Singing and Painting - Two more stories

Painting

In summer of 2008, my parents and I went to the Oregon coast for a week of relaxation. We found this amazing camping spot right on the top of a cliff overlooking the expansive ocean. A couple nights, but one night in particular, there was a beautiful sunset. I had contented myself with propping my feet up on the railing of the cliff and taking pictures to my heart's content, while my parents decided to take a walk along the beach. After a while they emerged from the beach access point and I watched them walk down the beach, through the reflection line of the sun and out of my sight. The sun sank lower and after what seemed like a long time, I saw them coming back. Now it was the golden hour. The light and color of the moment was perfect.

Then I got an idea! Directing them like an airport worker, I managed to communicate where I wanted them for some shots. I captured the moment I was looking for and let them know by waving that they could move on. That Christmas I printed that photo and gave it to my father as a stocking stuffer. A few years later, however, I wanted to do something better. We had been working on decorating the kitchen, and discovered that a section of the wall needed some art. I told my mom I would paint her a picture just for that spot, and I wouldn't tell her what it was going to be. It was going to be their 25th wedding anniversary gift.

I covered the canvas with a similar green to the walls first so the canvas edges would blend well. Then over the next six months I stared at a blank canvas while I was home, and thought about a blank canvas while I was away. I knew what I wanted to do, but I was unsure of whether I could do it. Finally, after watching an episode of "The Joy of Painting," with Bob Ross, I was inspired. Within a week or two I had the painting complete. Neither my mother or father had seen it since it was a blank canvas. When it was dry I covered the painting with a sheet and brought them in to my room (which always looks closer to a studio). With a flourish I revealed the painting and both my mom and dad gasped.

I had never painted before outside of simple watercolors in elementary and middle school, but this painting I surprised them with. Truth be told, I surprised myself. I had recreated that day of vacation at the beach in a stylized but very recognizable way, making sure that my mom and dad's frames could be identified and that the mood and feel of the moment came through in the colors and the condition of the sky. It still hangs in their kitchen breakfast nook, and Whenever someone asks my mom who painted the picture, she proudly shares that her daughter painted it out of love for their 25th Wedding Anniversary.

Singing

I have been singing since I was very young, and inherited my mother's voice (which anyone who has heard her sing will tell you is a very good thing). I sang in choir all four years of High School, and from sophomore year I began functioning as a section leader or overseer of some sort. This helped me a lot with my own skill, and cut my old pomposity down as I experienced how much more rewarding lifting up another person's skill can be.

The Altos and Men of our choir enjoying each other

In late 2008 my Choir director, Mr. Wong, sent in a demo tape of our choir to the planning committee for the National Youth Choir. A few weeks later we received the announcement that we had been accepted to sing with the National Youth Choir in Carnegie Hall, New York City! For those of us that were going, we spent the next several months not only learning and perfecting the music for our own concerts, but also the extremely difficult music that had been sent to us to learn for our concert in that famous old music hall.

We had to memorize six songs in four languages, with at least fifteen different keys, no less than 20 different time signatures, many tempos, and each song was it's own unique style, from an eight-part harmony in German to a tight harmony Swahili call & response song with choreography. The hardest song to learn, however, was the Spanish song "A un Panal de Rica Miel," which was an up-tempo song with several uncommon time signatures and lots of tongue twisters even for native Spanish speakers. We were still memorizing when we were driving to the airport the first day of the trip even though we had had the song for months.

Dr. Andre Thomas conducting a rehearsal

We took a red eye flight to New York and were coming down out of the clouds when the sun was rising. At this point I had gotten 1 1/2 hours of sleep, which was more than half the group got. We caught a bus to the metro, a metro to the nearest station to our hotel, walked around the famed trinity church and over to our hotel. In the hotel we went straight into rehearsal after checking in, and were introduced to our fellow voices (around 250 of them), and our Conductor, Dr. Andre Thomas, the head of the music department for Florida State, and an amazing artist. After a frighteningly challenging rehearsal, he assigned us homework and dismissed for lunch. We all ran to Central Park (about an hour each way, and an hour there) for a hot dog, to see the castle, the site of beloved John Lennon's demise, the horses and carriages, and the Plaza hotel across the lawn. It was a sight to behold! But then we ran back to rehearsal and worked even harder than we had before. When we were finally dismissed for the night, we had a quick dinner and we all got dressed up and trotted off to Time Square and Broadway to see Phantom of the Opera. I have seldom known such a feeling of exhaustion and adrenaline combining into an entirely unearthly ecstasy.

