pomegranate
glistening ruby jewels nestled,
clustered,
inside
muted egg yolk-colored foam
hidden beneath the fruit's exterior.
Variants of deep red,
leather-like in texture and appearance
protects the beautiful seeds within.
a round ball like a Christmas ornament
A gift to my senses.
Friday, December 25, 2009
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Here Comes Another Year
Here comes another year
and yet,
there is something about this next year that feels different.
Maybe it's the continuation of this crazy, new life.
Maybe it's the growing sense of significance I find in every day
as I breathe in, as I smile out.
Maybe it's the developing freedom I experience as I begin to see what really matters in life.
Transformation continues.
The struggles bear fruit.
I walk, I move, I stand.
I see the sun in the morning as the moon fades into daylight.
Another day.
What mattered today?
I think often of many things.
But even in my thoughts,
I am not alone.
I sense this.
I sense You.
This new beginning seems like the beginning of really living.
Coming to terms with being grown up.
Is that what I am?
My life doesn't feel grown up in a conventional way.
It isn't.
And most days I am more than okay with that.
Here comes another year.
Where will We go from here?
I don't know
and I am learning to find my joy in not always knowing.
and yet,
there is something about this next year that feels different.
Maybe it's the continuation of this crazy, new life.
Maybe it's the growing sense of significance I find in every day
as I breathe in, as I smile out.
Maybe it's the developing freedom I experience as I begin to see what really matters in life.
Transformation continues.
The struggles bear fruit.
I walk, I move, I stand.
I see the sun in the morning as the moon fades into daylight.
Another day.
What mattered today?
I think often of many things.
But even in my thoughts,
I am not alone.
I sense this.
I sense You.
This new beginning seems like the beginning of really living.
Coming to terms with being grown up.
Is that what I am?
My life doesn't feel grown up in a conventional way.
It isn't.
And most days I am more than okay with that.
Here comes another year.
Where will We go from here?
I don't know
and I am learning to find my joy in not always knowing.
Friday, August 28, 2009
ISAIAH POEMS: Each of these poems is inspired by a verse from Isaiah.
“The mighty man will become tinder and his work a spark;
Both will burn together,
With no one to quench the fire.” Isaiah 1:31
Fire races up a tree tall
Making a matchstick
Man.
A spark starts in the wayward heart
An ember hidden at the root
Appears dormant
Seems safely extinguished
But a tender breeze
Tainted with perfume breathes life into a
Raging wildfire
Ravaging the topography of the soul.
All I have made is at once consumed
Although often revealed through man’s many years.
In a moment the world I was growing
The plans I was planting
The dreams I was watering
The people I was weeding and pulling out
Were eaten,
Dug up,
Dried out,
Poisoned.
Destroyed.
All my labor was vanity.
All I created was consumed.
All a man creates comes to nothing
Without one to quench the unruly passions of the soul.
Plant your own garden and watch it wither.
Tend the great cedars of your God
And you will be sheltered beneath these great limbs.
Fire will not destroy the man who trusts in God.
In His garden you will be restored
And sustained.
“Their land is full of idols;
They bow down to the work of their hands,
To what their fingers have made.” Isaiah 2:8
I have made a man.
I have made a man great.
In my own eyes.
Made myself great.
“Where did you come from, man?
Did you form yourself from the dust gathered beneath your feet?
Were you a spark between your father and mother?”
I have made a woman.
I have made a woman strong.
In my own eyes.
Made myself to rule over man.
“Where did you come from, woman?
Were you taken out of man to master him?
Were you created to begin a battle with your soul’s mate?
I have made a world.
I have made world with me at its center.
A world that revolves around man and woman.
We have made ourselves great.
“Where are you going in all your greatness, man? Woman?
Have you made a way to escape inevitable death?
Where are you going, man?
To what end is your greatness, woman?
No, I have made a man.
I have made a woman.
I have made a world for them to live in.
I am greatness alone.
I am the only way to escape death.
I am the only way to live.
I am.
