Closed and Open

Last night was the last performance of The Light in the Piazza and and coincidently, like Carousel, I have a business trip following the show leaving me little time to take in the fact that it’s over.  The fact that we also got a new puppy last week, makes my reflection time all but non-existent.  It may sink in over several, prolonged days as I process all that I experienced.  I’m sad to be leaving Margaret so quickly as I’m just getting to really know her.  I’m observing the dynamic between me and Jen (who played Clara) which had me thinking what might have been to have a daughter of my own and thus had me thinking about my own mother.  Last night, during Fable, I allowed myself to think of my mom and about all that she did for me so that I could get to this point.  It was nice to let go and let the emotions out for everyone to see.  It was a tribute to mom and a loving nod to this beautiful score and script.  It is another gem in my life that I will hold tightly to me and to keep in a safe place in my heart, so grateful to have had it again; grateful for how the experience scared me, challenged me, and then gifted me so profoundly. 

The week after my business trip, the audition process will begin again (I have one for Guys and Dolls).  But for today, I will reflect.

Reflecting at the halfway point

I stand silently backstage.  Clara and Fabrizio (Jen and Franco) are on the stage singing “Say it Somehow” and I’m waiting in the wings for my final entrance for the last chord of Act I when I catch them together.  All is quiet as the other cast members are downstairs, done for the Act.  The stage manager is still in the other wing and I find, in a rare moment, that I am standing still and alone.  I look at the black curtain and the light shining off the stage.  I close my eyes and take a deep breath and feel grateful that I get to do what I love because this is the best part of me.  I think back through the years, to my younger days, to my mother and grandmother’s supporting and encouraging words, back to the time on the stage where I first took flight and I say a silent a “thank you” to them and to all of it.

This past weekend, we finished our 5th show, with only three more to go, we are just past the halfway point and I can hardly believe we are this far already.  All I can say is that I’ve barely had time to reflect, for when Piazza is going, it goes –  like a swimmingly poignant and beautiful, high-speed train and I find myself on full throttle, running up the stairs, down the stairs, on the stage, backstage for quick changes and on again.  It’s so different from Carousel in that I don’t have time to really take it in.  It’s the best exercise in “living in the moment” that I’ve had so far with a show run.  I can only really experience this show when I’m fully present at all times.  If I forget to do that, it becomes this blur (although thrilling blur) that I reflect upon later when I’m driving home in the car taking my hairpins out.   Piazza is the second relationship.  The one that is as thrilling as the first, but one that is more grounded and mature.  I’ve found more secure footing with this show as the run has progressed.  I’m learning how to “brew” a character and, as always, just when I’m really “getting” her, the run will end and I will be on to the next thing.   That is why I must take the time in the wings to reflect whenever I can.  To not only feel my heart, but to listen to it beating.

It’s here!

It’s been one hell of a month.  Health issues in my family, a wedding, a doggie death, and tech week (some people coin it as “hell week”) for The Light in the Piazza.  But finally, after the end of previews yesterday, the cast is ready for the final, exciting infusion of the audience this Friday.  Each show (or my experience with them) has its own personality.  This experience is different from Carousel in so many ways.  Margaret really pulled me way out of my comfort zone and exercised my skills and focus to higher extremes.  I told Steve DiNenno, our stage manager, that it’s just the right amount of “pee in your pants” scary – but in a good way.  Margaret has taught me how to slap on stage, do a quick change in under 20 seconds, befriend, confide, and confess to the audience, to not be afraid to show vulnerabilities (anger, fear, sadness) in my singing voice (i.e. not being afraid to not sound pretty in those moments), to learn an incredible amount of dialogue, and to re-connect with past.  It’s been a great ride, and, like with each show, it simply ends way too quickly.  I stand on the stage, once again, with a sense of being grateful.  Another opportunity.  Another chance to do this.

I finally know how to thank her.

You know how some buildings still have those lights out front; usually along the walkways leading up to the front doors, that have the white dome on top that resemble cotton balls on top of long and skinny polls?  If I see one of those today, my mouth still gets dry and I can taste, ironically, what I would guess would be cotton balls.   It wasn’t until years later that I realized that those lights marked the entrance to the doctor’s office, where I was asked lots of questions and given lots of candy, producing what I would later learn, lots of inclusive reports.  I vividly remember sitting in a circle of several children while a doctor would play Stevie Wonder’s “Isn’t she lovely” on a record player as we played games.  If I hear that song today, I still tear up, because I didn’t feel lovely at the time.  I felt lost.  I can remember years of foggy non-motivation, peppered with bouts of fury.       

I remember in fifth grade when, at some point during the year, I took my first elective class that involved singing, and I remember specifically being able to harmonize perfectly to the complete frustration of the music teacher, who wanted melody, but to my delight.  I could relate and relate well….to something for the first time.

It wasn’t until years later, after talking more with mom and granny about what problems I had really had, did the true picture form.  I didn’t speak or eat for the first years of my life, while at the same time, my body surged with the flurry of hyperactivity.  I was learning disabled, as was the label at the time, and was an enigma to many doctors who found nothing physically wrong with me.  Through typed letters back and forth between my mom and granny did I read of their fight against the reports and their unwavering belief that I would turn out “bloom” and the later letters of relief that they had never given up.  They simply had to find the match that would light my mind.  Music was my match.  

