Stuck Inside

It's an unexpected day off but it's been raining all morning, that slow, sad drizzle that takes all the life out of morning energy and promise. The edge of the horizon is ringed with black so I see no end in site. Alas no bike ride, no stroll to the laundromat, no neighborhood saunter with camera in hand...

Instead I'm going back through my many obsessive projects and taking stock. I started Daniel Mark Epstein's biography of Edna St. Vincent Millay, "What Lips My Lips Have Kissed" this morning. Being in Upstate New York, it seemed the perfect time and place to dive back into my consistently thwarted ESt.VM project. I was reading Nancy Milford's beautifully penned biography last year and so it seems we've come full circle.

My mother has also made progress on some research about my grandfather, another outside source of interest for my own writing and creative work, so I may dive into that a bit as well.
Even as I child I was never capable of getting bored.

I think I may make myself a juicy caprese salad and read a bit more....

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.

Off

My confidence was totally shaken today.

I'm not sure why. I think I woke up this way: a little shaky, tired and emotionally under the weather. I didn't sleep well the night before, then sat in my little wooden chair in the wrestling gymnasium at Richfield Springs Central School, watching the singers work their butts off and I started to feel relatively useless.

It's funny how you can work and work and focus and work, spouting out the ideas, jumping on placement requests and noticing every little things, and then you have one day in a fog and suddenly all of your work feels null.... I couldn't seem to wrap my head around anything that was going on. I felt like I was a step behind everyone else and was at a loss when asked my opinion.

I was opinion-less, which really isn't like me at all.

It's days like these when I feel like an absolute fraud in everything I do. We had a lunch meeting today and I sat through it fidgeting, wishing I could go home, get in my bed, sleep, and wake up again to start over at the moment I folded back my orange corduroy comforter and sat up in this fog of second-guessing .

I'm blaming everything on lack of sleep.

Went out to dinner with my roommate and took a walk around Cooperstown, which was a welcome respite from thinking about work and life away from home entirely too much. Things will be better in the morning..

Don't Look Back

Since mentioning it in my blog, a couple people have asked me about the Orpheus myth. I have to say, it surprises me a little. I've known about Orpheus as long as I can remember. New York City Ballet's symbol was Orpheus' lyre for a long time, and I loved pictures of various dancers in the strange bulbous costumes, telling the story of the tragic musician.

So, for those of you who aren't familiar with it, following is my rendition of the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice.

Orpheus was the son of a mortal and the muse, Calliope. He was a gifted musician who was given a lyre by the god, Apollo, and he enchanted people with his incredible singing and playing. He rode with the Argonauts as a musician so that his soothing music would calm the sirens while they were at sea. He was that good..

Orpheus fell in love with a woman named Eurydice. On the day of the their marriage, she was walking with her bridemaids and was bit on the foot by a viper, killing her instantly. Orpheus was grief-stricken and felt like he couldn't go on without her. He pleaded with the gods of the Underworld to let him into hell so that he could bring back his wife.

By playing his lyre and singing beautifully, the Furies let him past the gates of hell and he implored to Pluto to let Eurydice live. Pluto, like everyone else, was enchanted by Orpheus' exceptional musicianship and agreed to let him have Eurydice again - on one condition. He must walk in front of Eurydice as they climb the path out of hell and MUST NOT look at her until they are back on earth or she will again fall dead, never to be returned.

Orpheus agreed and he and Eurydice began their path back to earth. About half way along the path, Orpheus doubted his faith, scared that Eurydice, who was painfully quiet, was no longer behind him. He turned to make sure she was there and the moment he laid eyes on her, she fell dead before him, never to return to earth.

Terrifying.

Now, Gluck's version (of which we are doing the Berlioz version, rewritten in the 1800's for a French audience), has a happy ending, which is common in the age which it was written (the Age of Enlightenment). In this version, written through a Christian lens, the god of love sees Orpheus weeping after he kills Eurydice a second time, and the god is so touched that he brings Eurydice back to life for Orpheus, feeling that he'd suffered enough.

Personally, I like the sad ending. It packs more of a moral punch and gives us more to think about in the midst of our shock and weeping.

And that's the end of my story for now.

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.

Passages

Rehearsals started today for the Gluck/Berlioz "Orphee" in Richfield Springs, New York. I've had incredible housing luck here this year. I am exactly two blocks away from the rehearsal hall. So, while many people have to drive upwards of half an hour to get to staging rehearsals, I left my house at 9:25 to get there by 9:30.

We're rehearsing in a school that is still in session. We're sequestered to a gym in the back of the behemoth of a building. It's a little echo-y, a little stuffy and has some noisy fans and loud, jarring tones that sound through the p.a. system every 40 or so minutes to announce the end of a period, but it's a sunny room with plenty of room for all of us as well as a few set pieces and a giant table of props, so I'm not complaining.

