Airport Zen

So far, today has been unusually calm for a departure day. Normally, departure days are fraught with bickering and tension between me and Jeremy, a panicked, frenzied packing session during which at least one item is usually forgotten, and then a mad dash to the airport. Today, Jeremy and I simply acknowledged to each other that we were sad to be apart until Tuesday and then had a lazy, loving morning and a sweet goodbye as he left for work. After he left, I packed calmly and efficiently (hopefully not leaving anything behind this time) and then arrived at the airport in an unusually timely fashion. Then I remembered that I was flying a United Airlines flight to Chicago.

For some reason, every single time I fly United there is some sort of travel hiccup. Luggage lost, flights delayed, always something. Today, I arrived at the airport to discover that my flight was cancelled. As I try to channel my inner zen so that I don’t make myself any sicker and can continue on my path to recovery, I am looking for the silver lining. The positives? Well, I now have enough time to enjoy some airport chicken noodle soup – the best remedy for a cold, they say. I was able to buy some cheap, airport sunglasses. I have time to reflect on my last airport experience with ACB. I also now have enough time to post my blog entry for the day.

Searching for Spring

Every time Jeremy walks by a tree lately, he asks me if I think it looks like it might be sprouting buds, desperately hopeful that Spring is awakening. Thankfully, it looks like it is so here in New York. The weather has begun to change and warm a little, and the sun is shining. Unfortunately, with the beautiful weather last weekend, a little cold/sinus infection has come my way, as winter makes a last ditch effort to make its mark on me before it recedes for another nine-ish months. I should be fine for this weekend’s performances in Chicago, but it is a nuisance and adds some unnecessary stress to my weekend away nonetheless.

Being in my blocked funk and away from the blog, I am now out of the habit. In order to get the flow going again, I’m going to try one of those 30-ish day projects and blog everyday for the next month. Even if it’s just a sentence or just a picture, even if it is terrible and vapid, I will be here attempting to unclog daily until April 25^th. I’ve got a lot going on this month, so hopefully it won’t be too hard. Wish me luck.

The top photo was taken by Jeremy while on his quest for the budding trees.

Independent thinking

It has been almost three weeks since my last confession. I mean, entry.

I’ve been blocked. Not just blocked about my blogging, but blocked about everything – my taxes, my inbox, my laundry, cleaning my house, my grant applications, my singing – everything.

Traipsing through my former stomping grounds as a student and young artist the past couple of months, I have been forced to confront many artistic demons. Just like any person who dreams, I encountered some rather hurtful and harsh criticisms along with the valuable nuggets of wisdom that I gleaned during my studies, and while I had the luxury of revisiting some of what inspired me, I also revisited some of those the moments that dampened my artistic hopes at various times. Those discouraging moments quickly became many of the choice insecurities that are magnified by my inner critic/censor, that oh-so-tiny voice inside one’s head that can manage to ring loud enough to induce a flood of such depression and hopelessness that it can deafen one artistically. Normally, I can drown out that critical voice with a voice of positivity and hope so that it recedes into nothingness for the day, and so I can find the courage to take a few artistic steps forward. It is more difficult to wrestle that oh-so-tiny voice into submission when one is standing in the very rooms where the comments that have become the critic’s fodder originated or when one is standing face-to-face with one of the people who came up with one of those choice pearls of so-called wisdom. Dealing with that kind of internal negativity and hopelessness has been overwhelming despite all of the inspiration and nostalgia that came along with the experiences of being in those places.

About a year ago, I was on a break from rehearsal at Chicago Opera Theater, doing some work on The Artist’s Way, when a colleague peeked over my shoulder and asked what I was reading. I explained how it was a kind of 12-step program for artists with the goal of unblocking creativity, and he asked me if I actually thought that singing was a creative profession and if I believed that singers were actually artists. As we debated, (because, of course, I do believe both of those things to be true) he pointed out that it is really the work of the composers that is creative and that all we do is regurgitate their creations and then bow to the whims of the director or the conductor. I debated that our artform is a collaborative one – the composer, conductor, director all need us to realize their part of a vision, but we also are the ones who bring to it our hearts and minds, therefore infusing it with our own person. That is why performances of the same song or role by various singers vary so much from performer to performer. It is the singer who creates the live moment, the performance. Regardless, this mini-debate pointed out to me how much we are talked at and told what to do as singers.