“Stop trusting in man,
Who has but a breath in his nostrils.
Of what account is he?” Isaiah 2:22
Who do I trust in?
What will last?
Of what is worth?
Tomorrow I might die.
Why do I go on living like I won’t?
Death is all around me.
The stench is not sweet in my nostrils.
No one breathes in deeply as they pass a trash heap on the sidewalk,
So why do we breathe in the perfume of the prostitute of our heart?
Why do we revel in our carnal revelry?
“Eat and drink for tomorrow you die.”
If this is true, then why do we feast all the more upon our own flesh?
Are we carnivores of our own soul?
Feeding upon our own destruction.
Passive-aggressive masochists that we all are.
Self-mutilating.
Self-destructing.
Poisoning our bodies.
Putting to death the mind.
Self-prescribed doctors
Medicating the moment
Writing fake prescriptions
For the body
But forsaking the soul.
Stop trusting in man.
Stop trusting in self.
Stop trusting in what you think you know.
Tomorrow you might die, you say.
But what if you are already dead?
Your death began the day you were born.
(You began dying the day you were born)
“Apart from Me you have no life.”
Your life a movie.
Tomorrow may be the conclusion.
The discovery that you’ve been dead all along.
So eat and drink today if you want to live.
Eat of Me: The true bread of life
And let My living water kiss your parched soul’s lips.
Eat and drink of me to truly live.
Trust not yourself, but the truth I AM.
I Am the truth that gives life to this dying man’s soul.
Come.
Eat.
And drink.
For you I have already died.
“The look on their faces testifies against them;
They parade their sin like Sodom;
They do not hide it.” Isaiah 3:9
She stands on the street corner.
You hide your sin behind a wall
But the Lord, he sees it all.
They are poor and need a shower
But you clean your body
But not your soul.
He makes him money on the misfortune of others
You withhold your fortune from the one who makes you.
Sin becomes standard fare
In a country that has forsaken God.
A God who is fair.
A God who is just.
A God who will judge us
for the truth we have created.
For manufactured methodology that we’ve invented to avoid accountability
To a higher power
A license for our own leisure.
A license for our own lust.
A license for our own legacy in life.
Sin becomes standard fare
In a country that has forsaken God.
“The mighty man will become tinder and his work a spark;
Both will burn together,
With no one to quench the fire.” Isaiah 1:31
Fire races up a tree tall
Making a matchstick
Man.
A spark starts in the wayward heart
An ember hidden at the root
Appears dormant
Seems safely extinguished
But a tender breeze
Tainted with perfume breathes life into a
Raging wildfire
Ravaging the topography of the soul.
All I have made is at once consumed
Although often revealed through man’s many years.
In a moment the world I was growing
The plans I was planting
The dreams I was watering
The people I was weeding and pulling out
Were eaten,
Dug up,
Dried out,
Poisoned.
Destroyed.
All my labor was vanity.
All I created was consumed.
All a man creates comes to nothing
Without one to quench the unruly passions of the soul.
Plant your own garden and watch it wither.
Tend the great cedars of your God
And you will be sheltered beneath these great limbs.
Fire will not destroy the man who trusts in God.
In His garden you will be restored
And sustained.
“Their land is full of idols;
They bow down to the work of their hands,
To what their fingers have made.” Isaiah 2:8
I have made a man.
I have made a man great.
In my own eyes.
Made myself great.
“Where did you come from, man?
Did you form yourself from the dust gathered beneath your feet?
Were you a spark between your father and mother?”
I have made a woman.
I have made a woman strong.
In my own eyes.
Made myself to rule over man.
“Where did you come from, woman?
Were you taken out of man to master him?
Were you created to begin a battle with your soul’s mate?
I have made a world.
I have made world with me at its center.
A world that revolves around man and woman.
We have made ourselves great.
“Where are you going in all your greatness, man? Woman?
Have you made a way to escape inevitable death?
Where are you going, man?
To what end is your greatness, woman?
No, I have made a man.
I have made a woman.
I have made a world for them to live in.
I am greatness alone.
