This is the second in a series of short interviews with composer colleagues on balancing composing and performing. I’ve found it particularly challenging lately, with commission deadlines and also wanting to direct more focus into my solo practice, so I decided so ask for a little help from my friends!
2019 closed with some awesome things happening. I was awarded an ACF Create commission to write a piece for Boston-based duo Box Not Found, a 2020 National Arts Club Fellowship, and was invited to perform at Re:Sound in Cleveland and one of my dream venues, La MaMa. A lot can happen in two years...in 2017 I was hesitant to call myself a composer and got rejected from every residency I applied to.
As artists, we all get rejected more often than not (I applied to ACF the year before, and I just got a rejection the day before yesterday), so it feels great to not get rejected. It’s also important to remember that these competitions do not valuate our work. I honestly see applications as cheap PR (especially compared to actual PR), a way to get work in front of as many people as possible.
Of course, all this supposed validation is followed by the immediate feeling that I’m a hack and got lucky somehow. Can’t stay in that mindset for too long though—I’ve got work to do!
Last weekend, I attended the Chamber Music America conference, a forum in which to get work in front of presenters and learn through panels and talks, as well as see showcases. CMA’s theme was “Music, Equity, and Our Future,” and it is clear that they have true conviction in this idea. Case in point: they are not afraid of tough conversations, as demonstrated in their panel “The Artist’s Perspective,” featuring Aaron Flagg, Tania León, Jerry Medina, and Tomeka Reid. I wrote more about it on an Instagram post:
And back again to the topic of getting work out there: I got to do a pitch session since someone didn’t show up, where artists practice pitching and then presenters give feedback. It was very helpful, and 2/3 presenters were friendly except for the last one, who had an all-too-familiar look on her face of being pissed at me for existing. She softened towards the end after I explained the collaborative fashion concept behind my ensemble, The Nouveau Classical Project.
I’m generally not great at pitching and I find it challenging to balance making the work and putting the work out there, or to put it crudely, selling the work. I’ve been able to get opportunities organically by talking to people in random social settings, or making in-person connections by seeing a show at a venue or meeting people at events.
Anyway! That’s been my January so far. Feel free to share any thoughts or ask questions in the comments.
The week of October 21st, I was in Chicago for my residency at High Concept Labs (HCL), housed inside Mana Contemporary, to develop Antonym. Antonym investigates residue of childhood memories and incorporates field recordings of New York City seasons. I had seven hours each day to work inside HCL’s glass studio, the first thing one sees when the door of the manually operated freight elevators opens on the 4th floor. I arrived on a Monday, and my performers and creative collaborators, flutist Laura Cocks and violinist Natalie Calma, joined me later.
I was nervous going into this, because we had limited time and had to use it efficiently: Laura and Natalie arrived on Wednesday to workshop through Friday, and Saturday we were to show what we made during the week. This was my choice: we aren’t required to show, but I wanted to share my work with a new audience in a new city. Before I go any further, I want to thank Laura and Natalie from the bottom of my heart for being part of this! They were essential in the creative process.
The focus of this residency was the “Spring” movement. I had composed an initial draft in May, and continued forming it in July at Marble House Project. At MHP I ended up creating a solo, Test Site 5: Seedlings that helped me flesh out some of my ideas, and returned to the project again about two weeks before going to HCL. I had a draft of the score finished a little over a week before the residency.
My interdisciplinary scores are always ready to change: when incorporating both voice and movement in addition to instrumental performance, things are not always timed exactly as imagined, and voices and bodies sound and move differently than mine. I choreograph movement (I am ambivalent about writing “choreograph,” since I feel it is too formal for whatever the hell it is I do) and when I workshop with my musicians, together we structure and shape the piece.
The performers involved in my pieces are truly creative contributors, as their perspectives enrich and inform the process. I typically begin alone first, and aim to have a basic structure and some choreographic ideas before getting in the studio with my musicians. For “Spring,” I had music, the idea of using movement to draw on a giant piece of paper, tearing up paper, and other random movement phrases and performance ideas. Laura and Natalie weighed in on a variety of elements, from the music, to the arc, to staging, and also contributed beautiful movement ideas. We all move in our own ways, everyday, whether running, slouching, or even turning our heads to look, and I truly believe that you don’t have to be a professional dancer to create or find movement that is meaningful. This is an underlying idea I explore in my interdisciplinary practice. I do want to note that there is still discipline involved and it takes a lot of searching, trial and error.
