In which the bloggress speaks on opera, writer's block, and being generally weird
In case anyone doesn't know this about me, I like making things feminine. Like instead of "author" since I'm female I say "authoress." Yeah, it's stupid, but I love my idiosyncrasies.
L'Elisir D'Amore was breathtakingly wonderful. The first Donizetti I've seen LIVE-live(as opposed to Lucia's simulcast and various DVD recordings), and hilarious. It was nice to see a Donizetti opera that didn't end in blood and tears. My friend and I did our hair in the morning and since I was wearing my new black bolero with my MM green floral OP, she decided to curl mine and put black rose combs in it. She made me look just like a porcelain doll, and it's a real shame my camera sucks or I'd share with you her masterpiece.
After the opera...well, I didn't want to go back to reality. I hate reality--it's not really where I live most of the time,to the dismay of myself and others. I get a weird feeling after I see someone perform. It's so beautiful, yet...I know I can't create it myself. I tried reading music and taking lessons, and it felt like math. I didn't understand. Same with writing and drawing..sometimes I think I'm an art historian simply because I FAIL at being an artist. And the sad thing is, I'd die for art. I starve, pour chemicals in my hair, financially screw over my pocket book, paint my eyes, and practice ceremonial tasks like serving tea NOT for men or a social ideal, but because I consider it artistic. I'm compensating.
It makes me hurt inside whenever I hear Maestro Caprilli say things like, "You know so much about opera!" "You are an amazing coloratura voice!" "You have a range of over 2 octaves!"
but especially, "It's a shame you're an Art History major." WHY? Why the hell should I be a music major?! So I can fruitlessly chase a dying, escapist dream? So I can enter as a novice into a highly competitive, low-paying field where other people my age have already learned to read music, performed in concerts, had minor/major roles and significant training? I'm NOT an idiot. They'd crucify me. Did I have dreams of being a singer when I was little? YES. I'd see beautiful girls on stage in pretty costumes pouring their souls out in ballads and arias and wanted to be just like them. Doesn't every little girl? But I CAN'T. So yes, I'm taking my 2 1/2 octaves amazing coloratura soprano voice and SILENCING it with my crushed childhood hopes and dreams. Because I'm tired of hurting from it.
It's even worse when it comes to writing. I just get so mad at my creativity. It feels half-formed, or rather....Imagine you had something really important to say but no limbs, tongue, or any way to convey it. That's how I feel about writing atm. It feels pointless. I took creative writing courses last year and they only made me feel worse.
I have "talent" but no skill. I'm "intelligent" but not practical. I'm "a genius" but I'm completely psychotic.
...
*sigh*
I'll stick to watching opera, analyzing art, and cataloging books. I can't follow my dreams because the risk would destroy me financially and then who'd support my mother when she grows old? My annoying self-absorbed, misogynist jerk of a brother? I have too much pride to let that happen. I've wanted to be the favorite ever since I was little and by god, I'm almost there with scholarships, a 4.0 GPA, and an Oxford invite and I won't let something as silly as a creative impulse screw it up.
Please, Pr. Caprilli, stop making me believe. Stop making me hope. It only makes things worse.
L'Elisir D'Amore was breathtakingly wonderful. The first Donizetti I've seen LIVE-live(as opposed to Lucia's simulcast and various DVD recordings), and hilarious. It was nice to see a Donizetti opera that didn't end in blood and tears. My friend and I did our hair in the morning and since I was wearing my new black bolero with my MM green floral OP, she decided to curl mine and put black rose combs in it. She made me look just like a porcelain doll, and it's a real shame my camera sucks or I'd share with you her masterpiece.
After the opera...well, I didn't want to go back to reality. I hate reality--it's not really where I live most of the time,to the dismay of myself and others. I get a weird feeling after I see someone perform. It's so beautiful, yet...I know I can't create it myself. I tried reading music and taking lessons, and it felt like math. I didn't understand. Same with writing and drawing..sometimes I think I'm an art historian simply because I FAIL at being an artist. And the sad thing is, I'd die for art. I starve, pour chemicals in my hair, financially screw over my pocket book, paint my eyes, and practice ceremonial tasks like serving tea NOT for men or a social ideal, but because I consider it artistic. I'm compensating.
It makes me hurt inside whenever I hear Maestro Caprilli say things like, "You know so much about opera!" "You are an amazing coloratura voice!" "You have a range of over 2 octaves!"
but especially, "It's a shame you're an Art History major." WHY? Why the hell should I be a music major?! So I can fruitlessly chase a dying, escapist dream? So I can enter as a novice into a highly competitive, low-paying field where other people my age have already learned to read music, performed in concerts, had minor/major roles and significant training? I'm NOT an idiot. They'd crucify me. Did I have dreams of being a singer when I was little? YES. I'd see beautiful girls on stage in pretty costumes pouring their souls out in ballads and arias and wanted to be just like them. Doesn't every little girl? But I CAN'T. So yes, I'm taking my 2 1/2 octaves amazing coloratura soprano voice and SILENCING it with my crushed childhood hopes and dreams. Because I'm tired of hurting from it.
It's even worse when it comes to writing. I just get so mad at my creativity. It feels half-formed, or rather....Imagine you had something really important to say but no limbs, tongue, or any way to convey it. That's how I feel about writing atm. It feels pointless. I took creative writing courses last year and they only made me feel worse.
I have "talent" but no skill. I'm "intelligent" but not practical. I'm "a genius" but I'm completely psychotic.
...
*sigh*
I'll stick to watching opera, analyzing art, and cataloging books. I can't follow my dreams because the risk would destroy me financially and then who'd support my mother when she grows old? My annoying self-absorbed, misogynist jerk of a brother? I have too much pride to let that happen. I've wanted to be the favorite ever since I was little and by god, I'm almost there with scholarships, a 4.0 GPA, and an Oxford invite and I won't let something as silly as a creative impulse screw it up.
Please, Pr. Caprilli, stop making me believe. Stop making me hope. It only makes things worse.