I was updating my résumé and this photo was in my folder of production photos. It very well may be the last bit of tangible evidence of Sam in my life; I’ve gotten rid of everything else: “Cherries,” “Elegy,” “Sonnet,” “if strangers meet,” the e-mails, the earrings, the crêpe pan, the greeting cards, the postcards from New York, the photographs from Italy, the books he gave me one year for Christmas.
I remember that moment so clearly: we were in Berlin trying to find the radio tower and I wanted to kiss him in the platz. So, I did. And took a picture of it. He was in the middle of arguing with Owen at that moment. I remember being really, really happy— and so freely, capaciously in love (because you can be that way the first time you really fall in love).
It seems so ludicrous to me now that I truly believed I could pretend everything never happened. I laugh at myself when I think of how passionately and ardently I tried to remove you from my memory. And just when I thought I had blurred you into indifference, I closed my eyes and conjured up the sight of your green, green eyes and the way they used to look at me. And I think of what a fool I am, what a fool I was, what a fool I will always be.
After great pain a formal feeling comes—
The nerves sit ceremonious like tombs;
The stiff Heart questions—was it He that bore?
And yesterday—or centuries before?
The feet, mechanical, go round
A wooden way
Of ground, or air, or ought,
Regardless grown,
A quartz contentment, like a stone.
This is the hour of lead
Remembered if outlived,
As freezing persons recollect the snow—
First chill, then stupor, then the letting go.
On trying to cultivate a relationship:
I am out of energy, so I am putting this project on hold indefinitely. Finding people isn’t hard - selecting a person who is compatible with me and also likes me… that’s hard.
It’s fun to have flings, but I want something more meaningful. Something with truth and dignity.
This is going to be pretty boring.
I was listening to Kirsten Flagstad sing some Strauss this weekend. I never really listened to a lot of Wagnerian voices, but I’ve been fascinated with these 19th and early 20th century ladies recently. Between Kirsten and Birgit and Lilli and Astrid (and I’ll just go ahead and lump Régine in there, too), I keep hearing a pointiness in their sound.
Not an edginess, mind you. Nothing metallic or steely. Just a very intense, very small focus.
I think this is how it works for bigger, darker instruments. We have to focus our sounds into small laser-like foci in order to make any sense of what we’re doing. And it’s a mental focus. It’s very Tyra Banks: you have to smizein order to properly sing.
Not that I’m a Wagnerian voice or anything, but I have struggled with the size of my voice for the past few months. I have a number of colleagues who are soubrettes, light lyrics, and coloraturas, and they are getting roles ready, singing the firework arias of their fachs, and picking out YAPs. The baritones and I are just sort of waiting for things to vocally settle down and shake out into something sort of reliable.
I am singing for Peter Sellers (yeah,thatPeter Sellers) and Matthew Horner (one of the main agents for classical music at IMG) this week. I’m not really sure how to handle this. I keep trying to run away from a performing career for a number of reasons (but mostly because I honestly don’t think I have the chops for it), but these opportunities keep dropping in my lap. I still have a few years of school left no matter what, but it’s hard to reconcile what I think I want (which is influenced by my self-confidence and my appraisal of my ability) with what is actually happening.
The future is neither here nor there at the present moment. The word of the week (or, rather, of the forseeable future) is focus. I need to sing with more of it. I need to put even more of it into my singing. I can finally admit that I don’t know exactly what I want out of the next few years, but I do want to cultivate a healthy singing technique no matter where my career takes me.
In other news:
- I’m going to Furman’s graduation to see my sister walk. This is insane - I can’t believe she’s graduating. I am positively vibrating with Big Sister Pride.
- I get to see Drew this weekend. I am too excited to say anything profound. I’ll try again later.
- I really need to do laundry.
- I knitted (knat?) a hat in two days.
- My room is kind of a mess.
- I am out of things to write.
- But today is leg day.
- And for that I am grateful.
talesfromtheroof asked: 9, 19, 20
9. Best first date. I would say Tyler, I think. We got drinks at Rey’s, walked down to the Reedy River Bridge, and he kissed me in front of God and everyone with the waterfall in the background. It wasn’t awkward - just fun.
19. What I’m listening to right now. Le Nozze di Figaro with Schwarzkopf and Moffo. I’m at the Act II finale.
20. What I notice first in another person. In order: height, dental condition, vocabulary.
Oh, hai
Just found out I’m watching a rehearsal ofThe Makropulos Case this Friday at the Met. And Karita Mattila is singing Emilia.
Next Friday? Checking out aBilly Buddrehearsal. With Nathan Gunn.
What in the world.
But let them sleepe, Lord, and me mourn a space;
A friend and colleague of mine passed away on Saturday evening. He was twenty-three years old, a master’s student at CCM, and a nearly inordinately talented baritone. He was ambitious and creative and a truly collegial professional.
He went to Indiana to hear a friend’s recital and was speeding to get back to rehearsal. It was raining - raining hard - and it appears he lost control of the car, hydroplaned into the other lane, and was jackknifed by another car. The other driver - a thirty-five-year-old woman - is fine aside from a few contusions and broken bones; they think my friend died instantly.
It is unfair and completely shitty that a young man with so much promise has died. I don’t totally know how to make sense out of this other than to think of him with fondness, cry when I want to — just to mourn, I suppose.
Quick change of plans:
I think I’m going to get an AD next. DMA is on hold for the time being.
Also, I’m doing the Met competition.
I’ve completely forgotten
how to have a functional relationship. No, seriously, though. Interacting with menfolk is such a strange enterprise.
Hi, my name is herp derrrrrrrp hurrrrrrrrrrrrrr
No, but really, I can’t remember how this works. Well, not so much the relationship part, but the initiation of one. Do you just say to someone, “Hi. I know I’m a little weird, but so are you and I feel like our brands of weirds are compatible. I would like to kiss you and only you, support you in your endeavors and invite you to support me in mine, and generally take a keen interest in your life for the foreseeable future until one of us changes our minds about it. Bottom line: let’s be friends, but also naked, too.” Is that how you do it? I can’t remember what I did last time.
The only reason this seems complicated to me is because I hate hate hate talking about how I feel in situations like this. I would much rather have a root canal. I dislike putting myself out there (but I suppose everyone does, right?). I don’t want to get rejected, but no one ever wants to get rejected.
So, maybe it’s not that complicated: either I say something (HAI I LIKE U LOL) or I don’t. I’m just not into the mood for another Reid debacle. Not in the mood.
About
Just another classical singer making her way to the top of the fitness food chain.
In the interest of shameless self-promotion (or in case you're curious about my misadventures in professional classical singing), go here for more information.