Our Choir group minus a few stragglers

Over the next three days we worked and worked, saw the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island, memorized, felt vertigo in Rockefeller Center, perfected ourselves, walked by Radio City Music Hall, and analyzed ourselves. We soaked up every word of Dr. Thomas' directions. I finally felt I was in a completely professional environment. Though I did not know it then, I was completely in my crazy, creative, yet perfect element.

On the second to last night we arrived at the music hall for a dress rehearsal. Much of it was spent in the theatre seats while other groups readied their performances and adjusted to the performance space. We were to go last. When it was finally our turn, we filed onto the stage in our order. I turned my head upwards and I took in a sight that only a small percentage of people get to see. Carnegie Hall from the stage. The gilded trims, the plush red velvet seats, the baroque styled architecture covering every inch of the perfectly domed Holy Grail of great centers of history and art. There were standing adjustments being made. I thought of all the people who had performed on that stage: Julie Andrews and Carol Burnett, Sarah Brightman, Charlotte Church, Josh Groban, Andre Bocelli... All attention shifted to Dr. Thomas. The theatre sat empty, but listened none-the-less. As the music began, I swooned from amazement, and almost fainted at the realization- the reality- of where I was standing. I recovered myself and re-focused, but I will never forget that moment.

On the Way to Carnegie Hall, NYC

On our last evening in New York we all put on our black dresses and tuxes and readied our minds for performance. Every note we had scribbled on our music, every reminder, was so ingrained in our minds, we were rehearsing without music, without sound at all. But we were focused. So focused it was uncanny to think that every member of the choir was a high school student. We loaded into the charter buses and rode across downtown. We all filed out and entered the theatre from the stage entrance, and found our seats. I was unsure whether I would laugh, cry, or sit in silent awe, but I was able to maintain the (more appropriate) latter. We were exhausted beyond exhausted, but we were ready. The other choirs performed, leading up to ours.

At the signal, we all stood and moved back stage, filing in from the wings. Again I was caught up in awe, but this time I felt a part of the Hall's history rather than a humbled observer. The music began, and every one of us sang our hearts out to the audience. All the work to raise the money, all the work to earn our places as performers on that stage, all the friendships made and some lost, we poured into those songs. At one moment, I hit a note boisterously (as a Mezzo Soprano), and Dr. Thomas looked directly at me while I sustained the note, and his eyes said "bravo! You've got it!" I had earned my place on that stage, and that is when I knew it for certain. We gave such a performance that made Dr. Andre Thomas glow with pride at the conclusion of our last song. He turned and bowed, gave credit to our accompanists, and applauded us along with the audience.

All this was an amazing experience, but the most moving moment came after the hall was locked up for the night and we were back in our hotel. Tuxes and dresses were taken off and pajamas were on, and it was just the select members of our little choir left who had worked hard to get to New York. We sat on the carpet with our director, whom we now called "Papa Wong," a term of endearment no one but those of us who had gone on the trip would ever be allowed to use. Here, over melting bowls of ice cream, we reflected on the dreams that came true for us, the thankfulness and blessing we all felt at being able to participate in such a trip. Life stories were shared by many, and even more shed tears. That night it was shared that one member of the choir's life was saved by out choir. When she felt alone everywhere else, her knowledge of the family she had in us kept her from committing suicide. None of us came from wealthy families, many from sub-middle class, and to travel to New York was literally a once in a lifetime dream come true.

It was that last meeting when I knew that all my participation, all my effort, all the kind words and tense moments that were smoothed over, and all the moments of vulnerability we had shared made us more than many of the huge choirs would ever have. We really were a unit. That's the kind of teamwork I learned to appreciate.

In thoughtful contemplation,
Katherine Swanson
signing off