I am the only way to escape death.
I am the only way to live.
I am.
“Stop trusting in man,
Who has but a breath in his nostrils.
Of what account is he?” Isaiah 2:22
Who do I trust in?
What will last?
Of what is worth?
Tomorrow I might die.
Why do I go on living like I won’t?
Death is all around me.
The stench is not sweet in my nostrils.
No one breathes in deeply as they pass a trash heap on the sidewalk,
So why do we breathe in the perfume of the prostitute of our heart?
Why do we revel in our carnal revelry?
“Eat and drink for tomorrow you die.”
If this is true, then why do we feast all the more upon our own flesh?
Are we carnivores of our own soul?
Feeding upon our own destruction.
Passive-aggressive masochists that we all are.
Self-mutilating.
Self-destructing.
Poisoning our bodies.
Putting to death the mind.
Self-prescribed doctors
Medicating the moment
Writing fake prescriptions
For the body
But forsaking the soul.
Stop trusting in man.
Stop trusting in self.
Stop trusting in what you think you know.
Tomorrow you might die, you say.
But what if you are already dead?
Your death began the day you were born.
(You began dying the day you were born)
“Apart from Me you have no life.”
Your life a movie.
Tomorrow may be the conclusion.
The discovery that you’ve been dead all along.
So eat and drink today if you want to live.
Eat of Me: The true bread of life
And let My living water kiss your parched soul’s lips.
Eat and drink of me to truly live.
Trust not yourself, but the truth I AM.
I Am the truth that gives life to this dying man’s soul.
Come.
Eat.
And drink.
For you I have already died.
“The look on their faces testifies against them;
They parade their sin like Sodom;
They do not hide it.” Isaiah 3:9
She stands on the street corner.
You hide your sin behind a wall
But the Lord, he sees it all.
They are poor and need a shower
But you clean your body
But not your soul.
He makes him money on the misfortune of others
You withhold your fortune from the one who makes you.
Sin becomes standard fare
In a country that has forsaken God.
A God who is fair.
A God who is just.
A God who will judge us
for the truth we have created.
For manufactured methodology that we’ve invented to avoid accountability
To a higher power
A license for our own leisure.
A license for our own lust.
A license for our own legacy in life.
Sin becomes standard fare
In a country that has forsaken God.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Life on the Fringe
I took titles from the Philly Fringe Fest Catalogue and have written poems with the titles as my starting point. These were actually three separate poems which ended up flowing into one another- they are now meant to be read as one long work.
*I am also working on getting an audio clip of this poem on the page, too*
Welcome to Discordia
Just keep moving
Fall in line. Don’t look
Long upon eyes
You pass. A smile
Misconstrued by
Men out of mind.
Welcome to Discordia.
Darkness lying just
Below the surface, just
Above. Predator lust lapses intended love.
Stench overwhelms
Sweet. Welcome to Discordia.
Welcome to your street.
A land real for those
Lost within. A land still
Surreal to me found
Without.
Stripped of safety
Yet unable
To discern darkness
From dirt.
Alone with thoughts
Among all You alone.
What to say?
What to do?
Welcome to Discordia
Walk inside.
Walk on out.
Welcome to Discordia.
You’re
Halfway Home.
Have to roam
A little longer
Linger here
Walk a street
Hope to meet
You
Near The Annihilation Point
Might be tomorrow.
Ready to depart
For a reality new?
Body a refuse,
Mind made up,
A question mark acrostic.
Soul not a matter ceasing to exist
Soul continues in brokenness.
A taste of the Next came in this now.
Eyes polluted by all your lies
Of love
Of labour
Of living the now
Of getting and
Giving and who and
Of how.
Now
You will see
There is no truth in ceasing to exist.
You will continue although you may wish
To turn off the tv,
To just go to bed.
To wake up tomorrow,
A dream in your head.
But you’re now a prisoner for
Life and in death.
Forever a prisoner,
Forever a mess.
A stench on the street
A heart completely crushed,
Beaten breathless,
A constant murder of the soul.
