Atonement

Joe Wright is brilliant. I am rarely pleased with film adaptations of books I've already read, but I loved Atonement. Dario Marianelli did the score (just as he did in Pride and Prejudice) and it has the most wonderfully haunting, eerie feel. I questioned whether he was truly talented or sort of a one-score man, and while his style is distinctive, the two scores are entirely different.

Because they had previously collaborated, I would assume, the synchronization of music and film is brilliant. There is no music in some of the most poignant parts of the film--scenes that would have been cheapened and glossed over if they'd had an accompanying score.

The editing is gorgeous and, as I've obvioulsy established, very music oriented. Similarly, the cinematography is mention-worthy. The lighting combined with cinematography (particularly at the scene at Dunkirk) and score is brilliant.

Thankfully, the actors didn't even screw up the beauty. Kiera Knightley has lately become a minor idol of mine. I already loved all of her work (particularly Pride and Prejudice), but I am entirely sold after seeing this film. Anyone who knows me understands my obsession with the 30s and 40s. Keira Knightley was a British Katharine Hepburn (who, as it turns out, is one of her idols!) and she pulled it off effortlessly.

Even more noteworthy, perhaps, was James McAvoy. Granted, I am entirely in love with him. I'd never seen him work quite this range of ages and emotions before, and it was truly impressive.

It's hard to adapt a beloved 400 page novel to film--especially if the book is as lush and detailed as Ian McEwan's, but Joe Wright handled it craftfully.

In essence, I loved it and was entirely pleased. I fully anticipate seeing it again and highly reccommend it to anyone considering seeing it.

(PS I am back in Dallas-hooray!)

Atonement

Read it now.

The movie isn't out in Birmingham, but I'm seeing it ASAP once I'm in Dallas (hopefully Monday.) I'll review it then--I promise.

Birmingham the Beautiful

Hello from the 'ham. (Yes, my roommate actually used that abbreviation.) I now realize why I have absolutely no Southern pride; Dallas is not the South. In fact, Dallas isn't even Texan. Dallas is it's own little bubble of insane commercial flatland. Birmingham, dear friends, is the South. Tomrorow my camera and I are having a field day and I promise to post photos. Birmingham makes me feel like Dallas is very factory-esque. People live in Birmingham. People work/workout/eat/sleep in Dallas. You know? Maybe you don't (I doubt I'm making too much sense after two weeks of exams and a ridiculous whirlwind of recent activity) but Birmingham definitely has more character. I don't anticipate ever living here, but it's a lovely place to visit. Now, since I do not have silly exams, I am going to make myself comfortable in the guest house, turn on some Dario Marianelli, and read Atonement. I love the holidays!

Farewell, friends.

Update that Isn't a Retort to Silly Posts about Inspiration

Hello, all. I figured it was kind of silly to not post in a week and a half and then suddenly write this random post about inspiration without a proper update. The last three weeks have been a total whirlwind experience. I have a headache now and the computer screen isn't helping, so this will probably be brief.

Lipstick Lipstick spent six hours recording our CD at Young Avenue Sound. Though it was a bit of a grueling process, I'm more or less pleased with the way we sound/the CD in general. Carol of the Meows is pretty fun. Regardless of how we were, I'm in love with Young Avenue Sound. Not only is the space set up/decorated in the coolest way ever, but they have the most beautiful piano I have ever played. I literally skipped two meal breaks and sat at that gorgeous piano for an hour or so and played anything that came to mind. It was a wonderfully cathartic experience. The brightness/sound was just unreal. (Jason Robert Brown, who I've probably told you "feeds my soul", sounds particularly wondrous.)

The Golden Compass People, stop complaining about how it is Satan's movie. It's just not that bad. New Line has done a decent job of removing the "Atheist themes" from the film enough to keep pro-family groups content. It was a beautiful film (and it had a gorgeous score, so we all know that means I'm sold.) I now desperately want to read the book--I do find the religious (or anti-religious) themes to be really intriguing, so hopefully I can read it over break.

Atonement is a beautiful, beautiful story. It's a nice book to disappear to. I also bought a couple of tracks from the film score, so coupling that with my reading has been rather enjoyable. I'm not too far into it yet, but it shouldn't take too long. I need to finish it before I see the film (which looks equally beautiful!)

Singers has been exhausting. Wonderful, but exhausting. The real issue is that with three Lipstick concerts, recording, and five or so Singers concerts in three weeks, you get kind of tired of singing. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I really am sick of it. The Singers concerts have actually been pretty nice--the interior of St. George's is beautiful. The acoustics were incredible, and we sounded (not to toot our own horn...) great. I'm a big fan of Lessons and Carols, so those two concerts have been fun. Christmas at St. Mary's was also beautiful. The last concert at Holy Communion was a bit of a mess. I could not keep a straight face. I was exhausted, sick of studying, and hoarse. I chuckled the entire time. Thankfully (or maybe not), I wasn't the only one. The entire choir was snickering and giggling from start to finish. Anyways, it's been an experience.

Exams have surprisingly enough, gone really well. One more to go. I'll keep you updated.

Break will be wonderful. I cannot wait to leave. I'm headed to Birmingham/Montgomery, Alabama for four days (which should be fun) then to Dallas for ten days (I am ecstatic!!!!!) and then to Chicago with CODA until the 7th. I'll be busy, but I cannot wait. I'm drained. I don't even want inspiration right now. I just want sleep!

Inspiration is not for Amateurs.

It was a dreary day in Memphis and I was a bit blue. You know, a little anxious for no particular reason. A little sad that I should feel anxious at this age. You know, a little self conscious anxiety resulting in non-specific sadness: a state that I call blue. Anyway, whenever I feel blue, I like to mosey up to the CODA office, hoping some (oh yes, here it comes) inspiration may strike.

Folks, I live for inspiration. Yes, I know that was a big, bold, dramatic, bumper sticker statement, but as recently pointed out I practically popped out of the cheesiest decade of all time, the 50s, and I live/speak through hyperbole so deal.

I wandered in, sat down in a delightfully unpredictably wobbly chair, and inspiration did not come. In fact, I sat and had a converstaion about inspiration. My mentor/friend cinematically gestured towards the enormous letters above the entry way "Inspiration is for amateurs." I wholeheartedly and conclusively disagree. I would love nothing more than to take an equally large poster and print the words "Inspiration is not for Amateurs" above my entry way. In fact, I think I'll do this tomorrow.

Said Buddy-Holly-glasses-sporting mentor loomed over me and matter-of-factly expressed that art was work. Yes, it's work. But none of us would be here doing it if we didn't have the inspiration to do so.

Passion and inspiration are the reasons I get up in the morning. I will always do my work. I often dislike my Search texts. I still read them. I read them begrudgingly and very critically, but I read them. I complete the work necessary in all projects and assignments.

However, I do my best work when I have been inspired. I am not arguing that we all sit around and do nothing while waiting for the ever-fickle muses to hit us over the head with brialliance. Keep doing your work, damnit but pray inspiration will strike while you're at it.

Telling a curious student to stop waiting for inspiration is exactly like a kid there's no Santa Claus. Without inspiration and passion, much of the magic is gone.

Here are some crazy things I dream of doing (and have been inspired to do):
1. Get Oprah to come to an Arts Event that I organized. This probably seems like the weirdest thing you have ever heard, but it is literally the first thing that always comes to my mind. I can't think of too many (sadly) more publicized figures to advertise and compel people to care about things. I see certain people snickering uncontrollably at this thought, but I will be inviting Oprah Winfrey to whatever my senior CAP project ends up being, so deal with it.
2. Host an Arts Benefit at the Orpheum. Have performances/talks by the largest names in the Memphis arts community to perform/speak about art. Get people to care. Collaborate, sell tickets, and give the revenue to a committee devoted specifically to audience development and improvement in Memphis. (And heck, sell a publication describing our findings. Put Memphis on the map!)
3. Build an "environmental room." This is another one of my totally random ideas that is insane, but I want a room that can morph into almost anything. I don't want a studio space. I want a space that is a freaking production. You can walk in and are literally transported into a forest. I don't just want pine trees painted on walls. I want fog, the scent of pine needles, and a treehouse. The next year (or next room over) would be a World War II era bar/swing club in DC. I don't know what the purpose would be, how it would sustain itself, if it would be a coffeeshop or hangout or performance venue or what, but I've always wanted tomsething like that. Maybe after I live everywhere imaginable and I'm old and decrepit and dying I'll buy out a huge mansion in the middle of nowhere and just fill it with environmental rooms and a magical backyard and host insane parties for artsy people to come to.
4. I want JPG to become a national program. In Dallas, I was a part of the Junior Patron's Guild. There was a season of shows/art exhibitions for three private high schools to go to for a greatly discounted price. It became the cool thing to do on the weekends, and I saw some of the coolest stuff in Dallas.
5. I want an all-encompassing arts studio arts festival. A house or building that has lecture halls, a coffee shop, a theatre, galleries, and studios. (Gosh, this sounds like First Congo.) I'd want all the arts to collaborate and have simultaneous food/exhibitions/performances for like two or three days, charge admission, and start an arts grant. Or start a committee for someone. Or help fund an already established committe or group. Heck, it could become a yearly thing, and half of the money could go back into planning for the next year and the other half would go to an organization honored by the festival (or started by it.)