This is a small show in comparison to most that I've worked on. We have three principal characters and one soloist plus two dancers and 22 chorus members. The run time is not even two hours and the set is relatively simple in its changes and footprint. Despite, it's got some tough ideas rolling around inside of it and we began exploring those today.

Lillian, the director, was talking today about the fact that the Orpheus myth is about how we deal with death (untimely death especially) and the ideas of resurrection and redemption, as well as a play between the ideas that art conquers all (even death) and art is futile. These aren't little ideas, especially that realization of our mortality. Yesterday she gave a terrific speech to the cast and crew about the big ideas behind this show. When we got to the Gates of Hades, she described the feeling behind the Furies as "that moment at 4 in the morning when you wake up in terror because you realize you're going to die." She asked, rhetorically, if anyone had ever woken up with that realization and felt the terror that goes along with it. You could see faces in the crowd that knew; I recognized them as my own.

It's those moments when I wake up in the night, fearful of my fate, when I understand why people embrace religion. It's that moment of waking up, sweaty and shaking, out of a nightmare when you understand how the Orpheus myth has persisted for so long. Wouldn't we all like to be able to pull lost loved ones out of the abyss just by performing beautifully. The sadness is that we all have at least one flaw that makes us human enough to disallow passage to wherever souls end up...terrifying thoughts.

Death scares the hell out of me. Not all the time, mind you. I spend my days trying to continually make my life worth living. To me it's the only way to make it all okay. This doesn't stop me from lying awake sometimes and wondering where it all goes. How all of the hard work, sweat, laughter, sex, crying, triumph, chatter and tension could just disappear into the ether at the whims of the universe.

I have a feeling that an entire summer of being surrounded by retellings of the Orpheus myth, the ultimate story of death, mourning and afterlife, is going to keep this issue in the open. What a strange three months this will be.

Back in the Sticks

This was me this afternoon on the floor of the Delta Terminal at JFK International Airport. My Balducci's dinner as people stepped over me to crowd into their numerous commuter flights all leaving out of the same gate.

I've never seen so much mayhem. Thank god I had a good book and my Pom Blackberry Tea and a little Caprese...

Though it did get worse. I was on the smallest prop plane in the history of commercial prop planes, and after landing in Albany, I found out that they removed one of my bags from the hold for weight restrictions. As of right now at 11:32 in the evening, they cannot find said bag and I have no underwear, one pair of pants a few t-shirts and some flip flops to wear to my first day on the job (no deoderant, no toothpaste...) Delta airlines was all very nonchalant about the whole thing as if this happens all the time. They told me that bags get removed all the time without the customer being told and it would probably show up on the next flight from JFK in five hours . . . "we'll bring it to you."

Cold comfort when I have nothing to change into and no tennis shoes (and no underwear for god sakes). Ah well, it's the price you pay for air travel. This isn't the first time my bags have been lost to the black hole of checked luggage. Wanna take bets on how long it will take to recover?

So, the picture above is where I was yesterday. With my husband on Coronado Island, enjoying a birthday dinner at Peohe's. This pic was taken with my brand new camera - a gift from John. It was the most perfect day; a great way to end a month together. I see him again in six weeks.

Okay. Bed. More on my crazy old-fashioned house and life in Richfield Springs soon. (This year I have high speed internet in my HOUSE and can WALK to a convenience store!!!)

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.

Half of Me..

I just boxed up part of my life and entrusted it to UPS for a week. It should arrive in Cooperstown on Tuesday and as soon as I open it up I'll be a little more at home in a foreign land. Every time I send a package off into the ether, I worry that it will never reappear. I track it obsessively.

I think because of my small trip to the UPS Store, I was in a terrible mood the rest of the day. I snapped at John and shuffled around grumbling to myself.

Acutally, now that I think about it, I had other reasons to be in a terrible mood. I woke up and stepped off the side of the bed onto a pair of jeans I'd left on the ground, which is not the bad part. It seems that Lucius didn't quite make it to the litterbox last night. Immediately after, I realized as he climbed onto the couch that he's terrible at hygiene generally...

I love my cat, but he seems to have a knack for making me worry or curse to myself. I try to laugh myself out of it by giving him nicknames like "poo tail" but deep down it immediately puts me on edge about his health.

I'm trying to enjoy my last few days with John before I leave, but nerves and stress seems to keep getting in the way.

Biding Time..

It's the beginning of Memorial Day Weekend and I am NOT in Terre Haute, Indiana, at my family's huge annual reunion. I will NOT be waking up at 5am to pile into a van and caravan to Speedway, Indiana, to sit in the stands at the Indianapolis 500, eat burgers and drink sweet tea, cheer for Danica Patrick and watch the policeman stand on the seat of his motorcycle as it careens through the pits. No looking through binoculars at the checkered flag waving madly or wandering through the muggy caverns beneath Tower Terrace as the cement shakes from the power of 33 cars racing by at 200 mph. I'll miss my cousin's dogs romping through the halls of the Holiday Inn, a double wedding shower for two cousins (also sisters) getting married and hours of watching rugrats romping in the Holidome, their little feet slapping the wet tile as they run to grab on to their mothers.

