Moran, singing "How Strange She Is Tonight," Karenin's aria from the first act. Enjoy.

If...

Opera America started last night. Opera companies from all over the world send representatives to the convention to talk about issues in all aspects of their field. I've never been to one of the conventions before but this year it happened to be taking place in Miami, so I'm taking full advantage. Thus far it's been interesting to meet people, see old bosses and friends, and listen in on what everyone thinks and feels about the advancement of opera as an American art form.

I've got more thoughts on that...mainly brought up by opening speeches by Osvaldo Golijov (brilliant Argentinian composer) and Dana Gioia (of the sad, struggling NEA), but my thoughts aren't fully formulated. As the weekend continues things will start to gel. After a rambling conversation with my husband this afternoon I'm realizing that I have an awful lot to say.

This post is a lesson on following the path as it presents itself...a more personal reflection on the influences that help us end up where we are/where we needed to be all along.

At one time I actually planned on going into Performing Arts Administration. I've always been interested in the administrative side, but my performing always came first. My favorite class in college was the one that taught us how to market ourselves, send out press releases, rally audience support and fundraiser. When I was the Associate Artistic Director for a small dance company in Chicago, I loved attending the board meetings, the strategic planning and putting together fundraising events. I always figured it would be my fallback.

So much so, in fact, that when my performing career started to struggle a bit, I nearly walked away from it to pursue an administrative career. It was the spring of 2000. I graduated from college two years earlier and had been freelancing with not much luck. I'd had a couple of gigs here and there but was starting to get massively frustrated with the audition process. Three times in a row I'd gotten down to the final three and then been sent on my merry way at the end of the evening. I was really questioning my future as a performer. I started looking at universities with Arts Administration degrees and was studying for my GRE. I'd settled on first choices at Goucher College and American University. I was serious about this.

In class at the Dance Center of Columbia College one day, I noticed a posting for a dance audition for the opera "Akhnaten" at Chicago Opera Theater. It fit in my schedule and, though I had really nearly given up on the prospect of doing a professional gig every again, I thought "Why not?" I had started to look at auditions as free class. How sad.

As I was dressing for the audition that morning, I made myself a pact. I told myself if I didn't get this job, then I would send my graduate applications out the next morning and make a final, clean break from this performing career that had left me so frustrated.

The audition was fun, full of friends, and I was so happy with myself for having an alternative plan that I'm sure I was dancing with more confidence than usual when being judged. We finished our last pass across the floor of heel-first pique turns, clapped for Daniel Pelzig, the choreographer who ran a great class, and I grabbed my stuff and trotted down the stairs, pleased with finally feeling like I had some purpose.

The artistic administrator of Chicago Opera Theater came running after me. "Miss Stickann, wait!" I turned at the bottom of the stairs. I thought I'd forgotten to hand him my head shot.

"Miss Stickann, Mr. Pelzig, the choreographer, would like to speak with you."

I walked carefully back up the stairs. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing up. I remember feeling less exulted at that moment and more scared. I felt like I was in trouble even though I knew that was an absurd reaction. Danny was sitting on the floor changing out of his dance sneakers. I sat down next to him on the edge of the raised dance floor and he proceeded to tell me he was in need of a dance captain and wondered if I would be interested.

It's funny how good news can sometimes seem bad or strange when thrown at you without warning. I started to question myself. I was so prepared to send in my applications that I hadn't even considered getting this job. He was looking at me with a raised eyebrow. I think my mouth was hanging open.

I said yes and it changed my life.

Not only did this man's question ultimately give me a five-year successful performing career that took me to San Diego where I met my husband while performing, and gave me my New York debut, but it also opened up my career in opera where I am currently learning and growing on an hourly basis. I am so priveleged to call Danny a friend now, but he has also been a colleague on some of the most artistically amazing and satisfying projects I've ever worked on. I am incredibly lucky, and I owe him my career.

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had gotten all the way down the stairs at that audition, walked out the door, and never heard from Daniel Pelzig or Chicago Opera Theater again. My applications would have gone in the mailbox but after that I have no answer. At this point in my understanding of my true niche in this world of the arts, I'd like to think that I would have found my way to opera and directing anyway, but I really don't know.

In a world where so often the "right path" is muddy, hard to see, and covered in brambles, I thank god for the path that presents itself clearly, without question.

Time to Go Home

My relationship with my husband right now consists of snapping open my little phone and dialing his cell phone number. After a while, conversations get harder on the phone. You need the one-on-one contact to truly express how you're feeling, to bring up new subjects, to have a real conversation.

It's time to go home. I can't be totally rootless anymore.

These are always the hardest times because the show is open and my only true work is every three days when I go to the theater to mind the show. All of that empty time can cause meltdowns which I have to work to keep from happening.

This is when I start pulling out upcoming projects to work on. I finally got my Gluck/Berlioz score from Glimmerglass so I've cracked that open, I'm working on a couple of independent projects that will hopefully manifest themselves into dance films like "Utazo," but they're in the most basic of planning stages right now.

I've also finally had the time to sit in on some more "Anna Karenina" rehearsals. I'm very excited to see it once all of the pieces have been put together, but I love watching it in the rough stages too. It's the reason I'm an artist instead of only an art supporter: the process is much more fascinating to me than the product.

Opera America is next weekend as well. I'm looking forward to that keeping me busy for a few days as well.

Busy, busy, busy. It's all about keeping busy.