Trust me, I have plenty more zany ideas, but I should probably sleep. Point is, if I permanently lose inspiration in what I'm doing, I quit. Inspiration and passion are what make me happy. Work is what fills the time before and after.

If inspiration is for amateurs, I never want to be professional.

Enamoured of Enchanted

I have an unhealthy obsession. Not because I think I'm a disney princess, but because I often feel like a silly, wide-eyed, big dreams, hyperbole of a human to the point of a disney animation. So, basically, this is my life. People giving me weird looks and calling me an elf because of my cheeriness and choice of clothes.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KObgs81QyR4&feature=related

(I actually tried calling out to animal creatures for help cleaning this morning. I wish I were joking.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xRYU4cqUAUs&feature=related

(This movie is really worth seeing--Amy Adams is brilliant. And, seriously, how much better could the cast get? Julie Andrews, Amy Adams, James Marsden, Timothy Spall, Idina Menzel, Susan Sarandon, and Patrick Dempsey)

My Wall, Dissected

This, my friends, is a clip of my wall. I figure it's way better than wallpaper. Not that it interests you, but here are the contents of the things adorning my wall:
1. two patterns from my favorite dresses that I wear way too much
2. The cover of my favorite book: the sheet music of Songs for a New World. The copier messed up and so it only says "For a New World," but I like it that way.
3. Twyla Tharp--the old lady with her foot effortlessly (and magically) kicked up above her head.
4. The cast of spring awakening (in the center.)
5. Half of the book: It's not How Good You Are, It's how Good you want to be
6. Many ads from Vogue.
7. Midnsummer Night's Dream poster.
8. Amy Adams, Rodrigo Santoro, Anne Hathaway, Zooey Deschanel, Freddie Highmore, Julie Andrews, Abigail Breslin, and Sienna Miller.

God Bless Tuesdays: Why We Should All Be Like Woody Allen

Today has been an altogether lovely day. I woke up, turned my music theory homework in on time, my worst class was cancelled, attended documentary class, rehearsed with choir, had CODA, and then sat down at the Steinway in the performance hall and had a little mini performance. At the beginning of the year, I loved Tuesdays. I am very very busy on Tuesdays. I loved this. Recently, I've had a spurt of ridiculous, random laziness and so Tuesdays have been less enjoyable. Due to a wonderful, relaxing, refreshing (Gracious, I feel like Jane Austen here with this surplus of adjectives) Thanksgiving-Much-Needed-Break, KB (Katharine) is back. I believe Thanksgiving Break to be nearly as valuable as books. Books are the other reason why I am back. I went to the library, and for the first time at Rhodes, I checked out a book. I got so caught up reading books for classes that I rarely had time for pleasure reading. I went to the library in search of The Golden Compass and Atonement (I need to read the books before I see the films AND there's been all this hullabaloo/controversy over the Golden Compass and I desire to express my opinion on the matter which I cannot do if I have not read the book.) However, they were both lost. It's a sad sad thing. One copy of each. Thus, I left with Woody Allen's Mere Anarchy and Wendy Wasserstein's posthumously published Elements of Style. Within two hours, I returned both. I had read half of Mere Anarchy and a couple of pages of Elements of Style and I was through. Mere Anarchy was brilliant and hysterically funny (describing a housemaid as Wagnerian...who would think of these things besides Woody Allen? Oh, and a conversation between Nutmeg and an Umlaut.) I read the bits I wanted to, wrote down the plethora of vocabulary with which I was unfamiliar, looked them up in the dictionary, pondered over Allen's wackiness, and then returned them both. (The Wasserstein book was too fluffy--even for fluffy reading.)

I was entirely unsatisfied.

When I start reading, I get on a kick. It's truly bizarre--for some reason, reading other people's plots or thoughts (ha! that rhymed) gets me on the weirdest trajectory. I cannot stop reading, and their thoughts and stylistic mannerisms make me desire to write, and before I know it I'm thinking in narrative. Seriously. I'll be walking outside and think of the most random things and then turn it into a monologue as if someone could narrate my life over me as though I were in a movie. That was a really long, really poorly written run on sentence. But I've recently learned certain mistakes are okay. That is because, wonder of wonders, just when I desperately was craving a book, John Weeden stopped his discussion of "various and sundry" (isn't everything always various and sundry? You know what, I don't even know what sundry means. Hold on. Sundry: miscellaneous, various. Thank you Merriam Webster.) Anyway, he stopped this discussion of various miscellany (isn't that a brilliant word? It's so much better than the singular!) and held up a beautiful beautiful box from Amazon.com. Do you know what was inside? I know you do!

A BOOK!

There is a God! At the perfectly divine moment, I got a book. And you know what? It is a damn good one. I feel like half of my posts are begging you to veer away from this site so you can go experience something wonderful that I'm promoting and I really shouldn't do that considering the pea-sized audience I've possibly acquired, but please stop reading this. Seriously. I'm just going to keep rambling. It will not get any more interesting.

Go to the bookstore. Buy It's Not How Good you Are, It's How Good You Want to Be. It's brilliant. Paul Arden is a genius. I read it from the second CODA was over and had devoured it in under half an hour. I have now cut up the entire thing and it is displayed all over the walls of my dorm room. It is so ingenius that it makes me feel like an idiot. Although, according to Mr. Arden, that's okay. Most creative people apparently feel like idiots on a regular basis.

If anyone reading this thinks they're insane for thinking the odd, possibly imaginative but more likely simply bizarre thoughts and ideas like I do, this book will make you feel infinitely better about how you differ from your seemingly more sane peers.

Here are some of my favorite bits (It's essentially a series of bumper sticker quotes that you're familiar with but have never disected or digested):
"Nearly all rich and powerful people are not notably talented, educated, charming, or good-looking. They become rich and powerful by wanting to be rich and powerful."

"Talent helps, but it won't take you as far as ambition." (I am so grateful for this. I like to think I have a fair amount of ambition, but I am by no means a specialist in anything.)

"Everybody wants to be good, but not many are prepared to make the sacrifices it takes to be great."

"You will become whoever you want to be."

"Most people are looking for a solution, a way to become good." (Nichomachean Ethics, anyone?)

"You must develop a complete disregard for where your abilities end."

"Have you noticed how the cleverest people at school are not those who make it in life?" This is the story of my life. Okay, here's a fun tidbit. In middle school, everybody took art from Mr. D. The "popular" girl (let's call her Toby) usually made 100's for her cutesy drawings and paintings. The more insecure, less popular girl and I always made the worst grades in art (94--it's middle school, so B's basically don't exist.) As this girl (let's call her Beth) and I bemoaned our low grades, Toby would gleefully giggle with her posse of acne free, braces free pocket sized individuals. She went to an arts magnet high school and is now at RISD, and (to the best of my knowledge and facebook stalking) is extremely happy. Toby is an unsuccessful swimsuit model.

"Give Away Everything you know, and more will come back to you."

"Accentuate the Positive. A radio commercial for suntan lotion. An Englishman's voice tells of the product's benefits. As he talks his voice gradually changes to that of a West Indian man. Brilliant. You konw that suntan lotion won't make you black, but you accept that it might make you brown." AKA don't be afraid of hyperboles. Maximize.

