I've been mossified...

For the last few weeks, motivation has been missing from my life as far as getting my new residence in order, especially my new studio. Consequently, I have not been marketing myself as a teacher. Or a singer.

I blame some of it on this wrist injury, which I am pleased to announce will not require hand surgery. And part of it is just sloth. Which is not like me. I'm usually pretty engaged and hands on. But it's happened a few times before, and usually it precedes a period of intense productivity.

I feel like "if a rolling stone gathers no moss," I am but a large unwieldy boulder festooned with mossy growth.

Which sounds kind of gross and slimy, but then I found this picture and realized that moss isn't all that bad.

In fact, moss has a lot of uses, as I discovered. (You might call this research further procrastination and a distraction from the tasks I really need to accomplish, but bear with me for a moment.)

Sphagum moss is a component in peat, which is a fuel. It is also used for its healing properties, to grow things in, in smoking malt for whiskey (!), to put out fires, as insulation, and for crop improvement (i.e., fertilizer). Spanish moss is used as decoration.

Moss is a sign of fecundity. What is fecundity? It is

1. The quality or power of producing abundantly; fruitfulness or fertility.
2. Productive or creative power: fecundity of the mind.
(http://www.thefreedictionary.com/fecundity)

So, rather than disparaging myself for nesting or being slothful, I prefer to think of myself as fueling up for what I have to do, for healing myself (both the hand injury and other things we don't need to get into right now), to grow, possibly to put out fires (see "things we don't need to get into right now"), and to fertilize, so that I will produce abundantly and creatively.

And besides, while I always thought "a rolling stone gathers no moss" meant that someone who kept moving did not stagnate, the actual original meaning of the phrase was that a person in constant motion lacks roots and consequently does not cultivate new ideas, new experiences, new culture, new responsibilities.

I'm embracing all those things. Maybe not right now, but I will. 

(As soon as Mercury moves out of retrograde, which I think is tomorrow.) 

Vulnerability and pretending not to care

From the twitter feed of Xstrology (online astrologer):

Gemini will pretend that they don't care at the times they are most vulnerable.

I'm a Gemini. I'm the quintessential Gemini - I talk a lot, I'm constantly doing 6 million and 12 things at once, I love change, I'm versatile - and on the downside, I find it difficult to stick to one thing at a time, I'm often indecisive, and sometimes I give the impression of being somewhat shallow.

And I often - too often - pretend that I don't care at the times I am most vulnerable.

In my personal life, this can result in my making jokes at inopportune times - I recall going to an emergency room for unexplained abdominal pain and making stupid jokes so that I wouldn't show that I was terrified. Consequently, the doctor didn't take me very seriously and thought I was wasting her time.

When my feelings are hurt or if I'm angry or frustrated, it's very easy for me to cry. But if I cry, then people might be uncomfortable or think I'm overreacting - so I make jokes or laugh. My husband says that he can always tell when I'm about to cry, because I start smiling really broadly. My speech becomes choppy and my movements a bit more abrupt.

And if I'm in a relationship that is coming to an end - whether it be romantic or a friendship - my defense is to become flippant, to become somewhat distant, and sometimes, I'm afraid, to be a little mean. As though I were saying, "Yeah, well, you didn't mean anything to me either, so go already. I won't miss you."

And in performing, specifically auditioning - for, after all, this blog is supposed to be about singing - I have found that I have occasionally done the same thing, especially with companies for whom I've auditioned in the past but who have not hired me, for whatever misguided reason. I don't get mean, per se, but I give off the attitude of, "Whatever. I don't really care. It's not like you're going to hire me anyway."

Consequently, my audition is unengaged and unengaging. And just like driving away someone I cared about because I was afraid of being rejected and thereby bringing the relationship to the end I expected, I fulfill the expectation that, in fact, they're not going to hire me.

What I need to do - and what all of us, as performers, need to do - is to stop making the audition about myself and about getting the gig. I need to make it about giving a performance that is genuine and authentic. It may or may not get me hired, but I have no control over that. I can control my performance, I can control how I relate to people, I can control my preparation.

