You’ve heard the saying “Art imitates life.” Or perhaps you have read the quote from Oscar Wilde’s essay The Decay of Lying: “Life imitates Art far more than Art imitates Life.” But what happens when life collides head on with art, particularly life events that could interfere with a singer’s ability to perform effectively?
All performers experience such moments—both joyous and tragic—during their professional careers: weddings, the birth of a child, the illness or death of a loved one, a breakup, divorce, or other domestic strife. The harsher events can create a deep sense of grief within the core of the artist. No artist, however accomplished or acclaimed, is immune, and many of the world’s great singers have continued to perform while experiencing private (or sometimes quite public) personal difficulties.
Singers in these situations often feel they must act on two stages simultaneously—bringing the character to life onstage while maintaining an “all is well with the world” façade offstage. They can also feel torn between supporting their family during a time of crisis while also meeting the expectations of the job at hand.
Singers are taught to “leave personal baggage at the door” when going into lessons, rehearsals, or performances. The fine art of compartmentalizing personal difficulties so they don’t interfere with the artistic process can seem an overwhelming obstacle course. Maintaining a modicum of privacy while shouldering life’s burdens in a career where an artist must continually express emotion to an audience presents quite a paradox.
Recently, I [Rowell] encountered such a life-art collision just before a joint recital with colleagues during the Christmas season. Arriving home the day before the performance from the eighth family funeral in the span of 14 months, I found myself musically, artistically, and emotionally drained to the point of emptiness. The afternoon of the performance we met to rehearse the collaborative numbers, and I struggled to even phonate. It was more “phoning it in” than phonating, and I
couldn’t summon the inward strength to even want to perform that evening. This was not the first time I had experienced a personal crisis during a performance period, but it was the first time I acutely felt the uncertainty of managing to perform in spite of the grief.
This experience led me to a different sort of collaboration with my colleague, Joanie Brittingham. We decided to survey fellow singers about their experiences and insights coping with such situations. We surveyed young artists, emerging professionals, and well-established singers with credentials in some of the most prestigious opera houses in the U.S. and Europe. For reasons of privacy, we do not mention the names of singers and organizations they were collaborating with at the time of their crises.
The majority of respondents experienced a death of an immediate family member during a performance. Other singers experienced such events as the near-fatal accident of a family member, the life-threatening illness of a parent, or a rather public divorce. One singer shared the traumatic effects of witnessing the horrors of 9/11 while living and performing in New York City. All artists spoke candidly about the experiences’ effects on them personally and professionally and offered generous advice on how to successfully navigate such events while maintaining a high standard of artistry and professionalism.
Disclosure and Support
The first dilemma each singer described was whether to disclose their circumstances to either musical and stage management or with colleagues in the production. All singers said that they did privately share their circumstances with someone involved, although most expressed reluctance to disclose much information.
“I was extremely cautious about sharing,” said one soprano. “I think leaving my personal life at the door allowed me to function.” Another singer coped by telling colleagues “what was going on factually, but never really about my feelings.” Others used similar caution, disclosing their situations only to one or two persons involved in the production, and each was discriminating in their choice of confidante.
When asked if after disclosing their situations they received needed support, indifference, or pressure to fulfill their obligation to the production, the responses varied. Most singers received support, although the level of that support was equally varied. Many said support from colleagues was extraordinarily generous and helpful. One baritone, while singing the title role in Rigoletto, received news of a tragic accident involving a family member the day before the opening performance. “I shared what I was going through with the conductor whom I rightly thought would be supportive,” he says. “None of my [other] cast members knew.”
A mezzo soprano faced with her father’s diagnosis of a malignant brain tumor stated, “I found that once you
have a family member who is diagnosed with cancer, you come to realize that so many of your close friends, family, and colleagues have gone through similar situations and can offer help and comfort.”
But not all singers experienced such support. A lyric tenor “was met with practical compassion on the matter; while there was an understanding of the severity of my concerns, the company had to be sure that I would not jeopardize their performances.” Subsequently, that compassion became “short lived, and the pressure of feeling that I was being closely watched by the administration exacerbated my already fragile state.”
A young mezzo soprano, having lost her mother to cancer, experienced an even sharper sense of indifference. “The person that was in charge of one of the productions seemed to have no compassion for my situation,” she said, “and expected me to return to the rehearsals in the same capacity that preceded my mother’s death.” Another young artist who also lost her mother to cancer encountered friction when she asked for permission to leave to say goodbye to her mother while in the final stages of her disease.
A baritone we interviewed told the story of being engaged with a particular company while his father was dying. The company offered the baritone another role in a subsequent production. He planned to finish out his current contract, but “politely declined” the future role because of the impending death of his father. His father passed away just a few days before the opening of the current production. He attended the funeral and returned on the day of the final dress rehearsal. The director met him immediately upon his return and again pressed him to accept the future role now that his circumstances had changed. “It was all I could do not to quit on the spot,”
he said.
Emotional Turmoil
The emotional effects of these events on each singer manifested themselves in numerous ways. Almost without exception, all singers said they dealt with feelings of isolation, distraction, withdrawal, and even guilt. “I would describe my experience as ‘guilt ridden,’” said one singer. “I felt like I should have quit both of my gigs and been with my mother as she went through her cancer.” One singer who experienced withdrawal said that “by avoiding the stimulus of personal interaction, I felt more able to control my environment. . . . In hindsight, this lack of contact was to my detriment.”
The singers who dealt with the death of a family member all struggled to find the proper time and way to grieve. “Reflecting upon the situation, I should have left the role and production,” one singer admitted. “They got a damaged artist that was incapable of contributing in a positive way.”
Many respondents expressed the same fear: jeopardizing future work because of the situation they faced. Some did indeed experience a “ripple effect” with other companies who learned of their situations. But most were subsequently hired back by the same company for later productions.
Silver Linings
Every singer said they experienced some level of success with their particular performance in spite of the devastating circumstances, and many shared extraordinarily positive outcomes and discoveries. “After Mom died, I realized that a high B-natural is just a high B-natural,” said one singer. “There are more important things like life and death to contend with, and this helped me release a lot of stress I was carrying about my technique and vocal ability.”
Another singer said she learned about communicating emotion onstage. “Before, as [an] ‘emotion-driven’ performer, I had pushed the audience away. . . . With this experience I learned that the tip of the [emotional] iceberg is often even smaller. I showed even less and got great results.”
Almost all singers said their perspective on balancing life with art had changed in the process. Many said they would be more courageous and proactive with conductors, directors, and stage management when dealing with future crises. “Administrators and opera companies understand that we are only human and are willing to be understanding in certain situations, as long as you handle it with grace and class,” said one rising star.
“Most people understand that issues of loss and sickness are prevalent and all of us are faced with them at some point in our careers,” says a soprano who sings in major houses throughout the U.S. “The reality is the show will go on even if you are not able to participate.”
Indeed, it does.