"Do it his way. Then do it your way. Give him what he wants and he may well give you what you want. There is also the possibility that he may be right."

"When it can't be done, do it. If you don't do it, it doesn't exist." My brilliant third grade teacher always made us say, "If they didn't say you couldn't, you can."

And can I interject here for a moment and say (not that any of them will read this) but I am wholeheartedly grateful and appreciative of my elementary/middle school/high school teachers. I've only recently realized just how much I learned at each of them. Though I understand my elementary/middle school has changed considerably since I was there, at the time it was a wonderfully whimsical, creative place to grow up. Nothing was more encouraged than creativity. Destination Imagination was the coolest thing to do. In fact, I feel like the program I'm in now, CODA, is simply a grown up version of Destination Imagination and Odyssey of the Mind. So thanks to Ms. Lewis, Ms. Butler, Mrs. French, Mrs. Fromme, Ms. Westfall, Ms. Rose, Mrs. Schuler, and Mr. Maloney. And I can't imagine how I'll ever repay Hockaday. Hockaday was literally the worst and best parts of life I've thus far experienced. It was absolute hell for three of six years, and absolute bliss for the other three. I am so grateful to the people who put up with me in the worst and helped me in the best. So, again (not like you'll read this) but, thank you Ms. Wortley, MBJ, Hub, Mr. Long, Ms. Broussard, Ms. Farrell, Mrs. Snow, Mrs. Cunningham, Ms. Brooks, Mr. Ladwig, Sarah Brown (so she's not a teacher, but she's always for some reason had incredible faith in what I do and has taught me so much about compassion) and Mr. Dumaine. I'm also unimaginably grateful for all arts teachers I've had, particularly my first and only piano teacher Mrs. Dill. I probably learned more from her than I'll ever learn from anyone else.

I'm not sure how this book spawned this longwinded list of thank yous, but it sort of has reminded me of how incredibly lucky and blessed I've been to have had such incredible mentors. Anything I've ever produced that I have been proud of or thought was good was 100% influenced by these people. I know that list is going to keep growing as I get older. Since this summer, I've already met at least three people who go on this (all things considered) short list of people who have really affected me.

I could continue on another tangent about how life is relational and the whole point of life is experiencing with and because of others. That is what gives you happiness. So even though there's not true altruism, being nice to others isn't entirely selfish. Well, it may have selfish intentions but the outcome is that they have a new friend and you know one more person. Sorry, babbling again. I can't continue this babbling, however, because we have even MORE quotes!

"If you can't solve a problem, it's because you're playing by the rules."

"The person who doesn't make mistakes is unlikely to make anything."

"Benjamin Franklin said, 'I haven't failed, I've had 10,000 ideas that didn't work.'"

"Fail, fail again, fail better." Samuel Beckett

"Knowledge...is the opposite of originality."

"Being right is also being boring. Your mind is closed. You are not open to new ideas. You are rooted in your own rightness, which is arrogant. Arrogance is valuable tool, but only if used very sparingly."

"Start being wrong and suddenly anything is possible. You're no longer trying to be infallible."

"How you perceive yourself is how others will see you." (This is a scary thought. Therefore, I choose to believe it's only partially true.)

"Don't give a speech. Put on a show."

Stravinsky, "I don't write music, I invent it!"

Charles Ives: "Awards are merely badges of mediocrity."

"You don't have to be creative to be creative."

Slogans win business.

Everyone is selling. "The way you dress when going for an interview or a party, or merely putting lipstick on. Aren't you selling yourself? Your priest is selling. He is selling what he believes in. God. The point is we are all selling. We are in advertising. It is a part of life."

Herman Melville: "It is better to fail in originality than succeed in imitation."

Dr Scholl: 'Early to bed. Early to rise. Work like hell and advertise."

"we don't see things as they are. We see them as we are." Anais Nin

"Going to church doesn't make you a Christian anymore than going to a garage makes you a mechanic." Laurence J Peter

"Happiness is a singular incentive to mediocrity." Michel Montaigne.




_____________________________________________________________________________________
(^well, you've got to draw the line somewhere.)

Sarah Steele in "Speech and Debate"

Last night, after my rather eventful film-packed evening, I decided to watch Spanglish. Darn commercial America and silly Thanksgiving tv specials--there have never been so many wonderful movies on TV at once. My head is spinning! Anyway, Spanglish was on last night. I had seen it previously (and was surprised at how much I actually liked Adam Sandler...though I've liked both more serious flicks I've seen him in...Spanglish and Click...) but it had been a few years. It's a great movie with a wonderful cast. It was especially fun to see Cloris Leachman in the film again. I began a Mary Tyler Moore Show fetish last summer (Leachman plays Phyllis) so it was fun to see a very loose, crazy, passe actress role for Leachman. Regardless, I love the girl who plays Bernice. Her name is Sarah Steele. She's 19 now, but she played a middle-schooler in the movie. Anyway, I was being my usual nerdy self on www.broadwayworld.com (following the latest news on the stagehands strike) and happened to see a link about Sarah Steele. I wouldn't have recognized her name, but I imdb.com-ed her last night so her name was fresh in my mind. Turns out she's in a small play at roundabout with Gideon Glick (Spring Awkakening) directed by Jason Moore (Tony nom for Avenue Q!) It recieved wonderful reviews...Here's the one from Playbill:
Stephen Karam's black comedy Speech & Debate officially opens Oct. 29 at Roundabout Theatre Company's The Black Box.

Jason Moore (Avenue Q) directs the work, which began previews Oct. 5 for a limited engagement through Dec. 16.

The play is the first production at Roundabout Underground, a new initiative to introduce and cultivate artists. The new, 65-seat space is located below the company's Off-Broadway home, the Laura Pels Theatre, in the Harold and Miriam Steinberg Center for Theatre.

Speech & Debate centers on a trio of misfit teens in Salem, Oregon, who "reluctantly form their school's first speech and debate team after discovering they are all linked by a sex scandal that's rocked their town. Secrets become currency, blogs are belted and 'bathing suit areas' exposed in this black comedy about what, if anything, it means to be an adult," as show notes reveal.

The wannabe journalist, the school play reject and the openly gay teen all team to stretch the boundaries of the traditional forensics forum — using song and even interpretive dance with a number of nods to musical theatre.

The Speech & Debate cast features Susan Blackwell ([title of show]) as Teacher/Reporter, Jason Fuchs (Sea of Tranquility) as Solomon, Gideon Glick (Spring Awakening) as Howie and Sarah Steele (The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, "Spanglish") as Diwata.

The design team includes Anna Louizos (sets), Heather Dunbar (costumes) and Brett Jarvis (sound and projections).

Playwright Karam co-wrote the work columbinus, which played Off-Broadway last season at the New York Theatre Workshop. His other works include Girl on Girl.

Director Moore was Tony Award-nominated for his direction of Avenue Q. Other credits include Broadway's Steel Magnolias and Off-Broadway's Guardians and The Crumple Zone. He is slated to direct the upcoming musical Shrek.

Tickets to Speech & Debate at The Black Box Theatre, 111 West 46th Street, are available by calling (212) 719-1300 or by visiting www.roundabouttheatre.org.

August Rush

Hello from the Big D--

I write to you from my humble abode in the great suburb of Dallas that is Garland. I'm currently watching When Harry Met Sally, I got a pair of $150 boots marked down to $25 dollars at the mall today, I had a free meal (thank you mom), and I saw a sneak preview of the film August Rush.

So far, it's been a pretty decent break.

Anyway, now for my criticism of the film. If you're looking for a decent family holiday flick, see this film. Be my guest. There are plenty of people raving about this film. At my sneak preview, people clapped. Sadly enough, my mother cried.

However, I must warn you that if you're any sort of musician it will do one of two things:
1) Fill your heart with the utmost joy that there's a film about your love/appreciation of music and it's represented in the adorable grin of Freddie Highmore.
OR
2) You will be annoyed with time inaccuracies, poor conducting, the visibility of body mics, an unimaginative-run of the mill-ode to idealized Greenwich village-esque score, and a cliche, incoherent plot.