As I mentioned in my blogpost on vulnerability and oversharing, vulnerability is "the core of shame and fear and our struggle for worthiness, but it appears that it's also the birthplace of joy, of creativity, of belonging, [and] of love." (Dr. Brené Brown)

Yes, allowing yourself to be vulnerable and then not hired (or dumped) can bring about the feelings of shame and fear and unworthiness, but being open to the possibilities and presenting yourself as open and genuine and accepting might just allow you to find that joy, that creativity, possibly belonging, and hopefully love. However you define love.

Which is a whole 'nother topic altogether. 

Vulnerability vs. Oversharing

Recently, I’ve been watching videos by psychologist Brené Brown on the topic of vulnerability. She has done extensive research on the advantages and disadvantages of making yourself vulnerable and allowing yourself to be authentic as a person.

What I love that Dr. Brown says about vulnerability is that it is "the core of shame and fear and our struggle for worthiness, but it appears that it's also the birthplace of joy, of creativity, of belonging, [and] of love." And also thinking about how people "surrender and walk into it."

Most of the times when we think about not being vulnerable in a performance, we think of being stiff and unexpressive. But there's another way that's even more egregious (in my opinion). And that is oversharing in performance.

I’ve been accused of oversharing - in my Facebook posts, in my personal interactions with people - and sometimes, my accusers are right. I  have given out too much information (hereafter TMI). Perhaps it wasn’t necessary to tweet about how cold the gel was on my body while lying on a table, waiting for an ultrasound.... 

And sometimes, I’m just being honest and it’s their problem that they can’t handle my honesty. I hope. 

So what’s the difference? When do you cross the line from opening up to others and being vulnerable into oversharing? I’ve been thinking about this as far as how it relates to performing. I strive to be an authentic performer, and to teach my students to find authenticity in their performances. 

I think the difference is intent. Vulnerability is a real expression of your feelings, telling a story, telling the truth.  It is an attempt to connect with your listener or your viewer and evoke a response that is also genuine. It is not an attempt to impress but to express. It is an attempt to resonate with your listener or viewer.

Oversharing is selfish. It is an attempt to evoke a response - of admiration, of pity, of concern, of outrage. You are putting something out there that is one-sided, not really looking for a dialogue or gaining an understanding, but just spewing it out to the world and damn the consequences. It may be truthful, but it’s not authentic. It is projecting rather than resonating. Which brings me to a vocal point:

Baritone Thomas Hampson was asked in a master class how he approached projection, and he said [paraphrasing somewhat]: “I don’t like to think of projection. It seems so one-directional. Bullets project. Missiles project. Small children thrown through plate glass windows project. But voices resonate.” 

Perhaps oversharing is the other side of the coin of being afraid to be vulnerable. It's a way of overcompensating.

Here's an example of vulnerability that I witnessed recently. In a recent recital, one of my students sang “Empty chairs at empty tables” from Les Miserables. He sang it beautifully. He was expressive, authentic, emotional, and he made people cry. He said to me a few months later, “Did you notice that I was crying?” and I told him that I didn’t, because it didn’t interfere with his singing and with his story. Often, singers and actors are told, “If you make the audience cry, you’ve done your job. If you cry, you just make the audience uncomfortable.” I generally agree with that - however, in his case, his emotion was so organic and genuine that it did not become uncomfortable. 