We go to school and conservatory where we learn (if we are lucky) the beginnings of how to master our voice, how to pronounce and possibly speak various languages, music theory, music history, how to act, how to be on stage among so many other things. Then, as American-trained singers, we battle viciously to get into various young artist programs where we are told what to sing, what to wear, how to behave, how to sing, how to market ourselves, how to format our resumé. There is a tricky aspect to learning through this process, because while so much valuable information can be gleaned, nowhere is it taught how to think for one’s self – that is a lesson that is our responsibility for us to learn on our own, and in many ways, it has to be that way. After all, no one but you can teach you how to think for yourself. I think that those who do figure that lesson out are the ones who bear the mark of a true artist.

As my mind clears and my artist clears the block of negativity and fear that has clogged the flow of my creativity, a slowly widening ray of light is shining into my heart, and it is making me realize that the words of my inner critic are just limiting factors that hold me back from achieving my dreams. Thinking for myself means that I have to be able to truly and completely let go of the comments that don't ring true to me or that spread a wet blanket over my dreams. The more that I allow my inner critic, my mind's chief representative for what other people think, dictate my decisions and restrict the choices I make, the less risk I'll take and the less my work will flourish. The shadow that it casts is even preventing me from seeing all the dreams that have already come to fruition, and what use is it achieving your dreams if you can’t even enjoy them once they are realized?

Snowstorms in Ithaca

Tuesday, it was as if we all woke up on the wrong side of bed. Strange, grumpy moods prevailed, and there was just a bizarre energy in the air from the get-go. We attributed it to the low-pressure system that was passing through. Grey clouds ruled the sky, and then the snow began to fall. At the microphone-check (we are mic-ed in this piece to balance our voices with the folksinger) the news came that our folksinger, Tim, was on a plane that had been re-routed to Philadelphia and wouldn’t make it to Ithaca in time for the concert. After the sound check, ACB and I headed back to the hotel to grab a late lunch and iron our respective clothes. Being like the good boy scout I never was, I had brought my shirt to the concert hall just in case we didn’t have time to get back to the hotel, and thus brought it back with me in the hotel shuttle, which is where it got left. We managed to chase the shirt down just in time for me to iron it and run back to the concert hall for our pre-concert rehearsal. Our conductor, Ken, was not feeling well, feeling feverish and having an upset stomach. During the dinner-break, Ken got stranded back at the hotel, because the taxis were running very late due to the winter storm. And yet, despite all of these annoyances and distractions, the concert turned out to be an incredibly moving and special experience.

Because Tim was stranded in the city of brotherly love, Evan Chambers, the composer of The Old Burying Ground, stepped in to sing his songs, the first two songs on the concert. We stepped out to take our preliminary bows and then took our seats and watched and listened as Evan transported us out of the horrible day, storms and all, and brought to life his own musical creation. Watching him perform was inspiring – all the trials of the day were left behind, and he magnetically locked us into the present moment, in all its emotional intensity and musical glory. It inspired all of us to follow suit and do the same, Ken and the orchestra pouring focused passion into their playing, and ACB and I giving our all, as well. It made for a very exciting and special moment. The strong start that Evan gave us carried all the way through the concert – the orchestra played an incredibly passionate rendition of Mahler 5 right afterwards.

Most of my musical life, I have worked to serve many dead composers ranging from Monteverdi to Mozart to Stravinsky. Occasionally, I have had the opportunity to serve living composers, which is so wonderful to not only get to go straight to the source, so to speak, with musical questions, but also to get to know them personally. Getting to sing a composer’s music with the composer as a fellow performer is an even rarer treat. Last night was one of those magical moments, made even more special by its unexpectedness. It was moment when everything about the piece became clear in a very special way.

Tomorrow we bring our work to Carnegie Hall, which will be the exciting culmination of our tour. It’s been an incredible week, and I’ve had the best time getting to relive a little bit of my University of Michigan days with Ken, the orchestra, and Evan. All the best to my colleagues for a great performance tonight, and… (I have to say it, proud Wolverine that I am) Go Blue!

* Top photo taken by ACB experimenting with my new camera. Second photo is of the concert hall in Ithaca, and the third is the principal cellist's beautiful cello.

Inpirations, Hopes, Dreams

I should be going to bed now so that I can be somewhat well rested to catch the bus with the orchestra at 6:30am, but I am not sleepy yet.