Keri Russell's character (Lyra--how appropriate for a musical film!) is a cellist pressured by her father. Johnathan Rhys Meyers (Lewis) is in a band with his overbearing brother. The two run away from familial pressures, hear Robin Williams play "Moondance" on a harmonica, and fall in love on a rooftop. Due to various (spoiler related...) matters, the two become separated, Lyra becomes pregnant, and doesn't know she has a son. Meanwhile, poor little Freddie Highmore (putting on a half American accent) runs away from an orphanage to a vacant theatre to live with Robin Williams (an exceptionally creepy Fagan-esque character) and a bunch of child prodigies. Freddie gets discovered, conducts the orchestra, Keri and Johnathan "hear" his music, and the family becomes reunited. Goodie gumdrops.

What really kills me is that the film had so much potential. I very much relate to Highmore's character. Granted, I certainly wasn't a child prodigy by any means, but I do relate to the way the character describes living feeling and living through music. I walk in beat to the music in the mall. I turn street sounds into a symphony. If there is any sound in the room (even the light ticking of a clock) I start dancing (look at my hands and feet, I'm generally dancing or conducting). I see the world through sound. This is why I was so excited about the film; not only did someone get it, they were going to portray it in a film for millions to see! Never again would I have to spend hours staring at confused faces when describing my passion for music! I could simply say--oh, you know, Freddie Highmore in August Rush? That's how I see things.

(Me as August Rush. So maybe it's not the Philharmonic, but it is my high school orchestra.)

Alas, they failed. The music was not cohesive (in places that could have truly produced MAGIC), the plot was silly, and Freddie was a miserable conductor. Robin Williams is also terrifying. And nobody just takes an old theatre in NYC and turns it into a retreat for child music prodigies. And no child just jumps up to Julliard with 20 year olds. Anyway, I found it frustrating.

But then again, I'm picky. It's cute enough, and it made my mother cry. That must be some bizarre incentive, right?

I've decided I'm going to reproduce the film in about 20 years when everyone's forgotten about August Rush. It will be a beautiful thing...I hope...

On Major/Minor Angst, Liberal Arts Colleges, Otherlands, and Various other Memphis Treasures

Hello from Otherlands--my new Memphian obsession. If you live in Memphis or have the oppotunity to visit, please go to Otherlands and consume as much cinnamon toast (on sourdough bread) and hazelnut lattes as humanly possible. I've been here a couple of times in the last week and I can't get myself to try anything else. The toast is way too addicting.

A few weeks ago I wrote a post comparing my experiences in Dallas to those in Memphis--I have to say that Memphis grows increasingly more charming. I keep finding little treasures (through other people kindly driving away from the Rhodes bubble) in Memphis that make it a far more attractive place to live. I still don't particularly see myself staying here after college, but it's certainly a much more fun place to be than I had anticipated.

I had one of the most wonderful weekends this past weekend since I've been here. Friday night, I danced for five hours (straight!) in the Dance for the Cure dance-a-thon. Anyone who knows me should not be surprised that I forced my team to stick around the entire time. We did not just sway back and forth on the dance floor--we went all out. I'm telling you, four and a half hours in, I literally was doing high kicks, cartwheels, and jumping into the splits. This was probably because they finally played a musical theatre song (the ever-so-popular Grease medley that they play at all high school--and apparently college--dances) Musical theatre truly makes everything more enjoyable. For instance, in my music theory listening assignment from last night, we had to listen to one song/arrangement from Oklahoma. Whereas my analyses of Viardot-Garcia, Mozart, and Brahms were about 1/2-3/4 page, my Oklahoma analysis spanned three pages. Single space.

This brings me to my Sunday evening. (I can backtrack and brief you on Saturday in a second.) Sunday, I decided to go see the last performance of Hairspray in Memphis rather than doing homework. I am ever so glad that I made this decision. The weather was gorgeous all weekend, I worked Saturday afternoon, I walked to Starbucks several times (I've found that a walk to starbucks is about the best incentive EVER to get me to "work out")did a danceathon, had a couple of rehearsals, and saw Hairspray.

Now my thoughts on Hairspray:
Of course I enjoyed it. And yes, I was one of those truly obnoxious people who mouths all the lyrics and is literally bouncing up and down in their seats. I normally wouldn't have such poor etiquette, but I was in a student rush seat that no one (besides my other musical-theatre-crazed friend) was near, and I felt it appropriate to go all out. Link was dreamy enough, Elvisy enough. Edna was amusing and fun. Wilbur was adorable. Tracy was, sadly enough, the understudy. Sometimes this isn't such a bad thing--I work at a music hall back in Dallas and I Much much much preferred the Jo March understudy to the actual touring Jo in Little Women (PS How amazing is the DSM 2008 season? It is ridiculous!) I found Tracy to be a bit obnoxious. She had a very deep, mature voice for Tracy. This is preferable to the over nasaly heinously shrill Marissa Janet Winkour, but not preferable over the happy medium that Nikki Blonsky provided in the film. She just seemed too old. She was obviously wearing a fat suit. It's like Mary Martin bein Peter Pan (yes, yes, argue with me all you want--I STILL find a 50 year old female unfit and creepy as Peter Pan.) She was a skinny, old Tracy. There's something seriously wrong with that. The Von Tussles were obnoxious enough. However, the real star of the show was Alyssa Malgeri. I spent half of the show envying her--she's adorable, tiny, ridiculously talented, side splittingly hysterical, and undergrad at NYU touring in one of the most big budget tours currently travelling through the states. I pretty much hate her. As much as I hate her, though, I love her about ten thousand times more. I desperately want her to be my best friend. Alyssa Malgeri will hopefully have a long, wonderful career ahead of her and I hope to be first in line at as many of her upcoming productions as possible.

Saturday I attended the Fall Date party (woohoo!) which was enjoyable. All in all, I had a lovely weekend.

Monday night was even wonderful. My favorite piano in all of Rhodes is usually in a room which remains locked 99% of the time, except when performances are going on. Wonderfully enough, the door was unlocked. I turned on the stage lights, turned off the audience lights, and played Jason Robert Brown on a Steinway extended grand in the middle of a thunderstorm. Talk about magic.

Not too much else is new with me. There are the ever present Singers and Lipstick rehearsals and performances, there's lots of wonderful/happy things going on with CODA (better make that a new post), and school is just fine. At the same time, I'm ready for Thanksgiving. I need a break. I'm pretty ready for another holiday....

Until next time--

My Heart Will be Blessed With the Sound of Music...

Hello friends. I thought I might brief you on current goings-on in my life/Rhodes/Memphis.

This weekend was a singing extravaganza. Due to Homecoming (which entailed singing at seven alumni functions with the a cappella group) and our Rhodes Singers concert this weekend, my voice is practically nonexistant. However, I am thoroughly upset it is all over. I don't mind Homecoming being over--homecoming is a bit nightmarish, actually. I shall, however, miss Karl Jenkins' Mass for Peace. I have never performed a full mass or choral piece longer than ten minutes (this mass was about an hour and ten minutes, I believe), so the thought of the task was exciting and daunting enough. Moreover, Karl Jenkins is a genius. He looks rather funny (I know this because I had to stare at his picture in choir every other day), but he is brilliant. Thus, yesterday I donned the blissfully wrinkle-resistant Rhodes Singer robe, complete with oversized billowy sleeves (which are rather distracting...) and traveled to Idlewild Church to sing the Mass for Peace.

It was epic.

If you haven't ever heard this mass, go and buy it now. Or pirate it, I don't care. (Well that's a lie...I do care...but we can get into the issue of the demerits of pirating music at a later time.) At any rate, it is beautiful. The texts are in English, Latin, and French. The rhythms are complex. We sang with an orchestra. Do you understand this? I have never performed with a professional orchestra in any regard at all! It was heaven.

Additionally, I've had the music stuck in my head all weekend. I currently have the lyrics "God shall wipe away all tears and there shall be no more death. Neither sorrow nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain..." This is from the chorale at the ending of the piece.

Karl Jenkins' work made me appreciate variation within a piece. On Friday morning, we sang for some children-and we only sang the soupy, slow numbers. These numbers are beautiful, but without the insanity and chaos and thrill in the others, they're somewhat blah. It's the chaos in these numbers (and, if you will allow me to philosophize) in life that makes peace so beautiful. I wish I could find a creative way to mount the entire mass for piece on my wall as a reminder of this. The last couple of weeks have not been particularly pleasant, but Karl Jenkins was the remedy I needed.

