Japan: Week 15

15 - Opera. Week ending Sunday 23rd June

I need to catch you all up, I think. To anyone who doesn't know me in "real life", I'm terribly sorry if you thought I'd fallen off the face of the planet. No longer in the incredible place I write about, but still here, nonetheless.

The week-days at this point were filled with studying and felt-pens and re-living exam stress of the like I had not experienced since the GCSE years. It's the sheer quantity of subjects you're supposed to be able to be interested in and theorise about which always got me.

However, as any perfectionist student will tell you, upon glancing up from their textbook, the way to study to the extent that it is feasible for you to hold yourself to such ridiculously high standards is to give your mind a break once in a while. Appreciating the beauty existing in so many places and ignoring the futilities of your worries for a few short hours is a wonderful way to gain some distance from those revision notes. Enough that when you return you'll realise how much you learnt from what you were trying to.

To arrive at the point, the appreciation of beauty which soothed my soul and calmed my fraying nerves was 'The Marriage of Figaro' by Amadeus Mozart, performed by Basel Theater, a Swiss company, at Aichi Arts Centre on 22nd June. This had been arranged for us by the university many weeks previously, and I was at once excited at the prospect of seeing the opera again, but this time in its original Italian. At the time it was merely from a cultural perspective; I will always enjoy an event held at a theatre. I hadn't calculated that this would be the weekend before deadlines would finally creep on top of us, and how necessary the performance would be to my sanity.

We were invited along with Japanese students taking culture classes in Global Studies at NUFS, and instructed to wear formal attire and bring opera glasses... I arrived in the closest dress I had to 'formal', but unfortunately sans opera glasses.

As it turned out, they were unnecessary. We had fabulous seats, ones I would have chosen if I could have my pick of the auditorium. The very front row of the first tier up, but not dead centre so that I could soak up the atmosphere from the viewers as well as the performers. Perhaps it was the fortunate acoustics which made this production so beautiful.

But I doubt it. It had been a while since I'd heard an orchestra of such a high standard play music by one of the most talented composers the Earth has ever known, and it could be needless to say that I was moved. I struggled to remember the plot-line (my spoken Italian and written Japanese not being up to much, and that being an understatement) and cursed myself for not looking up a synopsis before I left, as had been my intention. But in the end it mattered very little. The story is one of love, and all the tribulations which go along with it. This is how great minds become immortalised, they were the ones who figaro-ed out how to write down the stories the human mind obsesses over (Sorry. Not sorry). The plot contains jealousy, multiple story-lines, and the only truly confusing bit in the end revealed its meaning to me because I know the Japanese character for 'mother'.

So, the plot was sufficiently under control in my mind. It was unimportant, compared to the talent of the musicians. I discovered the perfection of orchestral music all over again that evening. Memories of all the ensembles and people I had played with often filled my mind, and these, coupled with the clarity and beauty of an orchestra in full voice tugged on my heartstrings and brought a tear to my eye more than once. In that place, 'Cherubino's Aria', sung by Franziska Gottwald, and her voice as pure and crystalline as water was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard.

I'll be forever grateful that music has no language barrier. Not English, nor Italian, nor Japanese can mask the unadulterated joy caused by the soaring notes of the like of Basel sinfonietta.

And that, friends, is how a heart, tattered from stress like mine, can find its peace in music. And so we go home, and carry on revising.

Knowing

I've never had a set goal in my mind of where my life's going. When I was 5 I wanted to work in a shop because I like lining things up and wanted to make the things go 'beep'. Not a direct quote but it was something along those lines. I do currently work in my University's Student Union shop, which is a lovely job; I get to see my friends and they work around my timetable and it's not far to go. However I wouldn't exactly say that I want to stay as a shop assistant there forever.

As you grow older your ambitions are supposed to grow bigger in some ways, smaller in others. Downsizing in terms of understanding your limitations, for example. It would be difficult, and in some cases impossible for certain children to become astronauts, princesses, or in my case, a mermaid. Achieved as far as possible, I think. But as you understand yourself more, you realise career prospects you would be suited to. Are you caring? Hands-on? Athletic? Political? Your skills and interests line you up to pursue certain paths.

But what if everything interests you? What if, at GCSE level, you could have quite happily taken Geography, History, Japanese, Drama or Music as your extra choices? Psychology wouldn't have been to bad either, had it been offered. And what if, conversely, a great many things frighten you? Death, upset, boredom. It's been so hard for me to align all the parts of myself with a road to walk cycle down.

