Singing

Too dark to go for a walk.  So, I'm sitting here listening to traffic, rain, and sometimes, bird song.

Sang Finlandia with the Seattle Symphony at Benaroya Hall last night.  That was a kick.  Sound gets lost in the space and so you end up singing a lot louder than normal, throat a little raspy after, still, a cool experience to have the opportunity.  We sang ten songs in the lobby post-concert, not sure how it went, someone said it sounded good when you could hear it (there was a lot of ambient sound from people talking and leaving the venue.)  We're singing at another event later today, but only four songs, I think.  It's funny, I got really shaky in the lobby, not sure why that made me more nervous than anything else I've done lately (the solo show, and singing in front of that audience; or even standing up in the audience and singing in Benaroya.)

We're supposed to have a work party for the garden this morning, but it's rained half-an-inch over night, so I wonder if it will be cancelled?  Might be too muddy to put in borders.

A couple more photos, both from March 13.

Cherry Blossom, March 13/L Herlevi 2015

Glorious, March 13/L Herlevi 2015

Tired

Exhausted.  Closing in on the end of a stretch of over-scheduled days (singing tonight and tomorrow night for Sibelius-related events.)  Fortuitously came across a book on Russian culture during the 20th century, discussing the intersection of politics and art.  My new bus read, along with a volume of short plays by Chekhov.

Walked half-way to Ballard after work yesterday.  Was going to a show at 7:30 and had the time.  Sunny afternoon, walk might have added to tiredness.  Writing sometimes feels like it takes more energy than I have to give it.  Pictures are from yesterday.

Patch of light, March 12/L Herlevi 2015

New Grass, March 12/L Herlevi 2015

Bridge, March 12/L Herlevi 2015

Almost equal weight, March 12/L Herlevi 2015

Wednesday (still not Friday)

The robin started late today, almost 7 am.  Must be the rain.  Last night, a wind kicked up.  I walked down the street, the air raining petals down like snow flakes.

This is yesterday.

It was sunny, March 10/L Herlevi 2015

Photos

These are some pictures from today.  First is the sun rising through the fog in the morning.  The remainder are the result of my decision to think in b/w.  When I shot film in the past it was almost exclusively b/w, and I regularly switched my thinking between color and b/w.  I'd view the world differently, depending on what film was in my camera, but the automatic switching to see between the two started to drive me nuts.  I stopped years ago, but decided this morning to see what I would shoot if I were shooting b/w and if I would choose my subjects accordingly.  (These are digital, not film, but I almost never shoot this camera in b/w.)  These were all mid-day, very contrasty, hard shadows.

Sun rising, March 9/L Herlevi 2015

Trees, March 9/L Herlevi 2015

Shadows, March 9/L Herlevi 2015

Blooming, March 9/L Herlevi 2015

Solo Performance over

I hope to have the opportunity to perform this piece again, I might change a few things.  Still, what a lovely, creative, and courageous group of people to work with.  How lucky am I?

Day 17

I find I am lacking space.  Space for new breath, or breath at all.  Over scheduled.  Partially, it's that I'm pushing for things to change, and saying "yes" to any opportunity that might afford that.  Grabbing at the air to push forward, and maybe I should stop pushing.  The job tonight, I scheduled weeks ago, not knowing what else would fill in the rest of my days.  It's not hard, I'm just tired, and feeling like I'm isolating myself a little.  Haven't found the right amount of tension.

The solo show is tomorrow.  And it will be what it will be.  I have to work at the garden in the morning, and might do an audition, but not sure...I want to be ready.  I'm not nervous yet.  I'm sure it will hit when he gives me the signal to go on.  And sing.