Furthermore, the music is simply beautiful. I don't know that the piece is flawless, but clearly I am enamoured of it an I do think it is marvelously done. Sorry, folks. I realize I'm gushing a bit, but these musical cartharses don't happen enough, so when they do, I run with them.

In other news, Symposium on Thursday is going to be AWESOME and I cannot wait. Thursdays are busy enough, so I'm going to have to prioritize where I need to be bigtime, but I think it's going to be fairly magical.

Farewell, friends. I'm off to Music Theory--next post will likely be a rant on music vs. theory majors and the merits of attending a liberal arts college versus a conservatory.

Goodbye!

CODA's Dallas Adventures

This weekend, CODA departed from Memphis to Dallas. We drove in a 14 passenger van (which was an adventure unto itself) and arrived around 2:00 AM Friday morning (much to my mother's chagrin.) Being home for the first time was a bizarre experience. I walked into my house feeling very much like a visitor, luggage in tow. When we arrived, I felt like a visitor missing my home in Memphis, but by the time we left it was the reverse. I felt like Dallas was (once again) home and I was going off to camp in Tennessee. The honeymoon phase of college has officially ended, so this trip back was a bit of a rollercoaster.

There are things I definitely miss about Dallas:
1. Uptown/West Village
2. Mockingbird Station
3. Family (I'm unusually close to my extended family--they all live in Dallas near my house)
4. Closest Dallas friends
5. A plethora of indie-movie theatres
6. NorthPark Mall (which I completely took for granted before coming to Memphis which has the most miserable malls on the planet.)
7. The Arts District
8. Cafe Brazil (a small chain in the Dallas area--open 24 hours--13 flavors of coffee each week--bottomless cup at $2.69. Many significant/memorable experiences have occurred at the Cafe Brazil on Central. I found out I was accepted to Tisch at Cafe Brazil. I had my best conversations with close friends at this Cafe Brazil.)
9. Dallas Theatres--WaterTower, Theatre Three, Kitchen Dog, Echo, DSM, DTC, DCT...I love them all.
10. Whole Foods, Ulta, and all things Preston/Forest and Preston/Royal
11. Driving. It's terrible, but I was raised in a mass suburban metropolis with enormous highway intersections and insane traffic. I love it and I miss it. My high school (The Hockaday School) was about 30 minutes away from my house (without traffic.) If I left my house in the morning before 6:45 I could get to school in about 30 minutes. If I left after 7:00 it would take 2 hours. I love the freedom of waking up 45 minutes before class here, but I also miss driving. I think when I drive. I conduct when I drive. I discover new music when I drive. I rehearse and prepare for auditions when I drive. This fall, I had the opportunity to audition for the Rocky Horror show (which I didn't...) but I had no clue how to prepare for auditions without my car. In my car, I can belt and foible over notes, my voice can crack without anyone judging me...it's the perfect venue. Most importantly, if I was having a bad day, I could hop in my car and go anywhere. Dallas has more variety within the city than most places I've been. Memphis has distinct vibes within each area, but overall it has a pretty eclectic, artsy feel to it. In Dallas, every area has a vastly different feel purpose--Downtown, Arts District, Cafe Brazil, West Village, Mockingbird Station, Legacy, Addison Circle, Highland Park Village, Turtle Creek, Caruth Park, Garland, Irving, Plano, Richardson, Murphy...they are all distinctly different. I miss this opportunity to transport myself to a completely new environment. In essence, I miss driving on insane highways and I miss my car.

I digress-I apologize.

I really do love Memphis, but I am a big shiny city girl, and I do miss Dallas in certain regards. Dallas is a bit too superficial, but I love the affluent sprawling metropolis. I almost feel as though San Fransisco, Boston, New York, and even Chicago have these happy media--they produce a significant amount of original art, they have mass commercial centres, but they also have a great deal of history (and beautiful weather.)

At any rate, driving was not the most significant aspect of the trip. The symposium (how to be an effective arts leader) was rather enjoyable. I found two new heroes in Bill Lively (Founder of Dallas Center for the Performing Arts--a project I've been following and been excited about for a while now) and Ann Daly. Fellow CODA member Lauren Kennedy was a part of a panel on Sunday and was absolutely brilliant. She made a pretty remarkable role model for the CODA freshmen on the trip.

We also traveled down to West Village (to see the scariest film of all time), DMA, and the Nasher Sculpture Garden. I had already been to all these places, but they were (as usual) wonderful! I also had the opportunity to see some of my friends and family on the trip--which was wonderful. We happened to be coming to Dallas over Yom Kippur so I had the chance to see my best friend who attents Arizona University (but was visiting home for the Jewish holiday) while we were in Big D. It was pretty exciting.

It was a wonderful trip. I saw old friends and really became better acquainted with the CODA kids who came on the trip. I also had the opportunity to see Dallas from a quasi-visitor's perspective, which was pretty foreign and interesting. Thanks to John Weeden for making it all possible.

Farewell, friends--I'm off to jazz cultures. Have a lovely day.

Thoughts on the Purpose of Traditional Art

Ladies and gentlemen, I am annoyed. I write to you from my dorm room, angsty and confused, stuffing way too many shortbread cookies into my mouth, desiring to get a message out to the public (particularly the college crowd): there is beauty and merit in classically performed theatre and music.

College has been a divine experience. I have received much of the independence I have craved for years and I have run with it. I am over committed (which is both my greatest joy and burden) and I am doing what I love nearly all the time. However, I have found myself supremely frustrated by my peers and colleagues in this new environment.

Art does not have to be experimental. Art does not have to be angsty. Art does not have to beat you over the head with a "shocking/thought provoking" message.

What is it about college students (and even the college environment) that makes them think something isn't art unless it's shocking? While they may find my appreciation for classical musicals and music dull and close-minded, I argue that they are equally if not more close minded in automatically rejecting the more traditionally performed pieces of art.

A Dallas friend sent me a package of reviews and playbills of many performances occurring in Dallas right now. I traveled to Dallas this weekend to attend an Arts Symposium (which was phenomenal--but more on that later...), and she intended for me to receive the package before our trip so that the CODA kids could see some great Dallas theatre. Sadly, I did not receive the package until I returned to Memphis. Happily, it has made my day and renewed my faith in traditional theatre. A recurring theme I found in the reviews was that many productions of modern shows were simply trying to hard. Contrarily, two of the more classical pieces (Pride and Prejudice and the musical Carousel) received rave reviews and wide acclaim from the city’s harshest critic.

The McCoy theatre at Rhodes College prides itself on doing more experimental pieces of theatre. I have not had the privilege of seeing any shows performed by the theatre (my first trip will be with Rocky Horror on Halloween), but it seems that there is the misconception that just because something is artsy and experimental, it is great art. This is a popular belief among my peers.

I adore classical musical theatre. Give me Cole Porter, Rodgers and Hammerstein, and Jeanine Tresori—I love it all. Just because their musicals aren’t set in modern times discussing abortion, the war on Iraq, or transvestites doesn’t mean that they aren’t getting a message out at all. Carousel, for instance, discusses domestic abuse. The Sound of Music raises issues of remarriage and loyalty to your nation and your beliefs even in the most difficult circumstances. Oklahoma is the classic story of jealousy and rage completely out of control. West Side Story centers around kids with varying economic and racial backgrounds and illustrates the subsequent clashing dynamics of these kids. These musicals were written decades ago, but their themes are prevalent today (possibly even moreso than they were when they were written.)

Besides this, there is such beauty in the performances of these musicals. They must be put together well or not done at all. When done properly, these shows are simply glorious. What is wrong with theatre that simply makes you happy?

Is this why arts audiences in the 18-24 range are so small? Do my peers feel so strongly about the “shock factor” that they can’t appreciate anything else? Just because theatre is classic doesn’t mean it’s not getting out a message. Just because modern theatre is edgy doesn’t mean it’s effectively getting out any message at all.