Then there's the quintessential demonstration of oversharing that I came across a few years ago, when I judged lower college musical theater women at NATS. A young woman came in and sang her three pieces:

1. “Someone to watch over me,” Gershwin, Oh Kay! She decided to sing this while maintaining seductive eye contact with each of us judges. It was really uncomfortable.  And weird. She had two straight women and a gay man judging her and none of us were interested. The singing wasn’t particularly interesting - it was not as though she was coloring her voice or shaping the phrases to express a longing or a yearning - she was doing it all through contrived gestures and come-hither looks.
2. “Honey bun,” Rodgers & Hammerstein, South Pacific. This involved a sailor hat. And interspersing her singing with shouting, “That’s mah little HONEY BUN!” Now, this song isn’t emotional - it’s a funny song. But the humor fell flat because it was inappropriate vocally and physically. And it depended on the use of a hat.
3. And then the pièce de résistance, “Your daddy’s son,” Ahrens & Flaherty, Ragtime. For this one, she grabbed a blanket and bundled it up to look like a baby. She sang the entire song to the bundle, but as she got more and more agitated - it is a very dramatic song - the bundle started getting out of control and had there been a real baby in the blanket, it would have suffered from shaken baby syndrome. And vocally, she went out of control as well. She began to scream, “Only ANGER AND PAIN, the BLOOD AND THE PAIN, I BURIED MY HEART IN THE GROUND - IN THE GROUND! WHEN I BURIED YOU IN THE GROUND.” The response it evoked from us was not, “That poor young woman, she feels so much grief and guilt,” but rather, “Oh my God, she’s going to have a vocal fold hemorrhage right here in front of us. Blood is going to start spurting out of her mouth.” And then it became funny. Unintentionally funny. On the final chorus, she burst into tears and could barely get the words out between sobs and when she got to the line, “You had your daddy’s hands - forgive me,” which is traditionally nearly whispered, she just screamed, “FORGIVE ME!” and I had to put my hands over my mouth so that I wouldn’t openly laugh.

It was the worst performance I’d ever seen at NATS. Or pretty much anywhere, for that matter. Worse than someone standing and doing nothing. It was not an authentic performance. It reeked of, “Look what I can do! I can be sexy, I can be funny, I can break your heart - just watch me!” What she should have been saying was: “I’m lonely and need someone to love me,” “I’m in love with a real peach of a gal - let me tell you about her,” and finally, “I hate myself for what I did, and I have no excuses - except this.”

She did not resonate with her audience. She projected her emotions - more like projectile vomited her emotions all over us. And like projectile vomit, we couldn’t wait to wash it off. (Was that too much? Probably.)

Tell a story. Tell the truth. It’s not about you as a singer/actor, it’s about the story that you have to tell. What is the core truth of it? What can telling this story offer your audience? What can it offer you as the storyteller? 

Don’t hold back. Give your audience as much as you can, but make it real. Tell the truth.  Be real. Invest yourself fully and not on a superficial level of “watch ME!” or “listen to ME,” but “hear my story.”

Only the names have been changed ...

"The story you’re about to watch is true, only the names have been changed to protect the innocent...."

That line used to open the old TV show, Dragnet. It’s been running through my head lately as I’ve contemplated how to start myself anew in Baltimore, after 17 years (!!!) in Milwaukee.

When I left Milwaukee the first time, I was married to my first husband, and went by the name of Christine Thomas. I loved that name. If I’m honest with myself, marrying Whatshisname Thomas had a lot to do with the fact that I hated my birth name, Christine Bojic. It was a name that was said with a sneer when I was a fat, awkward child and preteen, and was associated with a very painful part of my childhood. I dreamt of being a writer and taking on a pen name, something French sounding like Michelle Monteau. (I also liked alliteration.) There was no question that when I married, I would take my husband’s name - at least as long as it wasn’t worse than “Bojic.” (There are a few names that are - Anthony Weiner, for one.)

I was Christine Thomas for a long time and when we divorced, there was no question of my taking back my birth name. I had 1000 headshots that said, “Christine Thomas, Mezzo-Soprano” across the bottom of them. What was I supposed to do???? Besides, I had already done roles in Milwaukee and Washington as Christine Thomas. That’s how people knew me. And it was a great professional name. It was strong and confident sounding, and not more than a little WASP-y sounding, which for this Estonian/Slovenian First Generation American was extremely appealing.