It's okay. I'm spending the weekend with my husband, with whom I have one more week before I fly away to Upstate New York for a summer at Glimmerglass Opera. He and I have been spending as much time as we can muster together. I've even gone so far as to volunteer my services to him as he conducts interviews for a show about the Old Globe Theater's Summer Shakespeare Festival. The television station he works for is relatively understaffed right now so I like to help where I can, hooking up cameras, unrolling cords, putting together laveliere mics. It's fun to watch John work and even more fun to work with him. The picture above is a small break from our last day of interviews. John is thinking about a lighting problem while I relax against the wall. Lighting is not my forte.

I went to my second dance class this morning. Again with Jean Isaacs. I owe her a debt for getting my butt up and moving. Today I felt much better. I made it through the entire class with no qualms at all and, because I'd done all of the phrases on Tuesday, I could cycle my body easily through the movement without my muscle memory giving way to crazy improvisational seizures. And after it all, I still felt sweaty and energized, my shirt soaked and my face flushed and prickly. I'll be back next Tuesday.

Class was followed by a trip to Office Depot to buy supplies for "Orphee" and a box to send some stuff ahead to Cooperstown. As much as I'm trying to delay my inevitable departure in my mind, it is still coming with great speed and I am forced to address it. The big box sitting in the middle of the living room is now a consistent reminder that I will be separating myself from this little family of mine again.

The cats are curious about the box but don't seem to care much about my impending exit in the least. (As long as they still get fed you know..)

The roses that John gave me last week are starting to wilt and dry. Nothing stays perfect forever.

Hooray 10,000!

So, sometime in the last two days I surpassed 10,000 hits. I just had to do a little happy dance and acknowledge this fact on my blog.

It's nice to be well-read.

And in a reflection of nothing at all, here's a little clip of the climax of "Anna Karenina" at Florida Grand Opera. I'm still not convinced by the "train" special effect in this moment, but Kelly Kaduce is FANTASTIC in the role. She is truly an artist to be reckoned with...

Back to the Future

Endorphins do a body good.

I took dance class for the first time in months last night. It was a struggle to get myself there. I got within a half an hour of class and already had my dance clothes on, but I just sat in the bed thinking about how much I wasn't going to be able to do and how sore I was going to be... Routine is hard to get into.

John was instrumental in getting me there, as was Jean Isaacs who offered the class to me as her guest when I talked to her at her lovely retirement party the other day. It was my feeling of obligation to honor her invitation coupled with John pulling me out of the bedroom that ultimately got me into the car.

Laden with a filled Nalgene water bottle, legwarmers and some Tiger Balm, I drove to Dance Place San Diego in Liberty Station (the refurbished Naval Training Center in Point Loma). The building is very nice, clean, bright. So much nicer than anything I rehearsed in when I was actually doing this for a living. Jean was very happy to see me and I was a bit of a nervous wreck. Every time I walk into a dance studio my former baggage comes flooding back. This life that I wallowed in for a good part of my young life left a lot of scars that burn brightly whenever I'm in the vicinity of dancing and dancers.

Class was great but I was exhausted. I forced myself to remain upright through the whole thing. I had a headache and was remotely dizzy. I was shaking every time I stood on one leg. My pick up and muscle memory was out of practice. I couldn't get simple combinations of movement in my head and blindly followed the young college student in front of me to complete the phrase. I felt a mess.

Jean was complimentary and I told her I'd come back on Saturday, but I felt totally whipped in every way. I stretched out briefly afterwards, then stumbled out to the car and drove home. My eyelids were heavy, my thighs were shaking, sweat was rolling droplet after droplet down the small of my back.

Funny thing was, I couldn't get to sleep. Once I'd dried off and relaxed a bit I was totally energized. I woke up early this morning. I fit into my skinny jeans (more than likely sweated off some water weight in class), and felt much better running my errands this morning than usual. This is a routine I MUST keep up. The traveling makes it difficult though. There's no dance in Cooperstown, NY. There's no time for class in NYC. How can I supplement dance class with other forms of exercise?

Jean tells me that I'll be back into shape if I can just get into five more classes. I know she's right. I know I'd feel better - today is a perfect example of what adrenalin and endorphins (and a little sweat and accomplishment) can do to a psyche - but the hard part is continuing to convince myself of that when no one is standing next to me.

We'll see how it goes.