So…you can imagine my surprise several weeks ago when I was first researching the role of Margaret in the Light in the Piazza and wondered how I, childless, could find an emotional connection with her.  I sat in my room reading the script thinking about this when I said out to myself, “Mom” and then laughed at myself for not having through of it before.

Because although I didn’t have the same exact ailment as Clara, I could relate to her in the knowing, even then, that something was wrong and the not being able to fix it at the time.  The fight that Margaret had to fight to give her – to allow her – happiness, is my mother’s fight – every mom’s for that matter.  She had to fight against everything she was being told at the time.  She must have looked into my eyes and saw something behind the wall.  My emotional connection had been found.  I would interview my own mom as research. 

How can you adequately thank someone for not giving up on you?  When I talk to mom about it, she smiles at me as if to say, ”but of course, what else would I have done?” in such as matter-of-factness that it can be suprising.  But I finally told her this week that I have found a way to thank her and that she has to come and see the show.  Because of all of this, the last bars that I sing in “Fable” accompanied by the orchestration just about does me in every time.   

Margaret is for her, because of her.

Singer’s “Lent” – the Sequel

Well - with The Light in the Piazza staging rehearsals starting, and knowing (big time) how demanding this role is going to be in all things physical, I’ve decided once again to enforce Singers’ ‘Lent.  If you’ve been here through Carousel, you have witnessed my singers “lent” lament.  I discovered in the last go-around that I didn’t discover much AT ALL if the cutting of the caffeine helped me vocally but noticed a vast improvement in my quality of sleep (which probably DID help improve vocal stamina) and is contributing to my decision to do it all again.  This is not going to be easy, especially since I’ve discovered the French Press and have been drinking fully leaded coffee (with extra lead) for weeks now.

“Lent” will be enforced in a week and will NOT happen cold turkey like last time, which made me want to rip my eyeballs out (I like learning the hard way).  This time, there will be a weaning process.

Stay tuned (if you dare!)

Trash Talking Link Love

Classical Singer has a great article in their newest issue about trash talking.  Not the trash talking that people may do to each other, but the talking we do to ourselves on a regular basis.  Self confidence, or lack thereof, goes hand-in-hand with the self-trash talking that is done.  This great article, by Ellen Hargis, talks about negative self-talk and gives ways to change those thoughts.  What fascinated me, and something I never really thought about before, was her discussion of terminology.  For example, changing words such as your vocal “break” to “passage” and so on.  In college, I took theory barriers and sang juries – did those words have any effect on how I viewed them?  There were some other great phrases that stuck with me after putting down the magazine.  That ”there will be plenty of people to criticize us.” and that “We all have to be our own teachers between lessons.”   Hummm…something for me to think about.

In other news – guess what I’m doing every single day?  I’ll give you one hint…

Self-confidence, wherefore art thou?

Listening to another podcast from the American Theatre Wing while running on the treadmill this morning, I was amazed at how many very accomplished Broadway actors (with Tony awards!) still struggle with self-confidence on a regular basis in their careers.  Many of them would say (somewhat in jest, but somewhat for real) that they were scared that people would finally “find them out” for who they really were – (not belonging among the rest of the cast).  Hearing this, my feet almost skipped a beat on the treadmill as I found myself relating to this feeling even now, early on, in the start of my journey.  I thought that my battle for self-confidence would only take place in the audition room, in the waiting after the audition, and in the wanting to be one of the “chosen ones”.  I thought, with an obvious abundance of naiveté, that this would miraculously abate once I was cast.  During Carousel, I caught myself turning to cast mates to ask “how I was” and if they had any suggestions.  I turned to the director for nods of encouragement and regularly spoke to the music director, frustrated about some turn of phrase that I didn’t perfectly master, finding out that it was such a small issue to even be worried about.    This did get better over the rehearsal process and during the show run as I learned to finally trust myself.

And now, this morning, on the treadmill, listening to the podcast, I remembered the first read-through with the Light in the Piazza cast, where I nervously sat in the director’s living room, surrounded by this immensely talented and experienced cast and wondered about my place among them.  Why do we feel suprised to get what we want after putting in an incredible amount of work to get there?  Why can’t we feel like we deserve our successes? 

Please comment.  I’m interested in hearing how you have dealt with confidence issues once you have been cast.  Do you run in to this issue?

Trip to the Piazza!

“Jump off the cliff!”

These were the parting words Heidi Hayes said to me as I left a coaching with her to head over to callbacks for The Light in the Piazza, my first audition to do since Carousel closed.

It does feel like jumping to me.  Incredibly scary and exhilerating all at the same time.  I found myself becoming quickly attached to the role and the work over the past week as I prepared the callback materials and this attachment motivated me to work even harder to prepare but made the waiting afterwards almost unbearable.   

I got cast as Margaret.

I’m already getting to know her and am committed to bringing her to life.  I’ve begun to introduce myself to her through the book by Elizabeth Spencer and am swimming around in her head.  As I had said with Carousel, I feel incredible grateful and incredibly lucky.  If this experience is anything like Carousel, I know what’s coming and I’m ready.

Jump!

It starts with a step...