And besides, a lot of people kept their first husband’s names when they made their careers. Susan Sarandon was married to Chris Sarandon briefly in the 70s. Demi Moore, married to musician Freddy Moore. And since I never intended to remarry, it was okay.

But I did remarry, much to my surprise. And I wasn’t sure if it was okay to keep using my first husband’s name if I was married to someone else. Bill said he didn’t mind, but I didn’t know. Then I ran into my ex-sister-in-law’s best friend, who informed me that Whosis was back living in Wisconsin with his parents. And that he wasn’t doing very well. 

At that point, the decision was made for me. If I’d kept his name, he would probably see it as a sign that I wanted him back. And with him in the same metropolitan area? No thank you.

Most of you know that my performing career pretty much dried up in 2004, after doing the second production of A Cudahy Caroler’s Christmas. Those two seasons, playing Wanda Kazlakowski, mark the only stage work I did as Christine O’Meally. I did some concert work, but not a lot. All my major credits were as Christine Thomas. And that is how people know me.

A couple of years after my remarriage, I ran into someone who said, “Chris - you’re still here? I thought you’d moved!” And I always wondered - did my name change work against me? Did people stop seeing Christine Thomas in print and wrote me off as having left the area? 

So after talking it over with my husband, I’ve decided to reclaim Christine Thomas as my professional name - as a performer. As a teacher, I’m probably better known as Christine O’Meally, and a lot of people know me by that name because of my membership in NATS, as a Somatic Voicework™ teacher, and as an active contributor to national and international vocal discussion groups. So I’m going to hyphenate for teaching purposes -  at least for now - and be Christine Thomas-O’Meally.

This does not mean a change in my marital status. I am still legally Christine O’Meally and will probably stay that way unless I find it causes financial confusion. 

I’m really excited about reclaiming the identity that I had during the time that I identified myself as primarily a performing artist. I feel like I’m taking back my power (if not my innocence.)

What’s in a name? Everything. 

Christine Thomas

I'm gonna like the way that looks.

Finding my Audition Mindset

Today I went to audition for Opera AACC (Anne Arundel Community College). They are doing two shows for which I would be perfect - Carmen (as the title character or as Mercedes - except they weren't casting that role) and Amahl & the Night Visitors (as Mother).

It went okay. I sang "Seguidilla" from Carmen. I would've liked to have sung "All that gold" from Amahl, but I just got my music books delivered on Thursday, didn't find the music till my nephew Nick unpacked it for me on Sunday, and I just didn't feel like it was perfect. "Seguidilla" wasn't perfect - my first run was a little sloppy, for some reason. And I tripped over some French.

But I sang well, and I sang expressively, I think.

The hardest thing for me is getting into the same level of intensity and engagement in my auditioning that I have in my teaching and in my performing. And part of it is armor that I've put on over the past few years. It's the "Well, you're not going to hire me anyway, so why should I put myself out there for you?" armor that I've developed after numerous auditions for Milwaukee companies over the last ten years. Which then becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. I'm not giving it my all and therefore, I'm not getting hired. And then I wound up not even auditioning because I didn't want to give a mediocre audition and not get hired, and I didn't want to give a terrific audition - and still not get hired.

What I have to remember is that I have no control over getting hired. I only can control the quality of my audition.

In this blog article, the author identifies two specific kinds of mindsets:

1. The worry-induced mindset, which "creates a condition in which the auditioners will actually begin to worry about them."

and

2. The self-possessed mindset: "The self-possessed mindset is a fiercely independent spirit that creates the metaphorical space for an actor to do their audition the way they want to do it, without needing anything from the auditioner."

I don't know if my negative mindset exactly met the definition of #1. I think it was more of a "I don't care if you like me or not and in fact I know you're not going to, so I'm not going to do anything to change your mind." I know I've sat through worry-induced mindsets as an adjudicator, and I know I've given some worry-inducing auditions when I was a very young singer.