Where am I?
How did I get here?
I think you know.
Game show over.
Reality exposed.
The illusion was your happiness,
Your self-promoted soul.
Your denial.
Your rejection of the truth
You refuse to know
You rely on your self,
On the world YOU have created
YOU are in control.
YOU are the god,
the keeper of YOUR soul.
Self-determined truth
Seemingly not so bad.
If only…
You had birthed yourself into this world you think you know
If only…
You could stop the trigger from being pulled.
Rescue yourself.
Write your own ending just like the fiction you’ve already composed.
“In the beginning…
Happenstance and time creates everything we know.”
If only…
you were the author of the soul
You’d plead your innocence to the god you have created,
And keep on living
By the rules you write.
If only…
Then you might not be the next in line.
Annihilation point defined.
But the truth has already been determined.
Extortionist exposed.
The book has been written
Truth has been determined
The book has been written
Truth has been determined
The annihiliation point is now near.
The trigger will be pulled and you won’t be here.
Won’t be here in body
But will exist in soul.
Whether good or bad
You will soon know.
Annihilation point near.
Soul continuum
Soul continuum
Soul continuum
Soul continuum.
Fear.
*I am also working on getting an audio clip of this poem on the page, too*
Welcome to Discordia
Just keep moving
Fall in line. Don’t look
Long upon eyes
You pass. A smile
Misconstrued by
Men out of mind.
Welcome to Discordia.
Darkness lying just
Below the surface, just
Above. Predator lust lapses intended love.
Stench overwhelms
Sweet. Welcome to Discordia.
Welcome to your street.
A land real for those
Lost within. A land still
Surreal to me found
Without.
Stripped of safety
Yet unable
To discern darkness
From dirt.
Alone with thoughts
Among all You alone.
What to say?
What to do?
Welcome to Discordia
Walk inside.
Walk on out.
Welcome to Discordia.
You’re
Halfway Home.
Have to roam
A little longer
Linger here
Walk a street
Hope to meet
You
Near The Annihilation Point
Might be tomorrow.
Ready to depart
For a reality new?
Body a refuse,
Mind made up,
A question mark acrostic.
Soul not a matter ceasing to exist
Soul continues in brokenness.
A taste of the Next came in this now.
Eyes polluted by all your lies
Of love
Of labour
Of living the now
Of getting and
Giving and who and
Of how.
Now
You will see
There is no truth in ceasing to exist.
You will continue although you may wish
To turn off the tv,
To just go to bed.
To wake up tomorrow,
A dream in your head.
But you’re now a prisoner for
Life and in death.
Forever a prisoner,
Forever a mess.
A stench on the street
A heart completely crushed,
Beaten breathless,
A constant murder of the soul.
Where am I?
How did I get here?
I think you know.
Game show over.
Reality exposed.
The illusion was your happiness,
Your self-promoted soul.
Your denial.
Your rejection of the truth
You refuse to know
You rely on your self,
On the world YOU have created
YOU are in control.
YOU are the god,
the keeper of YOUR soul.
Self-determined truth
Seemingly not so bad.
If only…
You had birthed yourself into this world you think you know
If only…
You could stop the trigger from being pulled.
Rescue yourself.
Write your own ending just like the fiction you’ve already composed.
“In the beginning…
Happenstance and time creates everything we know.”
If only…
you were the author of the soul
You’d plead your innocence to the god you have created,
And keep on living
By the rules you write.
If only…
Then you might not be the next in line.
Annihilation point defined.
But the truth has already been determined.
Extortionist exposed.
The book has been written
Truth has been determined
The book has been written
Truth has been determined
The annihiliation point is now near.
The trigger will be pulled and you won’t be here.
Won’t be here in body
But will exist in soul.
Whether good or bad
You will soon know.
Annihilation point near.
Soul continuum
Soul continuum
Soul continuum
Soul continuum.
Fear.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Caution
A yellow caution tape leaf floats 17 stories high.
Warning- life is dangerous out here.
