Wiederaufnahme

When productions are remounted in Germany, oftentimes with new singers, new conductors, and new regie assistants, the re-visiting of the production is called "Wiederaufnahme" or … Resumption. 

After weeks away from writing there is only one question on my mind: "Where to resume?"

Is it with the crushing depression I've been suffering for 3 weeks, the lack of sleep, the total and utter devastation of no longer being at La Monnaie in the artistic highpoint of my career?

Is it with missing friends and artistic partners or the guilt of being home with family, feeling incapable of relating and it sinking in that I've been away more than home?

Is it with too rapid a transition from German to Italian repertoire, silently wishing I were home and in one of the worst moods of my career, unable to do anything right onstage?

Or the criticism leveled for being mentally and vocally subpar?

My career will be marked by one dividing line: The Castellucci Parsifal. There was before Castellucci and there was after. And I nearly curse Roméo for creating this division.

I've heard of singers suffering "post-gig blues." There have been articles written in other blogs and resources like Classical Singer and NFCS about how singers sometimes suffer a mental let-down after a highly rewarding artistic endeavor. And I've always thought they needed a swift kick in the hind-quarters. Wimps.

Well, now I'm not so quick to judge them. I found myself unable to cope with anything that entailed communicating over the past few weeks. Unfortunately, singing is one of the things that entails communication. I had left Brussels dog-tired from an entirely sold out run of Parsifal, the final ones having gotten a cold and dealt with trying to devote myself to getting better FAST so as not to miss the broadcast of the final performance. And left town dead from the stress of it all. That was the 21st of February.

On the 22nd I was in rehearsal for Turiddu in Cavalleria Rusticana.

And not in a good mood.

Oh, I tried to be, and that lasted for about 30 minutes. But very quickly everything just caved in. Had I an ounce of brains I would have just gone home. I had a feeling it wasn't going to be pretty. My body literally gave way to all the let-down. All the tears shed during that final time singing "Nur eine Waffe taugt" just never stopped.

So, apologies for so many unanswered Facebook notes, emails, caring phone calls. I still marvel at the daily comments seen on FB about friendships made and the overall suffering the "Cast of Hundreds" has gone thru. I see I'm not the only one to feel blue. It goes without saying I miss Castellucci's production.

What is hard to express is…WHY??

I've been in many new productions over the past couple years and have enjoyed (and hated) every single one. No difference with the Castellucci. But the comment I think about most is something Roméo said in the first rehearsal. He said he was looking for a hypnosis of sorts. Portions of the piece he wanted in blistering white or complete darkness so the attendee would feel compelled to shut their eyes. Other times using repetitive abstract movement. All with the desire to touch the deepest part of the public's being, circumventing the analytical portion of our minds and allowing something further.

I can't speak as to the effectiveness on the public, but on me…it happened. In the zen-like state with which I was told to perform, I found performances where my brain literally turned off. Where time ceased. Where self-judging stopped. Where an awareness simply to the breath was so full in my mind nothing else existed. I was. I stopped playing a part.

And I fear I'll never know this mental state again. I had a feeling it would be an important moment in my artistic growth as I was leaving. One could literally feel how special the time was. The conducting, the directing, the audience, and the figurants. We were all breathing together and I've never felt anything like it.

I kept thinking: How is it possible to take what I've learned here into the rest of my career? And the suspicion was, I couldn't. Certainly I knew performing alongside Waltraud Meier in the Cavalleria wouldn't allow for just "being." I knew the Cavalleria would be perversely un-Castellucci. And standing onstage for the last weeks has been bondage of the worst sort. Imprisoned by doubt, loathing and a general distaste for weideraufnahmen. Nothing could live up to the artistic fulfillment I had just been thru for the last 4 months.

And now? Where to resume? I suppose the wheel has gone full circle. I've finally seen Regie Theater can be liberating, rather than slavery. Through awareness, perseverance and faith comes effectiveness. Our best work CAN be found during times of great struggle and artistic doubt.

Now? I'm not depressed. I dealt with it by doing housework. Even our maid couldn't keep up with me. And I did a bit of housework on myself too. It was a bit overdue.

Today I'm in Stuttgart. I'm about to re-do the other Parsifal. Bieito isn't here in person. If he were, I'd throw my arms around him and give him a big sloppy kiss for starting me down the path of non-reckless abandon, the work that Roméo continued.

Finally a wiederaufnahme I won't be the pain in the ass in, asking "Why in the world would I do THAT?!" or internally at odds with. I created it. If I have problems with it its my own darn fault.

Just wished I wouldn't have gained 5 kilos…