I’ve been entranced with awards shows this week. Occasionally, while wasting time on youtube, I dare to dream a little dream and watch excerpts from the Kennedy Center Honors from years past. I did so this week, and found myself inspired. I am inspired by the work, dedication, commitment and perseverance that so many of these honorees gave to their art. To think that Beverly Sills had to audition for New York City Opera seven times in order to make her debut there, that Leon Fleisher continued to make music despite not having use of his right hand for so many years, or to think that African-American honorees such as Leontyne Price, Ruby Dee, and Ossie Davis overcame prejudice and segregation in order to become artistic leaders is awe-inspiring. It takes unimaginable tenacity to overcome such obstacles and to have such an impact on the world at large. The sum of their work is greatness, and for some reason, watching these clips this week, it dawned on me for the first time that such greatness takes years and years filled with a commitment to daily, hard work. The tributes to these people are touching, and filled my heart with awe, as they inspire the soul to aspire to greatness. Watching a Kennedy Center Honor tribute to Jessica Tandy and Hume Cronyn, I discovered this poem attributed to Apollinaire:

"Come to the edge."

"We can't. We're afraid."

"Come to the edge."

"We can't. We will fall!"

"Come to the edge."

And they came.

And he pushed them.

And they flew.

Hearing this for the first time this week, and watching these people be honored for the artistic contributions over the years, I thought to myself, “Why don’t I push myself further? Closer to the edge of my own dreams?”

Tonight’s acceptance speech by Marketa Irglova for the Oscar for Best Original Song was also something I found inspiration in. She said: “I just want to thank you so much. This is such a big deal, not only for us, but for all other independent musicians and artists that spend most of their time struggling, and this, the fact that we're standing here tonight, the fact that we're able to hold this, it's just to prove no matter how far out your dreams are, it's possible. And, you know, fair play to those who dare to dream and don't give up. And this song was written from a perspective of hope, and hope at the end of the day connects us all, no matter how different we are.”

So, it’s ok to dare to hope, and sometimes dreams do come true. And at the end of the day, the choice to do the work each day is what combines that hope and those dreams and brings them to the next level – faith.

Where does the time go?

Have you ever been in an airport and felt that time was passing like this?

Thanks to ACB who pointed out this handless clock as were making our way to the baggage claim at the airport in Cleveland yesterday.

For the forgotten items ledger, I've also discovered that I left my toothbrush and one shirt at home. I hope I brought my pants for the concert I'm about to sing in an hour...

Home to Home

While it feels like a lifetime ago, the recordings at the beginning of this week went pretty well – I found that I was able to relax and just make music. The pressure of the microphone being right in front of me added a nice adrenaline to everything and actually pushed me to give my all in every take, which turned out to be more of a fun challenge rather than a stressful nightmare.

Making music again at the University rekindled some of the musical fire within me. Almost all of my musical beginnings were there, from my childhood violin lessons, to youth orchestra and youth choir rehearsals during my teenage years, to my time as a voice major in college. I was reminded of how hungry I was to learn when I was a student there, and how I was so passionate and voracious in my quest to learn, study, and perform as many songs and concert pieces as I could. It was like I was swimming in lieder and chansons, luxuriating in the myriad of ways each composer set the texts. It was a time when I was beginning to understand the mechanics of how music worked and how much beauty and emotion it was capable of conveying, and I immersed myself in that wave of discovery. With some recitals that need to be programmed looming over my head, that refueling of the fire couldn’t come at a better time. More importantly, it was a great feeling to revisit my musical roots and be reminded of what brought me to devote my life to this art-form in the first place.

I returned from my childhood home to my adult home Tuesday, and the days at home before the tour flew by. I resumed immersing myself into my newfound New York home life, with much more success this time. I have discovered that it is vital to get myself out of the house early on, otherwise the day escapes me and I find too many items on my to-do list left undone, leaving me with a rather unpleasant feeling. The biggest drama of the week turned out to be a horrifying experience at a hair salon in Chelsea where apparently there was a miscommunication, and most of my hair was cut from my head. I’m still recovering.

The brief sojourn at the homestead ended with cooking a friend a Greek dinner for his 30^th birthday and then a frantic packing episode before rushing to meet ACB for our journey to the airport. On the plane to our first stop in Ohio, I found myself wondering exactly what it is that I left behind that I need…it turns out it was my scarf.

Microscope

How do you feel when you lean into the mirror and look really close at the skin of your face? I imagine that if most of the world is anything like me, looking closely in the mirror involves noticing every single imperfection (large pore, zit, blackhead, redness, and missed spots shaving) in the skin of your face and cringing. Then you realize you can’t cringe because that only makes matters worse.

