Random Thoughts

I haven't written anything for a while, and I also haven't gotten many hits on my blog lately.  I even posted something to the the Forum a few days ago, which is a place I had promised myself to avoid, just to see if my blog link would attract people. I was also thinking about the movie Julie and Julia, because someone mentioned it, and I remembered that it was that movie that got me blogging in the first place. "Julie" wasn't the world's greatest cook or the world's greatest writer, but her writing about her passion for cooking bought her a ticket to fame.

Yesterday I listened to a playwright talking about a play he had written in which one of the themes was The Road Not Taken which by now is a cliche, even to having been misquoted by the author of the book The Road Less Traveled - as my mother would have said, he missed the "prepositional verb". Robert Frost refers to the "road less traveled by."

So is that all these past 8 years have been?  Scrambling to try to get back to the "Road Not Taken" and feeling angry and bitter?

Or is it about something else?

The Mentor (whom I haven't mentioned in quite a while) took a sensually quiescent middle aged woman and taught her to sing "Mon Coeur S'Ouvre a ta Voix" for a moment of music, magic, and a frisson of eroticism.  Was this just meant to be a one-off?  Then back to business as usual?

Whenever I falter in my journey, I remember that Valentine's Day and have faith that this was not just for nothing. Whatever God I believe in - a Christian one (monogamy is the sticking point there), or a pagan one (a little more attuned to my Dalila soul) - s/he meant that Valentine's Day to mean something.

I am at Week 11 of The Artist's Way. The world looks brighter and I have more hope. The things this process have taught me are not that different from the things I picked up from the Mentor, not just about singing and sexuality, but about colors, textures, and smells. About surrounding myself with beauty. Or what I consider beauty anyhow.  I laughed at one point when I was reading the book.  It mentioned feeling free to add that finishing touch to an outfit, something that is special to you, even if conventional people think you are "ruining" it.  That made me realize that the "trashy" way I love to dress is my form of self-expression.  It is how I signal to myself and the world that I am always a diva, no matter what I am doing.

I believe that some people are hardwired to be divas.  (Many disagree and say that the only people who can use that term about themselves are those who have perfected an art form and are acknowledged to excel in it.)  If you are hardwired to be a diva and you have a talent, nurture it, make the right connections, and find a venue, you are lucky.  Many don't.  I see these all around me: the bank teller with braids that probably cost an entire week's paycheck, flaunting her elaborate "nail art"; the harried pediatrician who buys a different flamboyant gown to wear to each wedding and Bar Mitzvah she is invited to when she really only needed two.

So maybe a venue will present itself.  Meanwhile the Requiem preparations continue.

This morning I sang a piece by a little-known composer, Joseph Raff, called "Great and Wonderful are All Thy Works".  I think I sang well, and the choir director was happy.  I also found a new violinist to perform Bach with.  Very few people said anything to me, even ones who spoke to me (about other things) after the service, so part of me felt the whole thing sort of fell into a black hole, but I guess God heard me, and that's all that should matter, although divas always love applause.

ETA: I realize that in saying I felt my singing "fell into a black hole" I was being insulting to those people who did thank me (I got several thank yous on Facebook after I wrote this, one from a fellow choir member who means a lot to me).  I think the thing I was most peeved about was that I was sitting with a woman who likes me, and who had (out of kindness) chided me for writing on Facebook about being envious.  You would think that she would have said something about my singing, as she was at both services, but she never even mentioned it.  The good news: This oratorio is little known (hasn't been performed in this country in my lifetime in any event) so it might be a good vehicle to try to attract big players to.  (By "big players" I mean getting some of the serious  musicians at the church to look for a venue for it, which is a whole 'nuther thing from putting on a vanity production.)