This past spring I directed The Sound of Music. I put it together in just a few weeks and I was working with 40 high school kids. It was not the perfect show—the 7 von Trapp children had to be in high school so they were (maximum) four years apart rather than eleven. The sets could not be elaborate. New costumes could not be made. Nonetheless, I have never been prouder of anything in my life. The essence of the show was beautiful, and even in its rawness, the actors believed the characters they portrayed—something phenomenal for high schoolers. The Sound of Music is undoubtedly my favorite show of all time. I had boys in my show who had never seen the musical or cared for it at all, and they left loving it. If the actors you see portraying this family truly believe their characters, it’s impossible not to love the sincerity of the performance.

The kids in my show bonded more quickly and intensely than any I’ve ever seen in any show. They all remain friends and support each other in all endeavors. Seniors are friends with sophomores, Juniors with freshmen. And regardless of the outcome, as my theatre teacher/mentor expressed, “although great theatre is certainly what we all strive for, sometimes what happens off-stage between the real-life humans is what really brings everything together.”

My dance teacher/advisor/friend Beth Wortley from Hockaday emailed me after I described how one of my Von Trapp kids cried for nearly an hour after the last performance:

“People are hungry to do something that makes them feel good about themselves and they love connecting with others...something that doesn't happen often enough in today's world.”

I couldn’t have put it any more eloquently.

My friends, I dare you to appreciate, perform, or enjoy classic theatre. Go see Pride and Prejudice. Go see Carousel. Dare to be traditional—you just might enjoy your experience.

Dissertation on Book-Learning as a Catalyst for the Re-Identified Artist

During my annual summer cleanout this year, as I rummaged through miniature ballet shoes, crinkled photographs, and various other scraps of memories from my childhood, I stumbled upon a journal from my 3rd and 4th grade years. These years, and all others which fell between pre-k and sixth grade, were spent at St. John’s Episcopal School. In this journal I depicted my effervescent teachers, loving friends, and miniscule, petty problems that only a nine-year-old would deem challenging. I molded clay. I played in the sandbox. I ran with scissors. If an assignment was due on Thursday and Garfield the Guppy’s fishbowl needed to be changed Wednesday evening, it was acceptable to turn the work in on Friday. Or Monday, if I could conjure up a new excuse. Life was fabulous, and school was entirely burden-free.


Unfortunately, my education did not continue in this simplistic fashion. In seventh grade, I entered The Hockaday School. At Hockaday, creativity was praised, but algebra problems and grammar studies took precedence. Unlike at St. John’s, students were expected to lead class discussions rather than the teachers. This horrified me. You mean these fifty-year-old “professors” are just going to sit around and watch their class do the work? (At this point, I decided that perhaps the profession of teaching merited some consideration.) Nonetheless, I missed the tranquil, lazy days at St. John’s and resented Hockaday for making me truly think. I know—a school forcing a student to think--What a horrifying thought. For the longest time, I could not comprehend the use of all of this “book-learning,” as Richard McKenna coined it. That is, until my junior year.

Junior year at Miss Ela Hockaday’s School for Girls certainly lived up to its formidable reputation as being the most difficult year in high school. It was sheer and total hell.

I loved it.

Every minute, I was thinking, re-evaluating, and re-defining. I was dissecting the anatomy of sharks and frogs. I was pulling my hair out, sweating anxiously over the outcome of “The Minister’s Vigil” in The Scarlet Letter. I was taking risks. I was drained both mentally and physically by the end of each day, but I anticipated the next. Had I not experienced a plethora of mental breakdowns and constant chaos, I would be an entirely different person today. Hockaday’s hardships have acted as catalysts for my redefined identity. I am religious. I believe family is the most important aspect of life. I love all mediums of music, I am much better suited for the 1940’s, and I adore reading. How Hockaday, a secular school which emphasizes the individual and self-promotion, did this to me is truly bizarre. But it did.

My hardships evoked changes in me physically, mentally, and spiritually. Hockaday mutilated and destroyed all self-esteem, confidence, or courage I had as a child by the time I was fifteen. By the time I was seventeen, Hockaday had challenged me to re-build that confidence on my own. My mother could not help me. My best friend could not help me. I was no longer puppeting my peers or elders' thoughts. I reconstructed my identity uninfluenced by those who had previously directed and controlled my life.

My senior year was an even greater challenge than my junior year. Junior year was, as I have stated, a time of personal re-evaluation. I allowed myself mistakes. Senior year, contrarily, was my year to prove to myself (and nine universities) how I could own this identity and use it to benefit my environment. This, of course, is where the arts come in. My junior year I directed a beautiful one act musical theatre piece-- The Last Five Years. This was a great challenge for me at the end of my junior year. The piece follows a man and woman (needless to say, over five years...) and their relationship for better or for worse. The depiction of this relationship is where it becomes exceptionally interesting. Cathy, the female protagonist, moves backwards in time from the end point of their relationship to the first date. Jamie, on the other hand, moves in normal time. The two meet in the middle of their relationship (and the production) in "The Next 10 Minutes." I didn't really mean to babble about this show, but the point is that I'm not sure I completely had my bearings when I directed this piece. I briefly mentioned some of my invovlements from senior year, but without a doubt, my most time consuming was the musical I directed at the same time I directed The Last Five Years the preceding spring.

I had intended to direct Fat Pig, a brilliant, thought-provoking show by Neil LaBute. I'm not sure how qualified I would have been to direct this; I've only been in a few plays myself (excluding musicals) and assistant directed one Moss/Hart production. However, the plotline intruiged me. It's not a Tracy Turnblad story; a guy falls in love with an overweight (but beautiful) woman. He becomes obsessed with the comments of two of his co-workers and ultimately cannot handle their relationship because of it's social implications. The audience easily recognizes that the overweight protagonist is the better individual, but she does not "get the guy." I think the show brings up a number of important issues, and it's always been a personal favorite. However, at my all-girls school (with eating disorders inevitably running rampant) they wouldn't allow me to produce the show.

Thus, I went towards its polar opposite: The Sound of Music. I know it seems like a ridiculous alternative to an experimental modern play, but it's a show I always wanted to do and it was a challenge in so many other ways. I had a forty person cast and crew. I choreographed the entire production. I did all vocal and theatrical training and rehearsals, and I did not have an AD. I also had an interesting space to work in--a lecture hall. This truly required me to think outside-the-box. Ultimately, the show was a success and I dearly loved my cast (who, I am proud to say, bonded more than any bunch of kids I think I've ever seen in my life...), but it was a challenge. Had I not rebuilt this personal confidence, I could not have handled directing this mass production.

I feel that as a director you have to know yourself before you can know others. A director not only has to dissect and discern everything about the character portrayed, but a director must also know the character of the actor they are working with. Sometimes, the combination of the two can be disastrous. If I weren't sure of myself, my beliefs, or my merit as a director, the kids would have run all over me and the show would have failed. I needed that freshly rebuilt identity to run a production.

In retrospect, I often wonder what would have been the outcome of continuing my education at St. John’s and at a more traditional, less strenuous high school. I admittedly yearned to be at such schools during those rough years at Hockaday. Still, I can’t imagine having gone anywhere else. What I never understood was that Hockaday never really cared how much precalculus I absorbed or if I would remember the structure of a rat’s intestines. By thrusting such demanding academic standards upon me, I was personally challenged. I was challenged as a student, artist, and educator (isn't that what directors are, anyway? all three?)

Richard McKenna, a graduate of the University of North Carolina, made certain claims about what he felt comprised a proper education. In his speech, “New Eyes for Old: The Quest for Education,” McKenna touched upon the concepts of book learning, moral education, and some vague third medium of education which he struggled to describe. Generally speaking, I agreed with his thoughts on “moral education”—that it does not (usually) happen consciously, but rather it is “thrust upon” a person ambling through life. McKenna further elucidates his thoughts by discussing his thoughts about a “completed moral education.” (I happen to believe such a thing does not exist.) McKenna then dissected the concept and importance of “book learning.” Originally, McKenna was reluctant to study at a university. As I had an affinity for art and creativity, so McKenna had an affinity for nature. Similarly, as I resented Hockaday for “taking away my creativity,” McKenna feared a University would reject his passion for the natural world and intangible concepts. Propitiously, McKenna stumbled upon Thoreau’s Walden, the epitomic synthesis of intellect and nature. The Last Five Years and the Sound of Music were my "Walden's." McKenna gradually learned to weave his creativity and passion into his “book learning” he had received from the school and, over the course of his four years at the University of North Carolina, he established the foundation for a proper education. This is what I strive to continue to do at Rhodes College, my current venue for re-identification.