But I need to find the self-possessed mindset and I need to do it now. There is no reason why I cannot give that audition. I am a fiercely independent spirit. I don't need anything from the auditioner. I don't need permission. 

Chrissie has left the building....

After 15 years, last week I closed the Milwaukee version of my private studio, packed everything up and loaded an incredibly long moving van full of my stuff (as well as one very full Subaru wagon) and moved to Baltimore. That's where I'm sitting right now, in my Baltimore living room writing this while my husband plays Supertramp on his brand new upright.  My furniture isn't here yet - the movers won't arrive till next Tuesday or Wednesday, so I'm kind of in limbo.

My new in-house studio space is also empty - not only of furniture, but of students as well. I will need to start marketing myself sometime this summer. I've joined Maryland NATS, I might have a job lined up at a local community college, and I'll be putting out the word at my alma mater, Peabody, that I'll be ready to go after Labor Day. My summer project will be writing an article about the process of uprooting a successful studio and starting all over for the Journal of Singing (my due date is 10/2013, so keep me honest - ask me how it's going!).

At this time last year, there was nothing more I wanted than to return to the east coast, to a place where I was appreciated as a performer. I didn't start teaching until I'd been back in Milwaukee for about a year. Teaching voice was just supposed to be something I did so I didn’t have to work in an office between gigs. I didn’t know I’d be good at it. I didn’t know I would be passionate about it. I didn’t know that I would actually pass up gigs because I’d rather teach. (Not good gigs, mind you - but there was a time when I’d take any gig just to have a gig.)

Now I want to have it all. I want to perform, and I want to teach. This is a good move for me, I know that. But at the same time, I look at the picture of this empty room where so many people made beautiful music - and the room is not all that's empty. I may fill the empty place in my heart with new students, but the ones I leave behind are the ones who made my heart sing. Not only aloud, but inside. 

Thank you all. 

Feeling like me

Sometimes people come into your life who make you feel more like yourself than you have for a long time. Maybe they don't stay around for very long, but long enough for you to remember who you are and what you want for yourself. And what you are no longer willing to accept.

I've had six months of being on my own sans husband and dogs. At first, I was terribly lonely and awake much of the night, troubled by the quiet house and my own monkey mind (which is a Buddhist term meaning "unsettled; restless; capricious; whimsical; fanciful; inconstant; confused; indecisive; uncontrollable;" I visualize my mind as possessing a small Capuchin monkey running around and wildly flinging feces). But as time has gone on, I've welcomed solitude, probably for the first time ever. And I have to say, I'm more than a little apprehensive of losing it. What is it going to be like to live with someone again?

My students have been my primary focus in the past few months, especially as we worked together on this past Sunday's studio recital. I've gotten to know a few people particularly well, and I've found a new level of creative stimulation that I haven't had as part of my life for a very long time. Ideas coming and going, from myself and others, thoughts on where a scene should go, where a career should go, and where life should go. It's been exhilarating.

It makes me feel like - me. It's not a last desperate grasping for youth; it's a feeling of being vibrant, alive, full of possibilities. Maybe that is a feeling associated with youth, but I don't believe it's limited to a particular age group, and I want to hold on to it and keep building on it. It's the way I felt when I left Baltimore, and it's the way I feel now as I return.

Who am I? I am a singer. I am a voice teacher. I am damn good at both. I want to do both for as long as I can.

What do I want? I want a thriving studio like I had here in Milwaukee with students who absorb information like a sponge. I want to perform again. I want to have the opportunity to take these programming skills I have developed to another level and maybe do some more directing. I'd love to take the scenes showcase and turn it into a separate entity that has its own set of regularly scheduled rehearsals instead of just one frenetic weekend. (Although we've accomplished a lot with one frenetic weekend, if I do say so myself.)

What I'm not willing to accept? Feeling less than vibrant, less than creative, feeling limited. Walking on eggshells. Not being respected. I won't take that from anyone, not in any situation. 

I feel like me again and me is pretty awesome. (Correction: Me am pretty awesome.)