Recording can be a lot like that – especially when recording something for public consumption. It is like examining oneself under a microscope and seeing EVERYTHING. The good, the bad, and the ugly. The most challenging thing about this is that it becomes really difficult to not monitor every single gesture, tone, rhythm, phrase, and vocalism during a session. It becomes difficult to follow the adage, “leap and the net will appear.”

Oddly enough, the net is already there thanks to modern technology. And the best part that is so easily forgotten is that if something goes wrong, we can always go back and fix it – a feat that is impossible in a live performance.

I’m looking forward to recording tomorrow. While I don’t have tons of experience doing it, the little I have has generally been a fun experience. It is recordings that really fertilized my interest in classical music when I was first discovering what it was to make music. They provided me with inspiration to become better and better and kept my dreams to be a professional musician alive. So it is exciting to be involved in a project like this – especially one in a familiar place where so many of those dreams began as well as with a new friend that I have been wanting to sing with for a while.

I-Heart-You-Day

After a fiesty farewell (why is saying goodbye always SO hard? In a way, I guess that is a good thing), my darling Jeremy bought me these to wish me a Happy Valentine's day as I whisked out the door to catch a plane to Michigan today. I feel really guilty that I had to leave for work on Valentine's Day, even though it is a holiday that I find to be a little too Hallmark-y these days. Regardless, I am so lucky to be with someone so understanding and so exceptionally sweet and loving.


I'm in Michigan for a couple of days to work on a project with the University of Michigan Symphony Orchestra and ACB, which I am very excited about. The most luxurious thing about this is that I get to spend sometime with my parents and aunt while I work here.

Art and Politics

Read this piece in the Washington Post by Leon Fleisher if you have a chance. (Via ACB at The Concert and Will over email)

Review

As I try to turn the page and begin the next chapter of my life, boldly stepping forward into my new world here in New York, I am forced, yet again, to take a trip down memory lane. The American people are in the heat of the presidential Primary, Super Tuesday has just passed, and we all look anxiously (and excitedly, in many cases) towards the future of our government, whereas our government would like me to take a look backward. I am being audited by the IRS.

Annoyance aside, as I go through all of the receipts that I held on to for dear life from that year, I am remembering various purchases and trips made. The most shocking part comes from remembering how much I paid for the large number of audition trips I made that year, and how few tangible results I ended up seeing from them. Out of 21 auditions in the US and Europe that I spent over $11,000 on planes, trains, hotels, and other travel expenses for, I received 6 offers (4 of which turned into actual work) and 1 grant. That is actually a very good rate of return, and I should even be grateful that I eventually made that money I invested back. Nonetheless, putting financial numbers to it is sobering. Aside from the one or two auditions that didn’t go well, I had a lot of “we like you” responses, but no actual bites for employment. Yet. The years have taught me that patience is a virtue (one of those 6 offers didn’t come until almost 2 years later), so I still hope. Also, it’s not like I have had any room to complain about not working yet (gratitude abounding here) – so obviously some of that investment paid off. Especially when I remember that the audition tours I took to Europe that year were my first. So, I choose to remain positive.

There are nice memories, too, like the incredible Falstaff that was my last show at HGO as a studio artist, or how I spent my first “free” summer in years, my two weeks at the Steans Institute at Ravinia making chamber music for the first time, my first gig out of the HGO Studio covering at the Lyric Opera of Chicago and starting to feel like a “grown-up” artist there, exchanging rings with Jeremy as the year drew to a close. While it was a scary year of transition, I find that I must concede that it was a really incredible year.

Now that I feel all warm and fuzzy again, I should stop procrastinating and get back to those faded receipts.

Downshifting

I was woken up this morning by the car horns blaring outside.

I did the requisite morning pages, and then Jeremy made me a welcome home breakfast, which was sweet. After, he hopped in the shower and got ready to rush off to work. I sat on the couch and began to check email, continuing the ritual I go through every day. Jeremy then gave me a quick kiss goodbye and rushed out the door for a day of coachings. I watched him go, and then proceeded to start unpacking my suitcases full of the last four months-worth of my stuff.

Then I sat down, unsure of what to do.

At the beginning of October, which feels like forever ago, I was freaked out about being away and alone for so long. My therapist told me that it would all be ok - it was just a time that I needed to focus on my work. Now, I guess, is the time my focus has to shift back to a more balanced place - to my relationship with Jeremy, to my home, to my friends in New York, to getting re-settled into this city.