You’re not safe just because you think you are closer to heaven
Further away from the dark streets below
Were you the One raised up above the earth?
Were you the One descending to the darkest street?
The towers you build will one day crumble.
But my city is the city of light
There is no safe place apart from Me.
Come live here with me.
Let caution be driven by the wind
Outside your window
17 stories high.
Friday, July 24, 2009
finally i love
I finally am loving singing.
God and music have been reconciled.
Or rather my understanding of the two finally resonate as one.
It all feels really good and really right.
Keep me focused on you, God.
I can enjoy singing and enjoy hearing the sounds,
but ultimately let it always be sung with joy TO you,
the source of all that I am,
the source of all good that comes from me.
I love you.
God and music have been reconciled.
Or rather my understanding of the two finally resonate as one.
It all feels really good and really right.
Keep me focused on you, God.
I can enjoy singing and enjoy hearing the sounds,
but ultimately let it always be sung with joy TO you,
the source of all that I am,
the source of all good that comes from me.
I love you.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Walking at Night
I've been walking in the dark lately.
Literally walking through neighborhoods with families carefully tucked away for the night.
I've been feeling the exhilaration of having a part of a busy city basically to myself.
I live here, but I don't.
I enjoy the neighborhoods.
I glance at houses half-lit.
I wonder what their life is like in there.
I look longingly at the towering oak trees that keep me company on lonely streets.
Invisible smells come to me through the darkness.
They bring sensations, and emotions, and memories.
I like the darkness on the streets.
I don't feel scared, but sometimes I think about how others are scared.
I sometimes imagine what it would be like if a random truck passed by and two men jumped out and kidnapped me.
I imagine my heart pounding.
I imagine that my head would spin and I would feel that state of adreneline rush through my body.
But then I imagine the way my mind would kick into protective mode- how I would deal with the situation with the best possible survival and people skills I could possibly have.
But these are all just fleeting thoughts- mostly out of a feeling of neccessity. A feeling that others worry about these sort of things, maybe I should atleast acknowledge them.
But I don't really feel the need to give it anymore than a passing thought.
I'm not scared of walking in the dark in this neighborhood.
Instead, I walk and think about other things.
I think about God- I actually talk to God a lot.
That is part of the reason I love walking in the dark so much lately.
It's our time.
The walking keeps my body from distraction.
Conversation comes so much easier.
I am in an almost constant state of awe and thankfulness for the beauty and solitude I am able to have in the middle of this usual busy world.
Such joy I feel.
And then I think about life.
Tonight, I wrestle with opposing feelings of career and purpose.
Of love and crush.
Music.
Homeless children.
God.
Family.
Settle.
Free.
Nomad.
I wrestle with opposing feelings of relationship.
Single. Free.
Traveling.
Undivided in my work and love for God.
Married.
Companionship.
Someone to come home to.
Someone to cuddle with.
Someone to share with.
To cook dinner.
To not cook when I don't feel like it.
I think.
And I think.
And I think.
And I walk.
It's one of the most wonderful things I am enjoying right now.
And it's at night.
That is what I enjoy.
I like night.
When I'm walking
and thinking
and praying
and loving
and struggling
but talking with
My
God.
He is My God now for good.
Literally walking through neighborhoods with families carefully tucked away for the night.
I've been feeling the exhilaration of having a part of a busy city basically to myself.
I live here, but I don't.
I enjoy the neighborhoods.
I glance at houses half-lit.
I wonder what their life is like in there.
I look longingly at the towering oak trees that keep me company on lonely streets.
Invisible smells come to me through the darkness.
They bring sensations, and emotions, and memories.
I like the darkness on the streets.
I don't feel scared, but sometimes I think about how others are scared.
I sometimes imagine what it would be like if a random truck passed by and two men jumped out and kidnapped me.
I imagine my heart pounding.
I imagine that my head would spin and I would feel that state of adreneline rush through my body.
But then I imagine the way my mind would kick into protective mode- how I would deal with the situation with the best possible survival and people skills I could possibly have.
