The sporadic ramblings of Emily C. A. Snyder - devoted to God, theatre, writing, and much randominity.

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Location: New York, New York, United States

Artistic Director and Co-Founder of TURN TO FLESH PRODUCTIONS. | Author of "Nachtstürm Castle," "Niamh and the Hermit." | Playwright: "Cupid and Psyche," "Math for Actors." | Classical director and educator.

Saturday, April 26, 2008

In the interest of weeding out

This fandom which is causing me no little consternation, all further AI posts will be found here:

In other news, I was called into sing a funeral this morning, which said funeral wanted (what else?) Schubert's "Ave Maria" for communion. I was a bit apprehensive since I'm rarely in my best voice at 9 in the morning (I'm rarely my best me at 9 in the morning!), and since I still have leftover emotional paralysis when approaching this particular song. I learnt it towards the end of my stint with June Li Applebaum in New Jersey, and she was adamant that I take no breaths at all between the "Ave" and the "Maria." But I've got, like, two Coke cans' worth of lung capacity and so that just iddn't ever going to happen. So, emotional scars, etc. etc. However, I have developed as a vocalist and so I put my fears aside, went in a half hour early, sang it through with the organist - glad that he put it in Ab! - and then found myself, when the time actually came, quite capable of caressing the notes.

It's funny - and here a little AI will slip in - but right around this season, I always get more sing-y. Maybe it's just the birds twittering and various Bambi-esque feelings within me, but I get genuinely anxious to perform. And so what a delight it was to sing this morning, in our high-ceilinged Immaculate Conception, from the balcony, with the microphone far from my mouth but there if I needed it, in the proper key, with the grace of peace upon me? It was delightful to stretch phrases, to really hit each note of a turn, to crecendo and decrecendo - and take that breath between the titular words and therefore make a lovely sound.

Oh, it's all silly. But I'd love to just...stay in a beautifully acoustic room and pour my heart out in song. "I'm Going to Go Back There Someday" has been running around in my head lately. But I'd like to share this gift - I'd like to share it - and I seem to have so few opportunities. Whenever I sing inside, I'm literally sent into another room by the family member to whom I am singing! (Because even my soft voice is loud. Gaaaaah! Made for the Alps! Made for the Aaaalps!)

It's all good. It's all nonsense. My brain's been one big poetic mush. I wish I could have gone out to the Irish Pub with the Emerson lassies tonight, but no such luck. Booooo to travel time and distance! C'est ca. it is.

Mood: Sleepy, dopey, doc
Music: The various bits of cranial flotsom
Thought: It's curious: this desire to be seen - and the fear of the same.


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