Today, I am finding this shift pretty overwhelming. I find myself struggling to find the answer to the question: After being away for so long, how do I be at home?

Adieu or Until the Next Time

I am sitting in Houston Intercontinental Airport, hot, humid, and sweaty, with a stiff right shoulder from lugging about 10 pounds of carry-on luggage through the speckled-white halls of the Continental terminal. I’m a little tired from not getting quite enough sleep last night after a nice dinner with the cast after our final show last night. For the first time in over 5 years, I don’t know the next time I will be coming back down here.

After the show last night, I said some good-byes to the people who were in the audience: some guild members who have been so generous with their time and resources, Amanda – the incredible woman who has cut my hair for the last almost 6 years, as well as some of the staff at HGO who have become friends over the years. I also was greeted and congratulated by a some of the fresh-faced singers who have just arrived for the semi-finals of the Eleanor McCollum Competition – the competition from which the opera finds the singers who populate the Houston Grand Opera Studio. As I ended a chapter of my life down here, I wished these other young singers the best of luck for this week that could possibly be the beginning of a new, exciting, tumultuous, and Southern chapter for them. In a way, I felt like I saw a snapshot of myself from this time of year in 2002, nervous, excited, eager, awestruck, fiercely ambitious and full of unbelievable hope.

As is always the case as the end of any sojourn nears, I was unable to say my goodbyes to some loved ones who have become incredible and close friends over our years down here, but I take solace in my faith that I will see these people again sometime soon, either on vacation or when they visit New York. That’s the beauty of being a renewed New Yorker – people will always come to visit.

It’s been an incredible time here – as I did while I was in the Studio, I learned a great deal about stagecraft, Mozart, singing, and myself here as we tried to escape from Turkey/the Orient Express these past weeks. I consider myself so fortunate to have had this opportunity and this chance to properly say goodbye to my life for these past years in Houston.

Now, I turn the next page and begin a new chapter that begins with me returning my new home that I worked so hard to put together in September and haven’t seen for the past four months. It’s time to get settled anew and take the next steps forward. My first step will be to finally buy some curtains for our bedroom.

Miscellaneous

After the show tonight, I went out to the bar with some of my colleagues to unwind and allow the adrenaline from the show to seep from my system. Among this group of people was none other than Little Miss Bossy herself. As our conversation wandered from subject to subject, we eventually started discussing blogging, and I confessed to her that I really hadn’t felt so motivated this month to keep up the frequency of entries.

Now, at "home", unable to sleep because of the sheer volume of junky bar food that I just consumed, I find myself wondering why I have been so unmotivated. Part of it, as Miss Bossy and I were discussing this evening, is that it is easier to write about things while adventuring in Europe, because everything seems so different and interesting. It is a steep learning curve over there, simply because of the culture shock. The other difficulty is that my time here has been very challenging personally. Sometimes life seems like a spiral, in the sense that we come back constantly to the same points, but always from a slightly different vantage point. Houston is very much the place where I made the awkward transition from college student/kid to adult, and I have cringed numerous times over the past six weeks as various people and events have pulled forth the memories of the many personal stumbles I made in my effort to grow up here.

The show has been going so well – it is work that I am very proud of. The entire cast is excellent and have been incredible colleagues, and I can’t believe that we only have one show left. I feel like I am saying goodbye to Houston again, and it is surprisingly sad.

Sorry, this entry feels incredibly wandering and aimless to me. – I blame the chicken tenders from the Front Porch for my random sentimentality.

The Plague Strikes Back

And then I spoke too soon.

Right after writing how miraculous it was that we were all recovered from illness in time for opening, I woke up Friday morning feeling strange enough to spend the afternoon at the doctor’s office. I managed to start feeling better in time for the opening performance Friday evening, but then crashed back down again to the point that I had a full-blown sinus infection by the time Sunday’s matinee performance rolled around. I was so blocked up that I couldn’t really hear well out of my left ear, which made the performance an act of faith in many ways. It was the first time I had to perform ill, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. I’m not sure where the strength and energy (or the voice, for that matter) came from to perform at our second performance, but I somehow managed to find enough of all of them to step into Pedrillo’s sweet, energetic shoes for the afternoon. More than one teacher (acting and singing) has told me on more than one occasion that technique is for when you are not feeling your best – it was a a lesson learned on Sunday, and I was so grateful to have my training on my side last weekend.