But these are all just fleeting thoughts- mostly out of a feeling of neccessity. A feeling that others worry about these sort of things, maybe I should atleast acknowledge them.
But I don't really feel the need to give it anymore than a passing thought.
I'm not scared of walking in the dark in this neighborhood.
Instead, I walk and think about other things.
I think about God- I actually talk to God a lot.
That is part of the reason I love walking in the dark so much lately.
It's our time.
The walking keeps my body from distraction.
Conversation comes so much easier.
I am in an almost constant state of awe and thankfulness for the beauty and solitude I am able to have in the middle of this usual busy world.
Such joy I feel.
And then I think about life.
Tonight, I wrestle with opposing feelings of career and purpose.
Of love and crush.
Music.
Homeless children.
God.
Family.
Settle.
Free.
Nomad.
I wrestle with opposing feelings of relationship.
Single. Free.
Traveling.
Undivided in my work and love for God.
Married.
Companionship.
Someone to come home to.
Someone to cuddle with.
Someone to share with.
To cook dinner.
To not cook when I don't feel like it.
I think.
And I think.
And I think.
And I walk.
It's one of the most wonderful things I am enjoying right now.
And it's at night.
That is what I enjoy.
I like night.
When I'm walking
and thinking
and praying
and loving
and struggling
but talking with
My
God.
He is My God now for good.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Life Significance
I can't stop thinking about the family that we saw at BigLots the other night- a young guy probably my age, his wife, and their 6 or 7 year old son. They looked like a regular family- in fact I didn't even really give them a second look. After we got in the car, Michele said, "Did you see... they bought a jar of spaghetti sauce for a dollar and a package of spaghetti noodles for a dollar." That was their dinner. $2.00. That is all they had to spend on dinner that night.
My heart breaks. I can't get them out of my mind. How can I sit so comfortably in my house with food all around me- a glutton for all intents. How can I even think about working my whole life just to please myself- just to save enough money to own a house I can call my own- I can possess. To pour all my time and money into me when there are so many people out there that can only afford a $2.00 dinner. I can't stand it. I can't stop thinking about it. Life seems too short. Life seems to significant to spend it making a fortress for myself.
And they aren't the only ones. I know I can't give them all food and a house, but I can give them something so much more. I can help them find the love and hope and peace that I feel lately. The deep-rooted love and care of Jesus in my life.
My heart breaks. I can't get them out of my mind. How can I sit so comfortably in my house with food all around me- a glutton for all intents. How can I even think about working my whole life just to please myself- just to save enough money to own a house I can call my own- I can possess. To pour all my time and money into me when there are so many people out there that can only afford a $2.00 dinner. I can't stand it. I can't stop thinking about it. Life seems too short. Life seems to significant to spend it making a fortress for myself.
And they aren't the only ones. I know I can't give them all food and a house, but I can give them something so much more. I can help them find the love and hope and peace that I feel lately. The deep-rooted love and care of Jesus in my life.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Curious Perplexity
I wonder why I allow myself to have affection for someone who shows absolutely no interest in me.
I wonder why he doesn't atleast like me a little?
I wonder how come it's so hard to have a conversation with him.
It's impossible.
I want to just let it go and get on with my own thoughts.
But curiosity wants to know who and what sort of girl he is looking for.
It' s not me and I just need to accept that, and I will,
But it's just perplexing.
I wonder why he doesn't atleast like me a little?
I wonder how come it's so hard to have a conversation with him.
It's impossible.
I want to just let it go and get on with my own thoughts.
But curiosity wants to know who and what sort of girl he is looking for.
It' s not me and I just need to accept that, and I will,
But it's just perplexing.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Living Art
Note: I am performing next month in a collaborative program with the art institute. It involves mixed media: music, drama, film, writing, art. These were some thoughts I had about the experience.
What is my role? To experience my own voice as an instrument. Stripped of words but not lacking any means of emotion or expression.