BUT THEN... University! In the end I just went with something I enjoyed. Something I knew relatively little about, but was anxious to explore and delve into the open and ever-changing world. A subject which seems to fit my personality, my style. A subject which is more academic than many realise, but is at times, hilariously physical. Plenty of extra-curricular to be involved in, too.

Why, drama, of course! Augmented with English to make me seem more smart (so that I could take the term in Japan) I embarked on a whole new subject to see where it would lead. 'Exploration' is probably the best word to describe my course. Of the self, of society, of literature. Of the space you're occupying, of expectations, of everything there is. Mickey-mouse? No. Easy option? No. Tell that to my 3,000 word critical analysis.

Which brings me back to the title, and my meandering train of thought. The analysis I have to write is of a performance I and 4 others produced, devised and scripted ourselves, from completely nada. Small inspiration from lectures on clowning and other forms of popular performance and comedians/comedic performances we already knew and love, but essentially, there was no structure to follow. This was shown most strongly by the diversity of the group performances, and the directions we had all taken.

I don't know if I've ever had so much fun creating something before. I don't know that I have created something entirely out of nothing before. I loved it. Pure and simple. We had to think of everything; costume, props, music/soundtrack, characterisation, and all the explorations I mentioned. We did well, mark-wise, although I maintain that it's not so important at this stage. We made them laugh, a much greater achievement in my eyes, because it shows we have something to work with, a slight spark we can flame.

We are tentative about our dreams these days, at this age. We are worried that others will doubt our ability, and will seem arrogant or ignorant or naive. So I shan't say that I know what it is that I want to spend my whole life doing. I am not sure that I will ever know. I seem too flighty, too intent on learning everything about everything to settle, but if I had to pick something and never diverge, it would be this. Devising, understanding, creating, playing.

Your age is just a number, and I think there's so much to be said for ignoring it.

Oh, jelly and squirty cream. That's me covered in jelly and squirty cream.

Yours, playfully,

Abby

With every 'no' you're closer to a 'yes'

This post is, frankly, about the millions of auditions well, four which I attended this week, none of which I will know the result of until tomorrow at the earliest. It had to be done straight away before I received the terrifying emails from directors; I might think something entirely different in hindsight, and I wanted to explore the thinks I am thinking at present, unclouded as they are by anything so unattractive as knowledge.

The plays are The Three Musketeers, Midsummer Night's Dream, Twelfth Night and The Merchant of Venice. I know which one I desperately desire a part in, but am loathe to write it. There is only so much potential failure I can set myself up for on the internet.

I have already had two unsuccessful auditions this year. Admittedly, one was a musical I went along to as a bit of fun (aside from the shower, whilst cleaning, or in order to make a fool of myself, I don't sing) but oddly the rejection from this actually stung the more, sure as I was of my incapability of holding up a harmonic line, than the serious play I actually thought I could get a part in.

I think the reason being told you haven't been chosen for a production seems so harsh because we take it personally. I was self-conscious about trying to take myself seriously and sing well. I was rejected by the Director. I used this as proof that I am, as I suspected, terrible at singing. Also, that I am worthless, will never do well in auditions, and should leave University immediately Comic injection - you're allowed to laugh. As it turned out, when I asked for my audition notes the director told me the main reason I hadn't got a part was because my style of singing wasn't right for the production (is Hair; I used to be a choral singer. Go figure.) and because I was so nervous. Not quite what I was beating myself up for...

Auditions are terrifying because we're all a little afraid of being ourselves, as we might not be picked. Of course, you're playing a character and not really yourself at an audition, but aren't these characters merely an extension of your personality? The direction you take a character, or the movement you perform in a workshop is your own personal choice, and it seems as though it is this choice which is unwanted.

To become less afraid of auditions, and to be affected less by directors judgements of me, I need to remember that the ultimate casting decision is down to one, possibly two, people. Just because they weren't in love with the way you performed a certain part, doesn't mean the whole world will think like that. As in auditions, so in life; not everyone will become your friend, and this is in no way a bad thing, nor different for anyone interesting on earth. Another matter I need to come to terms with, incidentally. If you have opinions on any topic, feathers will be ruffled elsewhere.

My advice therefore, is to put yourself out there, and be a little different. In what situation would you be chosen for being the same as everyone else? I can think of few. Stay true to what you believe, that which you enjoy doing, and how you wish to behave. That way, if a director doesn't pick you because you're the wrong height or build, or because you have the wrong kind of voice, you'll know that next time you will fit the preconceived image they have of the character, and your personality will shine through and illustrate you as the sort of person they would like to work with.

This is why I had to write this post before knowing - this way it is neither smug and patronising, nor bitter. Although it may be garbled, as it is four minutes past two in the morning.

Yours, anxiously waiting,
Abby