It seems people often refer to the end of education as the end of college, but I believe McKenna would agree with me in saying that college is only the beginning. School does not teach you calculus. (Well, perhaps it does for some, but it certainly isn’t for me.)

School teaches you how to learn.

School establishes the fundaments for a lifelong education. With the help of trials and tribulations, art, friends, enemies, and all other vicissitudes of daily life, I suspect McKenna and I will be just fine. Oh! And how could I forget books? We must have books—the opportunity to delve into someone else’s psyche. I do love to read. I'm reading a brilliant book by Daniel Levitas right now, actually. In fact, I believe I’m going to go read right now. Goodbye.

College Essay in Retrospect

My friends, I present to you the labor of 16 drafts and hours of breakdowns. It is my college essay. After drafting essays about conducting, directing, and even about my eyebrows as a metaphor for my personality and mannerisms, I sent in this sad little conglomeration of 500 words. So, for those curious, this is how I sold myself to nine schools in one page:

Diminuendo: The once-blazing house lights cool to a reverent blue. Subito piano: the volume of an excited audience crackles and diminishes abruptly. It’s a concerto—the conductor, the soloist—disguised as a Rachmaninov symphony. My neighbor precariously teeters on the edge of her seat and eventually leans over so far that her threatening elbows encroach on my personal space, and I’m fairly certain the gentleman to my right is sweating profusely although the current room temperature is approximately sixty degrees. It could have been the Mexican food he’d consumed for his dinner. It could be Rachmaninov (after all, I am no exception to this falderal—I am in tears within minutes). But I’m fairly certain it is Kwamé Ryan that is the root of our emotional turbulence. Never, in my extensive symphony-going career, have I witnessed a man snatch an audience so quickly or with such force. He is our conductor.
Ryan sends us into a rapturous maelstrom from exposition to recapitulation. He is unconventional. He conducts sans baton. He closes his eyes, barely consults the score, and sways with the music. My heartbeat unabashedly becomes dependent on each pulse of his wrist to the three-four rhapsody. As absurd as it may seem, this clean-cut man clad in a freshly-pressed tuxedo, is one of the most radical conductors of our time, and my most prevalent intrigue.

My love affair with music began at a very young age. I danced as soon as I could walk, sang as soon as I could talk, acted and told stories as soon as I knew the meaning of a lie. Nonetheless, it was piano that ignited my obsession. Although I’d taken dance lessons since the age of three, it wasn’t until I could interpret the music that my insatiable curiosity swelled. Dance lead to choirs, choirs to musicals, musicals to plays. Yes, I consider theatre an aspect of music. People create such music each day: new rhythms by the pattern of steps on the street, the syncopated banter among friends, the fortissimo chaos of brassy traffic.

The natural course of action would be to quit piano once I began to love choir, quit choir after discovering musicals, and quit musicals after discovering plays. Needless to say, this is not my case. Sophomore year, I became the student conductor for my school, in addition to performing in the dance company, continuing piano, and performing in the musical. I am still the student conductor, but I have, since, composed a French choral piece for our choir, joined show choir, orchestra, and dance theatre, have directed a musical (The Last Five Years) and am currently assistant directing The Man Who Came to Dinner while choreographing two pieces for the dance company.

And don’t you dare think I’m about to slow down. I refuse to select one passion and eliminate all others at age eighteen. Instead, I pursue them all with a hearty amount of gusto and curiosity, and a dose of patience and persistence. My life is so heavily enriched by all of these romances that I often myself thinking in narrative—where even the most mundane tasks merit full-scale film scores and majestic sets.

The world, to me, is a symphony—lovingly and impeccably sculpted by others older and smarter than I am. But I am its conductor, its Kwamé Ryan—capable of choreographing others’ work the way I please—scherzo to quicken the heart rate, andante to appreciate the moment, fermata for the revelations and awakenings.

I’m not done yet. I’m already anticipating tomorrow, and I’m anxiously awaiting next fall: a new symphony hall, greater stakes, a larger audience.

Ladies and Gentlemen, please take your seats.

Watson Fellowship

A couple of weeks ago, I had the pleasure of attending a lunch for a group of incoming freshman with merit scholarships. The two speakers focused (remarkably enough) on life after Rhodes. This was my second day of orientation and the administrators were already telling us to think about our careers after Rhodes. This didn't bother me too greatly as I am a forward thinking person, but at the same time, I did just spend a year filling out college applications and I find it mildly disturbing that the second day in college they're already advising us to plan for after undergraduate studies. The professors/deans informed us that we needed to begin planning for graduate school and fellowships etc. now. So I am.



The fellowship I found most intriguing was the Watson Fellowship. It's extremely difficult to get this particlar fellowship. What the scholarship entails is a very generous grant given to a student who wants to further study a particular subject. The only stipulation is that this student may not set foot in the US for a year. (This sounds like heaven, doesn't it?) Can you imagine how wonderful it would be to examine the possible decline of the arts audience globally? Before leaving, I could study Broadway audience statistics and compare them to West End statistics! I could chart age, numbers, and what subjects are most appealing to audiences. For example, musical theatre in France is entirely different. La Comedie Musicale is barely known (outside of Lion King/Beauty and the Beast translations.) I had the pleasure of travelling to Paris this summer, where I saw Cabaret in french. It was completely different. There is no fear of an audience finding t too risque/politically incorrect/raunchy. It never would have done well in America (that presentation at least.) WHat kind of productions are popular in Russia? Translations of big budget broadway shows? Local productions? What about Italy? Can all classes afford to attend? Do all classes want to attend? Australia? What about a study across english speaking countries? Anyway, I could study the numbers and speak to individual people (in English/French countries, anyway) and attempt to find what works, what doesn't, and then search for possible solutions or methods of improvement. What do you think?

Preliminary Thoughts: Part 1

I couldn’t wait more than 16 hours to write another post—I had about fifty things to discuss last night and due to horrendous blogging technical difficulties, I only discussed one issue. Fortunately, the issue discussed is the underlying one for all my posts/thoughts, so it was a good one with which to start.

I mentioned in my fist post that CODA meetings have the “uncanny ability to make me feel like I can conquer the world through the arts.” I figured I might expound upon that statement. The CODA program’s aim is to “graduate students with a life-long passion for learning, a compassion for others, and the ability to translate academic study and personal concern into effective leadership and action in their communities and world.” This goal is achieved over four years of undergraduate study. The first and second years learn the basics: skills for the professional arts world. By your third year, you’re in full swing with the CAP project (Senior arts project), and by your fourth, you execute a project outside campus walls in the city of Memphis.

I stumbled upon the CODA program in a funny manner. A representative from Rhodes College visited my school and I attended their info session. I spoke with the rep afterwards and mentioned my interests. Within a matter of seconds, she told me I needed to look into this CODA program. I looked it up online, and despite my intense desire to move hundreds of miles away from home and go to the chilly Northeast in a large university in a large city, I became enamored of this CODA concept. The CODA philosophy is what I have unintentionally preached throughout my middle and high school years. As far as I know, the CODA program is one of a kind. I love the value it brings to Rhodes, but I also believe that this should change. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if CODA-like programs were established in colleges/universities throughout the nation? A small legion of passionate, effervescent students collaborating to promote the arts—it sounds like a dream, doesn’t it?

At any rate, I feel very much at home in our meetings. I’ve only been at Rhodes in the program for a couple of weeks, but we’re already planning out the year. The first and second years have the opportunity to execute a solo on campus project. I had no idea about this and of course when I found out, I was absolutely ecstatic. I can’t believe how much power and freedom we are allowed and how much responsibility is given to us, even as freshmen and sophomores. The two available projects at the moment are Juxtap’art (the arts festival in the Spring based on Wagner’s concept of Gesamtkunstwerk) and taking under my wing the lofty job of compiling an arts calendar to be published at the beginning of next year. Juxtap’art planning will begin in the middle of this term, whereas the Calendar planning will begin at the middle of next term. While both jobs are extremely appealing and involved, Juxtap’art sounds like it would take so much of my time and energy that it would nearly kill me. I love that. This is why, at this point, I’m thinking that Juxtap’art is what I desire to plan.