This collaborative process gives you the freedom to create your own experience. For the singers. For the musicians. For the artists. For the writers. And for the audience. Most of the music is without words- the voice is used in a very instrumental way. Since the music is without words, you are free to really listen and feel and make your own meaning. For me, once I've come come up with my own interpretation of the music, then it is combined with the other artists' interpretations through their own forms of expression: art, film, writing, acting. It's a collage at times but I've always liked collages with their layers of overlapping images, haphazard at moments, unsuspected meaning, individual and random but corporate without a mandatory dress code.
I am singing one piece which is a vocalise on the form of the habanera by Maurice Ravel. The title alone and the style of the music for a large part shape my own interpretation. I know the habanera is a spanish dance. I think sensual, seductive, smooth but sung by someone maybe a little rough around the edges. (This characterization is influenced heavily by my recollection of another famous Habanera sung by Carmen in George Bizet's opera Carmen.) But then when you see the film that it is paired with you realize that the music spoke to someone else in an entirely different way (based on their own experiences and life), and I think the full affect of these two unlikely pairs is yet to be revealed with each rehearsal and performance. It's a living changing organism when multiple artists are involved.
You know... there is also something about the combination of hearing and seeing something that we really connect with--- look at movies and the soundtrack that goes with them. Something happens when we experience a moment with sound (specifically music) and sight- it triggers something in our mind and emotion.
Spontaneity... which is not always a part of classical music. Classical music is an artform of rich history and reverence; it often comes with a certain sense of formality and convention. In this ArtSounds collaboration the music still retains its beauty and integrity, but through the partnership with other artistic forms a spontaneity exists which is liberating (and maybe a little uncomfortable at first!) It's definitely a fusion of drama (doing and experiencing) and art.
Maybe it's liberating too because I am a traditionalist and find security in convention even when it would be better for me to throw away my own inhibitions and just be goofy or childlike or downright bizzar. I'm too serious for my own good sometimes, and this collaboration allows me to step outside my own comfort level and just become a part of art fully alive.
What is my role? To experience my own voice as an instrument. Stripped of words but not lacking any means of emotion or expression.
This collaborative process gives you the freedom to create your own experience. For the singers. For the musicians. For the artists. For the writers. And for the audience. Most of the music is without words- the voice is used in a very instrumental way. Since the music is without words, you are free to really listen and feel and make your own meaning. For me, once I've come come up with my own interpretation of the music, then it is combined with the other artists' interpretations through their own forms of expression: art, film, writing, acting. It's a collage at times but I've always liked collages with their layers of overlapping images, haphazard at moments, unsuspected meaning, individual and random but corporate without a mandatory dress code.
I am singing one piece which is a vocalise on the form of the habanera by Maurice Ravel. The title alone and the style of the music for a large part shape my own interpretation. I know the habanera is a spanish dance. I think sensual, seductive, smooth but sung by someone maybe a little rough around the edges. (This characterization is influenced heavily by my recollection of another famous Habanera sung by Carmen in George Bizet's opera Carmen.) But then when you see the film that it is paired with you realize that the music spoke to someone else in an entirely different way (based on their own experiences and life), and I think the full affect of these two unlikely pairs is yet to be revealed with each rehearsal and performance. It's a living changing organism when multiple artists are involved.
You know... there is also something about the combination of hearing and seeing something that we really connect with--- look at movies and the soundtrack that goes with them. Something happens when we experience a moment with sound (specifically music) and sight- it triggers something in our mind and emotion.
Spontaneity... which is not always a part of classical music. Classical music is an artform of rich history and reverence; it often comes with a certain sense of formality and convention. In this ArtSounds collaboration the music still retains its beauty and integrity, but through the partnership with other artistic forms a spontaneity exists which is liberating (and maybe a little uncomfortable at first!) It's definitely a fusion of drama (doing and experiencing) and art.
Maybe it's liberating too because I am a traditionalist and find security in convention even when it would be better for me to throw away my own inhibitions and just be goofy or childlike or downright bizzar. I'm too serious for my own good sometimes, and this collaboration allows me to step outside my own comfort level and just become a part of art fully alive.
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