It's time to dream
Changing the way we talk about artists
I was chatting with a violinist friend, who is about to graduate from a very prestigious program. From the first time I met him and heard his playing, I admired him. There’s a quiet confidence that is balanced with humilty. What’s not to respect?
I hadn’t seen him for a while, so the first thing that came out of my mouth was “what’s next for you?” I almost gagged as those words came out. I hate being asked that. In fact, most people hate being asked that, but it’s almost a reflex for us to ask. Perhaps it’s an American mindset with the ideal being someone who is constantly working and producing art. I’ve been grappling with these pressures for a while. I’ll let you know when I have it all figured out, but for now, we grapple on.
We started chatting about all these projects that we’ve seen colleagues develop. Ideas that were once a curiosity, turning into a dream, turning into reality. I asked him “what’s YOUR dream project?” He didn’t know. “What do I want to do? That’s a good question…” I also had nothing to contribute. What would be my dream project? Our education system trains artists in technique, knowledge and musicality, but what about creation? As a classically trained singer, I’ve been taught how to take directions from conductors and directors. I learned about musical style and how that varies with each composition. But what about making something new? I’m not necessarily talking about writing new music, although composing is a great path for those with that calling.
When I studied acting, there was constant discussion about returning to that place of childlike play. Have you watched a child play “make-believe?” I promise you that it will be one of the most committed performances that you’ve ever seen. During my studies, there was an emphasis on this kind of “play,” that frankly, rarely happened during my training as an opera singer. I started dipping my toes in that water when I staged part of my recital and explored repertoire inspired by Joan of Arc, rather than covering the different languages and periods of classical music. Perhaps I could argue that a wiki-research spiral at 2 am is play for me, but I want to dream of something bigger.
I’ve watched friends and colleagues, all from the world of opera, create companies, podcasts, shows, albums and more. They weren’t encouraged to do this in school. In fact, I’m sure many were discouraged as these dreams didn’t fit into what conservatory training could provide. All of that training and structure couldn’t stop the inevitable development of their artistic visions.
When that muscle memory quip of “what’s next for you,” rears its ugly head, I’m replacing it with “what’s your dream project? What do you want to do?” And for those of you who love an artist, I suggest you do the same. They might not have an answer, but they’ll appreciate the opportunity to start dreaming.
You made it this far, so here is a bonus perk/ deep cut! If you follow me on Instagram, you might notice that I’ve been poking around at Jewish folk music. Just playing around for now, but I’m keeping space for it to develop into a dream project if that’s what it wants to do. This is Adio Kerida, a Sephardic folk song sung in Judeo-Spanish, a language that is also known as Ladino.