One of my ongoing major concerns is (unintentional) cheesiness. When you begin creating, however, you have to let things go there at first rather than being immediately dismissive, or else you’ll start from a place of inhibition and fear. Aiming for perfection from the start is something that I had to unlearn when I started making my own work.
Cheesiness is, of course, subjective. Having two other artists in the room who I trust is important. At HCL, I could not have asked for a better team than Laura and Natalie, who were fully present and all around wonderful musicians. I’m constantly asking questions, such as, “How does this feel?”; “Is anything cheesy?”; “Does this make any sense?” It’s important to me that not only I, but also my collaborators feel conviction in what we’re doing, which is impossible when you’re thinking, “Ugh this shit’s cheesy” or “What is the point of this.” It’s one thing to get a score you don’t like very much and have to perform it well—we all can do that, and have had to do that on numerous occasions (even so, we sometimes can’t feign enthusiasm)—but imagine having to move your body in performance and moving in a way you feel is awkward: you will probably perform timidly.
Thoughts that crossed my mind at the beginning of the week: This is hard; This shit is so cheesy; wtf am I doing; I don’t think I’m going to do interdisciplinary work anymore, I don’t think this functions well as a genre, especially with instrumentalists. But I was there to work, I had to show on Saturday, the clock was ticking, and so I did not have time to dwell on those thoughts, or to wonder if what I was doing was good or bad. And by Friday, we were running “Spring” in addition to “Winter,” which had been made earlier this year, and showed both movements.
While “Spring” will still be edited further, I was happy with what we made and with the experience over all. We had fun, we still liked each other after spending seven hours a day together, and I received thoughtful feedback at my showing. Having uninterrupted time with Laura and Natalie, who are generous, open-minded, intelligent, and creative musicians, is exactly what I needed, especially after having had a couple of panic attacks in previous weeks as well as delusional thoughts about my career being over (and more!). Those thoughts visit often. For the moment, I’m focusing on what’s next for the development of Antonym. Videos will be posted soon!
I wasn’t going to post this because the writing is not great, but I just really need to get this thing started. Besides, is this really any worse than posting a selfie or a food photo? Perhaps…YOU be the judge!
Another year, another set of failed resolutions. If I forgot about them and didn’t make a sincere attempt, that means I didn’t really fail at them, right?!
Read MoreI’m currently doing research for a project that I’m going to start digging into later this summer. And I’m aiming to finish this blog post by 3:30 pm, which is in 15 minutes, when I have to head out the door.
Over the past couple of years, I’ve been reflecting deeply on race and gender. And not in the general sense, but specifically about being a woman of Asian descent, being Filipino, and a Filipino artist, in America. There are so many contradictions and I’ll be eloquent on another day, but now I’m down to 10 minutes. With the way I’ve been brought up, there’s a mixture of pride (lumpia is THE BEST type of eggroll, #sorrynotsorry; Pacquiao (as an athlete, not as a person!); Boracay is one of the most stunning beaches in the world) and self-loathing (stay out of the sun to avoid getting dark; use skin-bleaching soap; looking more Chinese=better). I’m proud to understand every word of Tagalog, although I do need to brush up on my speaking. I love so much about the country where my parents come from, but it can also be such a sad place. Last night I watched the movie Metro Manila and it pained me to see the slums of the Philippines that are all too real, and the way most of the world sees us.
Us? I was born in the United States so I’m American...wtf am I even talking about? But as I’ve gotten older I’ve been drawn to investigating how my upbringing as a daughter of Filipino Immigrants have affected my worldview. It’s become undeniable, unavoidable. Being born female and having the natural inclination to prove I can do anything boys do definitely complicated things, as Filipinos still had a “traditional” view of women when I was growing up: I had to beg to play volleyball (luckily I did; I was good and played varsity for 3 years of high school…in fact, I often thought I’d pursue volleyball instead of piano) and when I wanted to skateboard, my dad was resistant and asked if I was a lesbian. (And of course I didn’t back down without a fight. And of course I won. For the record, my dad is actually a really nice, open-minded guy…he’s grown a lot, so please don’t hate on him! Plus I keep him in line. And I’m a shitty skateboarder.)
I need to finish this up so long story long: I’m creating a piece that incorporates a Filipino dance called the Tinikling. I’ve found a lot of metaphors in the dance itself that I think I can really expand on. This week I've been reading through various texts and I thought I’d try writing this (very rushed) post as part of my process.
If you are also the child or descendant of immigrants and want to share anything related about your own experience, please feel free to comment!
New piece!
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