Belated Musings on Blue at Lyric
(Blue - Lyric Opera of Chicago - Nov 2024)
Blue was an experience I will never forget. It was my first time performing in an opera that strives to tell a story of blackness in the modern day: the complexity of our overlapping identities, unjust systems that work exactly as intended, how these impact our dreams and ambitions, and the universal desire of peace, safety, and community. Blue is not an individual story of our black heroes and icons enduring and surpassing expectations to create examples for us all. This story highlights more subtle, quiet, everyday strengths: the strength of raising a black baby with compassion in hard times, the strength of faith, the strength of a moral compass, the strength of donning a uniform for the noblest intentions, the strength of the working class, the strength of a comforting word.
This was the most organic role for me to process and emotionally map. The faces of my family, friends, and loved ones were mirrored in those of my castmates and their characters. It took no effort for me to see the fire and passion of my own father in Kenneth. The love and warmth of my stepfather and the uniforms of my uncle and brother were knitted onto the back of "Father." My mother's determination, love, and will to achieve her dreams while remaining uncompromising with the family she wants were written directly into "Mother." I saw my grandparents' faith in the Reverend's message. I saw every friendship I've had with a black woman in Zoie, Ariana, and Kristy - the playfulness, the jokes, the instant honesty, love, and comradery. I saw my cousins' faces on Travon and the son - in their matching gentle hearts of gold. I saw them all in pews, coffee tables, and later in a casket.
Blue taught me the depth of my emotional capacity and how much more I can retrieve and use on stage. I frequently keep "maintaining my technique" at the forefront of my mind in practice and performance. It is easy to trick yourself into thinking that it is more important to produce a beautiful sound than to guide the audience through an emotional experience through sound. I truly used my technique as a medium of expression and found myself on the other side, free....like a wrung-out washcloth, yes, but free. I can go deeper and further. Blue broke my heart and brought me to tears. As often as it filled me with helplessness, it filled me with gratitude and hope. Each day, I was broken down and rebuilt better and stronger. So much of that "rebuild" was found in my friends and colleagues on and off the stage. I was surrounded by support, kind words, good meals, hard work, and generosity each day. If I had a dollar for every time in this process that I saw someone in this show sing a stinging line or scorching scene and be met on the other side of the wing with a hug, a joke, or a smile to ease the load, I'd be rich. It's a beautiful thing to witness, to be a part of, AND to replicate when it isn't as instinctual. Grateful, grateful.
As an artist, it is a gift to not only be a part of something that is beautiful but also drives its audiences to think, feel, and change. I was excited to hear, read, and debate with folks about this show's choices, staging, subject, and writing, but more than anything, I was happy to see how audiences digested this work. It brought up questions for me like:
How can we continue to produce works like this in shifting political climates? Are we writing for intra-community catharsis or extra-community understanding (in other words, was this intended for white folks or black folks?) Does that affect its value in an opera house? How can we program operas alongside other artwork that enhances its message?
These kinds of conversations are vital to making our work collaborative and inclusive for the new audiences we want to see in our opera houses. I found this a revitalizing experience, especially for the part of me that wondered if my artistic passions could be of service to the communities that matter the most to me.
Lastly, this was the show I participated in during this year's election. It remains a scary time, particularly for those of us in marginalized communities. It is hard to be an artist trying to tell stories that are true to us. I am so thankful that I was able to be a part of that storytelling on such a big stage with such incredible artists, all the more in this particular climate. So, this Black History Month, when attempted erasure is imminent, I'd like to manifest more of what I have already experienced, which is much embodied in my experience of Blue. I hope that we all remain dedicated to telling stories that are meaningful and representative of us - stories of the legends of history, of the everyday. I hope that we will feel empowered to choose projects that truly represent us, our many interactions, and our broader humanity; we are not black bodies to be used, and our agency remains valuable. I hope administrations continue to find diverse stories intriguing and relevant, as Lyric has done, because they are crucial. I hope writers, composers, and historians continue to discover and create. I hope we stand up for each other when it is easy and hard. I hope that the safe spaces that allowed us the space for Blue continue to be brave and hold the space intact for all of us. I want to be a vehicle for change, understanding, and collective growth. I commit to showing up for my dreams and what I believe in.
Photo by Kyle Flubacker
Visual story on Instagram, here.