The Abduction

After practically everyone at the Houston Grand Opera catching what we are lovingly referring to as “the plague” over the last three weeks, the miraculous happened at our final dress rehearsal of Entführung Tuesday evening – everyone sang.

It was so nice to have everyone back on stage and in full voice after so many absences due to illness. Somehow, singing the quartet at the end of Act II (one of my most favorite operatic ensembles ever written) is not the same experience when it is only being sung by two people. Elise, our superhero assistant director, stepped in for practically every character at some point last week. The most amazing thing was that Elise knew practically every bit of the German dialogue by heart and was able to lipsync in all the ensembles – it was like watching a one-man version of The Abduction from the Seraglio.

This, just like any good working experience, has been a really great journey. Pedrillo, while he doesn’t present the vocal challenges that Lindoro does, is dramatically one of the most challenging characters I have come across in a while. Comedy is difficult in that it requires virtuosic specificity in terms of dramatic beats and timing while still being able to stay in the moment. I’ve learned a lot over the past couple of weeks, and I am really starting to have fun getting to step into Pedrillo’s shoes for each rehearsal.

When I was in the Studio here not so long ago, it was stressed to us repeatedly that we needed to show up properly prepared for the first day of rehearsal, for a variety of reasons. What I’ve come to realize over the past couple of weeks is that I mistook “prepared” for “perfection”, which resulted in a lot of impatience and frustration with myself early on in the rehearsal process here as I tried to learn to do things like make a martini and sing in rhythm at the same time. Luckily, hearing Elise repeat to me over and over, “this is what rehearsal is for” helped me figure that out.

To my wonderful and incredible colleagues, toi, toi, toi for a fantastic and fun opening tomorrow and thanks for such a great time these past few weeks.

Jim

In 1994, around this time of year, I had just turned 15 years old and was about to take my first audition as a singer for the Greenhills School spring musical - The Music Man. My parents dropped me off at the school at around 6:00pm for the auditions, and I spent the evening in the school lunchroom and lecture hall staring at the white bricks while I anxiously waited for my turn to sing sixteen bars of “76 Trombones” and some excerpts of the top tenor lines in the barbershop quartet music from The Music Man. There were two people hearing and casting us that night. One was the school’s choir director, Wendy, and the other was a lively man with a slightly raspy voice, short-cropped, spiky gray hair with a thin pony tail in back, glasses, a handle-bar mustache, and an infectious laugh – our theater director, Jim Posante.

Little did I know it at the time, but that evening of my knees shaking in the Greenhills lunchroom marked the beginning of my journey as a singer and shaped the entire trajectory of my life ever since. Jim decided to cast me as Jacey Squires in the Music Man’s barbershop quartet that spring, and I found my calling. It was with Jim that I learned what it took to transform a gymnasium into a theater, the basics of how to be on stage, what a thrill it was to step into the shoes of another character for the first time, and the exciting rush of singing under stage lights and in front of an audience full of people. It was with Jim that I found that I had a voice, and that I could do something with that gift.

Jim was more than a teacher or a director to me, though. It was through him that the theater kids in whom he nurtured the drama bug found a community and a niche. He is actually responsible, by drafting all of us to take part in the school’s theatrical productions, for helping me find the group of friends from my youth in Ann Arbor who have seen me through my hardest times, and that I consider to be practically family today. He was also the first out gay man that I got to know on a personal level and was a huge support for me as I took my own first steps out of the closet 13 years ago. Even after graduating from Greenhills, Jim was someone I counted on for support - he supported me while I was in college struggling to come out to my parents, and he continued to support me and cheer me on as I made the scary transition from college voice student to professional singer. We could always talk about anything, and I knew that in him I would always have a willing and helpful ear to bounce things off of.

Saturday, as I was in the middle of doing some yoga, warming up physically for the day’s rehearsal, I received a call that Jim was in critical condition after suffering from a massive stroke in the morning. He passed away at around 8:30 Sunday morning.

I’ve discovered that one of the hardest things about this operatic life on the road is that so often I can’t be there for the milestones of my loved ones – both the happy ones and the sad. So, I resort to saying goodbye here. Thank you, Jim, for helping me find both myself and my passion. You were a great guide and teacher, and an even better friend. I can’t help but think of you constantly as I spend most of this week in the theater, where you taught me so much about both the stage and life. Words can't express just how much you will be missed nor how much you were loved and valued.