At my school in Dallas, we participated in a Southwestern Arts festival. This was always the highlight of my year. The opportunity to plan a festival (completely student performed/run, mind you) is absolutely thrilling. Of course, I’m a big dreamer, so I’m probably envisioning something absolutely ridiculous. My philosophy with that is a) it never hurts to dream b) if it’s well organized enough with a group of people who are really invested, something ridiculously cool could happen and c) most likely, my crazy ideas will not come to fruition. However, dreaming big and falling back on a still very cool/well done plan is better than settling.

On a more ridiculous side note, I realized that my door is open to my room so people can hear me verbalizing the thoughts on this post out loud. In my hallway. Yes, I read aloud—it helps me think, even if it makes me feel like a young, less socially active, southern Carrie Bradshaw. Minus the “And then I had to wonder…” statements. Those always bothered me. Also, if you would like to know what music best accompanies a Starbucks peppermint mocha, it’s Joni Mitchell. The old, decrepit, smoker Joni Mitchell from 2000 on, not the young, peppy, warbly Joni Mitchell.

Anyway, as John (the director of the CODA program) was explaining these projects and what they entailed, I began a reverie of my senior project (while still listening to John, of course). I can attempt to decipher my scary scribble (as seen below) from yesterday, I can sort of explain my so-much-larger-than-life-that-even-Tim-Burton-would-fear-them ideas.



Essentially, my over-the-top idea is an enormous two day arts benefit in either mid fall or early spring of my senior year. It could either be at the Orpheum (which is obviously the more expensive route unless they did this out of the goodness of their hearts) or at Dixon Gallery and Gardens. The Gallery and Gardens would really be the coolest venue, I think. That is, unless the first afternoon/evening would be at the Gardens and the second night an assortment of performances at the Orpheum.

Dixon Gallery and Gardens Day 1
Afternoon:
Art workshops in the gardens or inside the actual museum
Storytelling/children’s actors in the gardens
Local artists work displayed in the Galleries or even some cool artwork outdoors (is this even a possibility in consideration of preservation of art?)
Evening:
Dinner/Performances on stage (soloists from Memphis Orchestra? Could we get a dance performance from New Ballet or Ballet Memphis, perhaps?)
Orpheum Performances Evening Day 2
Guest lecturers? Could we bring in people to speak from outside Memphis? Could we even do it in the new playhouse facility? Maybe a lecture about arts districts in civic planning?
Performances from various local theatres, ballets?, symphony?, display art in the lobby?

Sadly, my ideas get even crazier and more absurd, but I’m going to save you the even more ridiculous plans for the moment. If I have any hope of realizing them, I’ll be sure to let you know. The point of this would be to get as many arts enthusiasts/partrons/actual artist together in a two day period to support Memphis arts and the arts in general. The most pressing issue is that we need to raise awareness not only in Memphis but also nationally (and maybe even globally…though I haven’t really researched how arts audiences are abroad…wouldn’t that be an interesting study?) If we brought in performances or lecturers from outside Memphis as well as inside, this could become even larger than a local project. The admission money (tickets for workshops, one day ticket, two day pass…) could go to a specific project within Heart of the Arts. (For more info: www.heartoftheartsmemphis.org)


Clearly, my thoughts are primitive, far reaching, and scattered. That’s why I consider this brainstorming. It never hurts. Organizing juxtap’art could be small model trial run for this concept. I’d also need to think about advertising… Alright, I shall update if I have any further thoughts. Farewell.

A Mission

My roommate is a wonderful person. Her name is Leah, she is athletic, she is very intellectual, she has a brilliant dry sarcasm that few notice, she is very comfortable with her beliefs, and she has no interest in art. And when I say she has no interest in art, I mean none. Not only is she entirely apathetic about visual and performing art (the most blatant art forms), but she also is indifferent to culinary art, fashion as art, film as art, and makeup as art. Yes, I consider all of the aforentioned expressions art forms. Art, according to Merriam Webster dictionary, is defined as:


1: skill acquired by experience, study, or observation 2 a: a branch of learning: (1): one of the humanities (2)plural : liberal arts barchaic : learning, scholarship3: an occupation requiring knowledge or skill 4 a: the conscious use of skill and creative imagination especially in the production of aesthetic objects; also : works so produced b (1): fine arts (2): one of the fine arts (3): a graphic art5 aarchaic : a skillful plan b: the quality or state of being artful6: decorative or illustrative elements in printed matter



In short, art is a skill, a form of learning, one of the humanities, an occupation, the use of imagination (particularly in aesthetics), a skillful plan, or an illustrative element. Clearly, the definition is a broad one. It encompasses many expressions and outlets of creativity. This is why I believe anyone can love art.



People are turned off by the idea of art--it makes people think of gray haired, upperclass people in symphonies, freezing music halls, stuffy museums, and maybe even a boring art history class in high school or college. Fortunately, I happen to love older arts patrons. I find them to be far more knowledgeable and passionate about the arts than most people my age. Even more fortunately, I was raised in a musical family. I was brought up on movie musicals as well as musical theatre, grew up listening to my dad play the piano, and attended birthday/major holiday gatherings with my close-knit extended family which almost always included a musical performance by some cousin/grandchild/aunt/grandparent. But maybe I was just lucky. Not everyone grows up on musicals. Not everyone took a fortunate art history class. (I happened to have the most wonderfully enticing "History of Art and Music" class in my high school, the Hockaday School, in Dallas--I now cite it as one of the predominant catalysts for my decision to pursue the arts as a career.)



All arts are communicative. In some form or another, the arts convey messages to people via direct or abstract ways. However, if no one is getting away from the computer/gamecube long enough to go to the gallery, see the symphony, or go to the musical, no one will get an artist’s message. The sad, blatant truth is: art audiences are fading out. Most arts organizations are run by older generations and most audiences are comprised or the same older generations. (Don't get me wrong; I am thrilled that people are engaged in the arts regardless of age.) But something is wrong. The arts will fade out with these older generations unless we generate some interest in younger audiences. The arts need to find new ways to engage such audiences. This type of development research is a necessity in all communities. It can be done. Through outreach, advertising, and education, I believe that younger audiences can be captivated by the arts.



You’re probably wondering where Leah (my roommate) comes back into this story. That would be right about now. I came back from my CODA meeting (an arts outreach program at Rhodes Colleg--for more information visit http://www.rhodes.edu/academics/1117.asp) completely enthralled and invigorated about the arts. CODA meetings have the uncanny ability to make me believe I can conquer the world through the arts and that I may better people’s lives because of it. Leah is not quite the absurdly spunky human being I am, and therefore questioned my zealous pep. After a brief, five minute conversation about the organization of an arts festival that is taking place here at Rhodes in the spring, Leah had this funny grin on her face. I had been babbling nonstop (very energetically, I might add) and I stopped for a second and asked her why she was grinning at me. "It’s just that I’ve literally never been excited about the arts before," she stated. "Are you at all now?" I asked. "Yeah, actually. I am. And I’m not even being sarcastic." I could have died from sublime euphoria. This is basically the perfect ending to the perfect day. All it took for Leah to be slightly excited about art (or this art festival, more specifically) was energy, enthusiasm, and persuasive argument. Clearly, this is a very small, very primitive model for what I intend to do with my life. However, it’s the minor moments like these that give me hope and passion for the arts and what the arts can do.



Leah has less interest in the arts than nearly everyone I know. If she has reason to be excited about the arts, anyone should. What we have to do is figure out how to translate the energies of the younger and older generations who are vehemently passionate about the arts to those who haven’t experienced it, and then get those people to pay it forward.

I love arts outreach and education because I love seeing people who previously did not care about the arts catch the same bug I caught when I first watched the film "Hello, Dolly!" at age five in Galveston during a hurricane. I love the arts because it can play whatever role in your life you wish for it to. It can be your entertainment, your pick me up, your therapy, your career, your guilty pleasure, your night out, your relaxation, or your constant companion. It's our mission let people know what their missing, and then to get them excited about it and share it with someone else.



Katharine



For further reading/information:

http://www.rhodes.edu/academics/1117.asp
http://www.heartoftheartsmemphis.org/
http://www.ted.com/index.php/talks/view/id/66