It's interesting.  I've mentioned before that I was surprised this is what I wrote.  I also have been surprised by how raw this still is for me.  Catalyst was six years ago.  I had thought it was about something else (trust, maybe?), and in writing this, and making it physical, I found a different meaning.  Now it also has to do with identity and all the competing outside voices telling us who we are supposed to be (or need to be), and how we find ourselves in spite of that.  What do we listen to?  How do we trust that?  How do we drown out the voices that want to control us and keep us in our place to make their own worlds more predictable?  Someone commented that it was finding a new god:  it's the difference between fear/vengeance/compliance vs. love/acceptance as you are:  You/I don't have to be perfect first.

It's been eye-opening and cathartic.  How deep and hidden beliefs lie (things we were told that sunk in like a knife through butter lodged in without our permission), how we can automatically operate on things we didn't realize were still around and buried, like some poison leaching out and affecting everything we do or choose.  Once you know it's there, find it's source, how long does it take to change?  Or do we forget about it and rebury it in neglect?

If I write another, I'll try to write it with humor.  It can be done.

Day 15

Someone told me the time of my piece was confusing; might require a bit of a rewrite to fix, not sure if I will for this show or no, because I'm not sure how to fix it and keep the general rhythm (plus, it's memorized this way.)  The story starts 10 days in, then goes back to explain how I got there, and then moves forward 40 days.

Pictures from wandering the last few days.

Frost makes the petals fall, March 4/L Herlevi 2015

March 3/ L Herlevi 2015

Stuck in traffic, March 4/L Herlevi 2015

Shadows of trees, March 4/L Herlevi 2015

Trees, March 4/L Herlevi 2015

It is still winter, March 4/L Herlevi 2015

Day 13

Back on the wagon, more or less (drank coffee this morning.)  Definitely feel worse for having binged (wheat, sugar, dairy) all weekend.  Funny how I hadn't noticed how much better I had been feeling without them.  Good and bad, I guess.  Good that there is something in the diet; bad, that it's probably something that's been a major part of my diet.  I just don't get all that excited about putting limits on myself, but you know, if I actually feel better, that'd be a good thing.  Glad it hit after we sang, was having trouble speaking, sounding very monotone, can't imagine singing in that state.

Need to come up with a title for my solo piece...have no idea, everything sounds either trite or heavy handed.  And I need to practice this bit with a jacket...being two characters, one putting the jacket on the other.  And if I'm stumbling over the language, is that because writing doesn't translate to speaking or because I just need to practice it more?

The concert feels too soon.  Only three more rehearsals.  The voice/breathing lessons are exhausting, but I did learn a new way of singing.  It all feels a bit chaotic, waiting for the pieces to land and reset.

Things that aren't working aren't gonna suddenly change.  Caring seems to be the normal behavior.  Why try to find it where it can't/won't exist?  It's not unheard of to want people in your life to ask how you are, want to know you.  That's a normal healthy behavior.  It's not that hard.  Do I only exist to notice you?  To be here only when you need something?  Was there any worth you saw in me?  If there ever is or was, maybe you could tell me, otherwise I'd never know it.  If nothing about me is ever good enough, I can't do it anymore, it's too exhausting, soul-sucking.  I die a little every time.  When I reach out, it's empty air.  And it's me that needs to change: I need to stop holding onto the hope that today will be any different than yesterday: there is no great epiphany.  Let what I thought I knew go, and let it reset how it will.

Show review

(I split this from previous post.)

Went to "Nine" and "The Long Road," Arouet at Eclectic Theatre.  "The Long Road," by Shelagh Stephenson is a fantastic script, even though I'm not a huge fan of summary monologues at the end of plays (the actual ending is the prisoner reading the letter from the woman whose son she killed, which helps, and much of this play is in monologue, each character addressing the audience.)  The play begins with the living son describing watching the random stabbing and death of his brother (by a girl strung out on drugs), the rest of the play is how the family deals with that in their own way (the father takes up running, and then when he blows out his knee, drinking; the mother writes a letter to the killer, decides she wants to meet her; the brother wants to be recognized as still being alive, and eventually joins the mother in the visits to the prison.)  Great cast, especially Eleanor Moseley as Mary (the mother), Jared Holloway-Thomas as Joe (the brother), and Abigail Grimstad as Emma (the killer.)  My only quibble with the show was the accents, it might make sense for the parents to have wildly different accents (Irish and British upper class?) say if they were from different places, but then Joe had a cockney accent which wasn't like either parent, so didn't really make sense (though he did it well.)  It was directed by Zandi Carlson, with assistant director, Mariajose Barrera.  It's the US premier of the play.  Sadly, only 14 people in the audience last night, which is a shame.  The sidewalks leading to the theatre are blocked by construction, the signage was poor, the street dark, and it was hard to tell if theatre was actually open, all of which might add to the lack of any walk-up sales.  I had a ticket, and I had to have someone wave me in because it didn't look open.