Back to School

I rang in my 29^th year yesterday very quietly, as I had rehearsals to think about both yesterday and today on top of being partied out from Christmas and New Year’s, as I always am around this time of year. As I near 30, I am well aware that many people my age are well into the workforce and well out of school-mode. Regardless, among my closest friends who are non-singers, I am one of the only one of us out of school and not trying to finish a second or third degree.

It is an odd sensation, therefore, to be back working in the place where I spent my “final” three years of training. I am a total believer in the idea that we never stop learning, especially as professional artists – there is always another level of things to discover. Still, I notice that I have the distinct desire to hear feedback about how much I have improved and how wonderful I am from these people from whom I learned so many of the tools that I have tried to perfect since leaving here. I find it is extra difficult to fight down my ego because of that expectation and desire, and it is proving to be quite the mental challenge when it comes to my work. I get flustered more easily, and it is harder to focus on the task at hand sometimes. There is something about returning to the place where I cut my operatic teeth that makes me search for a level of approval that I wouldn’t necessarily look for elsewhere. I think it has something to do with the fact that apprenticeships are about planning for the future as much as they are about honing one’s craft. The reality is that when it comes down to it, this is a job, just like any other, and it is the task at hand that is the priority – not my development and career trajectory. It makes me wonder how much more I would have learned as a Studio artist here had I not been so focused on the future and gave more of my attention to the tasks that were at hand then.

America the Beautiful

Having spent so much time away from the United States recently, I was really excited to come home for the holiday season and the New Year. During my first travels abroad for work, I used to feel as if I needed to apologize being an American in social settings. I felt that I needed to explain that I was not responsible for the political situation in my country to the many people who would ask me to explain what they perceived as a mess here. As I have traveled a bit more over these past few years and spent more time in Europe, I have come to appreciate the positive aspects of being an American. People would often ask me if I was interested in moving over to Europe, and I have even had a couple of opportunities to consider it professionally - it has been an idea that I have toyed with quite seriously for some time now. While I love working over there with all my heart, and I really enjoy spending significant portions of time over there, I always come back to the fact that I love living in the United States and that I am actually quite proud to be an American. As a result, it is always so exciting to come home after long stretches away - it allows my appreciation to grow.

It also makes it this much harder to come back to the harsh realities that are not so pleasant about America today. Two things have stuck out to me as rather upsetting in the political/media sphere upon my return. The first was this editorial in the New York Times on New Year's Eve. I am heartened to see that people in the mainstream media are talking about the events of recent years in such frank terms, but I also wonder why we weren't speaking in such frank terms (in our land of free speech) earlier on. There is also part of me that fears that this is all falling on deaf ears. The other item is the recent events in Oregon regarding their new domestic partnership laws that were to go into effect on Tuesday. The news that came on New Year's Eve that the new laws in Oregon were put on hold was just another reminder that people like me are second class citizens in the place that I call home. If this is the land of the free, why am I still denied such basic civil rights?

Happy New Year 2008

Again, time seems like it is flying – it is the eve of 2008 – yet another event of the holiday season that has apparently come flying out of nowhere.

The turn of the year seems like it would be a natural time to take a moment to take stock and recap the events of the last twelve months, but with the pace that life has taken lately, it seems that I will have to press the pause button on life for the moment in order to review – something which I would like to do.

My highlights of 2007 were:

- The feeling of homecoming after moving (back) to New York and falling in love with our new place

- The satisfaction and pride of meeting the challenge that Lindoro posed and learning a great deal from him

- The sense of feeling changed after my three-month sojourn in France

- The excitement of seeing two of my best friends enter the world of parenthood and welcoming their beautiful daughter into the world

- The fun and sense of teamwork while working with the group in Chicago on Il ritorno d’Ulisse

- The joy and inspiration of my first summer at the Marlboro Music Festival

- The relief and excitement of buying my new Sony Vaio laptop

- The thrill of sinking my teeth into Jonathan in Saul for the first time

- The love and emotional warmth of getting to spend a wonderful (albeit too short) Christmas with my family and loved ones in Ann Arbor

Overall, it feels like it was a year of quiet growth and transition. The process of deciding to move to New York took up much of it along with a steady stream of interesting work and some intense challenges at the end. There was so much to be grateful for, and in 2008 there is so much to look forward to.

All the best to everyone for much happiness, health and fulfillment in 2008!