I leave for Cooperstown in a week and a half. Everything I do now revolves around prepping for my next opera. That includes finding ways to up my energy level... I will be in class on Saturday morning.

Cats Have it Easy. . .

. . .except for maybe Lucius, my aging white cat. He has a rogue claw (only one) that grows in a rapid circle and digs itself into the pad of his front paw. After five months of being away, it had stubbornly implanted itself in his little pad and I took him to the vet this morning to have it extracted.

He's doing fine but after spending any time with Lucius one gets the idea that he lives in a low-grade state of misery at all times. He's a little bit tired, a little bit gaseous, a little bit ornery and he can't stand our other cats, which makes him skittish and pissy whenever they're in the same room.

This isn't the same cat I knew a few years ago. His cardiomyopathy has changed him and I think the stress of my life over the past few years has wreaked a little havoc as well.

I know it's wreaked havoc on me.

Monty is the cat in the picture. He's our most well adjusted. He loves anyone who comes around him, sleeps all day, purrs uncontrollably when pet. Somedays I wake up and get ready for my day, look over at him and wish I were him. He's not very bright but, as John says, "how smart does he really need to be?"

He may be the only one in the house without baggage.

It's Been a While...

So it's been over a week...I know

I got home last Monday and have been decompressing for the past week.

I went to a beach party, saw "Nozze Di Figaro" at San Diego Opera, walked to Twiggs for coffee with John several times (and once to "Mystic Mocha"), ate at Brian's American Eatery and Mandarin Dynasty (after trying to eat at P.F.Changs only to be told we would have to wait for an hour and a half).

I cleaned house, put away my stuff, did my laundry and went grocery shopping.

I got "The Portable Dorothy Parker" as an early birthday present, planned a dinner party, emailed a thousand people, planned a trip to L.A. and laid around with my cats. A lot.

I sorted out all of my books and uploaded a thousand and one pictures to Flickr.

I went to the dentist and found out that there's absolutely nothing wrong with my teeth that a good cleaning won't take care of. I spent hours and hours translating Gluck's "Orfee et Eurydice," and I'm still not done.

I made a hair appointment.

I finally saw "Blood Diamond" and liked it very much. I forgot that Leo DiCaprio is actually a good actor, and I forgot that Djimon Hounsou blows everyone around him out of the water every time.

I watched a backlog of John's "San Diego Opera Spotlights," and wished very much that I'd been around to see "Wozzeck."

I've been basking in being home. In being with John and the cats. Three more weeks and then off to Cooperstown.

I'll be writing more. I'm replenished now.

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.

Nice Mention

Had a very complimentary mention in a South Florida blog called Stuck on the Palmetto yesterday. This seems to be a popular local blog that pushes for community support and pride but makes no bones about Miami's issues.

It's nice to be recognized.

Right now I'm sipping coffee, staring at my phone, knowing that I should pick it up and make the obligatory phone calls that have been on my "to-do" list for several days. What I really want to do is curl up on the rattan couch with my book. I've gone outside several times to check on the status of the laundry room (I think I'm fifth in line) and it's going to be nasty-hot today.

I can't wait to be home.

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.

A Little Hope for the Future

So I'm waiting for the Metromover in downtown Miami, on my way to the cover run of "Anna Karenina," which went very, very well. I'm sitting on the bench, reading the book I just cracked open: "Nero" by Edward Champlin. I'm hoping it will give me some insight into these characters I'll be staging in New York in the fall.

Next to me are two little girls - maybe 13 or 14 years old. African-American, dressed in hand-me-downs, shoveling in fries and milkshakes from McDonalds and shouting relatively unintelligable slang back and forth to each other. They were stereotypes sitting next to me, and I hate to say that but I glanced at them once and then hardly paid them any mind, engrossed in my book. I guess indicative of our polarized world.

About two minutes into my time at the stop, one of the girls tugged on my shirt. I turned towards her little pigtailed face, not sure what the issue was and she asked me, "Hey, what's your book about?"

I told her it was about Nero Caesar, the last Caesar and a Roman Emporer who was crazy and burned down his city before committing suicide. "A terrible, unhappy man from a couple of thousand years ago."

The other girl's eyes lit up. "That's what I said!" she yelled, smacking her friend. "We're studying Rome in school and I remembered his name!" She was so excited and both girls started peppering me with questions about Nero and his family. "Did he really kill his family? Why did he burn down Rome? Why did the Romans let him get away with all that? He killed his wife too? That man was CRAZY!"

And so I had a great little conversation about Nero and Rome and how society lets such awful people come to power. They got on their train as it pulled up and I wanted to continue the conversation. "Bye," they waved, wiping french fry grease on their stained stretch pants and shuffling along in their flip-flops.

Inspiration and spark comes from the most unlikely places.

I had hope for the future of our society for the first time in a while sitting at a train station in downtown Miami. Who would've thought?

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.