"Nine," by Jane Shepard, I'll give credit to Colleen Carey and Cynthia Geary (Woman 1 and Woman 2, respectively) for wanting to do challenging work and making that happen.  Had a very Beckett  (as well as Jose Rivera, but more for the subject and the way it plays on stage) feel to me, heightened by the fact that it opens with the actors walking onstage, putting the chains on themselves, and then going to a blackout to begin.  Almost makes it more metaphorical (they put the chains on themselves, what would that mean, then?)  And since I haven't read the script, I was left wondering if that was in the play (which changes the meaning for me) or a director's choice (Paul Budraitis), or the constraints of the space (there was no stage curtain in the theatre, and the set for "The Long Road" was behind a make-shift non-quite-opaque curtain.) They are being held captive, and tortured, outside of the room, and chained apart from each other.  Opens with Woman 1 checking on the condition of Woman 2 who is lying, in pain, on the floor, barely moving, presumably after an interrogation and/or beating, and ends with the opposite, and with Woman 1 slowly fading to death.  I preferred each actor for different aspects, Geary had power and "beauty" in her quiet and writhing movements on the floor; and Carey, when she just let loose and let herself shout finally.  I could feel her strength and power fully embodied, she was completely engaged in it.  Also, the way she faded after her interrogation was beautifully done.  Still, during the back and forth dialogue, in the games they play to stay alive, to stave off fear, I had trouble staying engaged, and I wanted to.  I suppose sometimes the immediacy, the connection between them waned, I wanted more of it. (And this was an early performance, which a lot of the ones I see are; it will evolve as the run continues.)

Day 12 or something

(Moved the show review to a separate post.)

Got a little sunburned yesterday, and the residual food-poisoning lingers on.  Day 12 or something (of the allergy testing thing, not being sick), cheated (a lot) between the benefit event on Friday night and being out all day yesterday, the not being organized and bringing my own food, been busy, but that's still an excuse.

Worked as an extra on a film yesterday.  We were shooting out on this playground pretty much all day.  It's a good learning experience for how filming works (a lot of waiting, repetitive actions, continuity, etc...) and you meet people (turned out I'd met several of the people before), and we all got our make-up done (the make-up artists did some awesome scars and bruises on the main characters, I was looking at them thinking, "Crap, I want to learn how to do that!")  It ran late and I was thinking I was gonna miss my rehearsal time, I got offered a ride there, but I had been rubbing dirt on my clothes and hands (it was a post-apocalyptic world) and was going to a show after that, so wanted to change.)  We got stuck in traffic coming back into town, metal and glass gleaming in the sun as far as the eye could see.  An occasional puff of blue smoke rising up suddenly in the distance and then dissipating just as suddenly so you almost thought it was imagined.  Miles of this, the sun baking down (felt like summer), and then suddenly, no traffic at all.  I was only 15 minutes late, the bus from home to the studio space is pretty fast on the weekends.

Rehearsal was rough, couldn't hit the physical nor find a key to sing in.  The other group must've left early, it was empty and dark when I got there.  Allowed for me to shout and sing really loud (and sound really bad), and hopefully work through whatever blocks are there.  There were many yesterday.  It happens, better in rehearsal than on the stage (that happens, too.)

Have a gig soon.  Need to go buy some food I said I'd bring.  Cheers.