Saying Goodbye to 2013...

So here, I sit at my desk at work, dimly aware of life around me (groggy as I am from lack of sleep) and I pause...I am at my desk...on the last day of the year 2013. its over. another year: an eventful, interesting, depressing, joyous, life changing, painful, beautiful year is at its close...I'm awed...as I go through captured moments, a lot come to mind, and many un - captured...but lets attempt a quick photoreview...

FrenchMan's Cove, January 2013

I had the pleasure of beginning the year with fellowship, as some of my closest friends all piled up into a car and we were off, to one of the most pristine beaches on our little Isle of Jamaica...it was lovely, and the memory of that day warms me.

Tenors of JYC (Not pictured: D. Hamilton, P. Dawes and D. Bailey)

Had the first official photo-shoot and concert Season of the Jamaica Youth Chorale, here I am with my fellow tenors. I Love these guys like family, and I am heartened to know they feel the same 

Diocesan Festival Choir Beach Trip (James Bond Beach)

My sister paid me a visit for the summer. It was glorious having her back with me, and sharing the life I had carved for myself in Jamaica with her. Here we are on a choir beach trip, and about to attend a street session with my/our father (lol), and, as usual, It became like we were kids again lyming and skipping, sighting, water war...I miss her much, and as I may not see her for another 2 years, this vacation was immensely memorable

The real glue that keeps this Trio running 

Post performance, Music in the Hills, the Ambrosian Ensemble

I was a Part of an octet for a concert recital of Operatic Choruses and Quartets, Broadway standards and Sacred works...I sang In German, Latin and Italian...Loved every second of the experience, and I hope I am called upon again to sing with these awesomely talented people

My most emotionally charged role to date, I was a dance soloist to spoken word at the year's "Gungo Walk" and "Tallawah" arts festivals. I played Dwayne Jones, A young Gender non-conforming boy who had got beaten to death by a mob of intolerant Jamaicans. I was scared, I was saddened...and I cried. It will be a role and piece that remains with me forever, and I am glad I could do something in tribute to a life cut too short 

Kinesio taped and ordered a month of no activity

 THIS WAS HARD...while dancing, I got a sprained back and slightly dislocated a vertebra, and jarred them. I got my first immensely debilitating injury since mountain- biking as a kid (I biked off a cliff and landed right into a concussion, lol), and it was very eye opening... it hurt...deeply, as it made me aware of just.how.dangerous.dance. is. It was and is a task acclimatising to this weakness, and I hope as I learn to live with it (the effects are somewhat permanent) and to regain strength, I will keep the lesson of safety and moderation forefront in mind. Another effect it had was the revelation that not all is as it seems, and an olive branch can pose as hemlock and vice versa..

Here pushing through pain during a work break

Company Dance Theatre In McDaniel's Reggae piece SESSION. 

I Performed in my fourth season of dance with the Company Dance Theatre, a great task and undertaking with a career - ending injury (that demanded rest that I wasn't willing to take). while it was not a particularly happy time of it, I have grown as a performer, and tested in great discomfort as I sought not to let the experience of the audience be marred by my handicap.




While there are many more eventful photos and experiences, I chose to try and highlight those I was a bit more "comfortable" sharing...for now...
It was great having you 2013, I definitely gained strength; even at the expense of the physical, courage and no shortage of opportunities to glean wisdom. I have, lived, laughed, loved and made bonds that I hope will last a lifetime, and memories that will last until the end of all time.

And I am undone...

In the moonlit expanse of a tiny space

that we make infinite by our need for intimacy

I feel the charge

the sting of it

as...

cold caresses become hot, bold ravishing

engulfing bodies in a flame long kindled.

And I am undone

long before the first kiss, 

long after the last caress

as sunlight touches us

and illuminates my favourite pillow

hard as sculpted marble

yet soft as down-stuffed velvet...

securely encased i lay

And...I...am...Undone

hmm...

Do wounds ever truly heal?

Dark Angel by Joss Arnott (dance)

Needed release...and words I cannot un-write

I have been at myself since Sunday evening (today being Tuesday) to have a listen to Celtic Woman's "The Voice". I had a talk with my best friend, and before I could even explain the compulsion to find this song, he gave the answer I myself was unable to give name to...
I was missing home...
I was missing home...and in agreeing I also added, for it felt I needed to ..."I was missing"...
A lightning bolt was sent searing a hot trail into my brain and shooting into my heart.
I have not been home in over a month, not slept in my own bed, carved lovingly by the hands of my grandfather, not been in my room, the layout decided on and implemented by me to reflect my tastes, my personality, me...I had not gazed at nor updated my arts wall, no new posters adorning my space...I have not sat, ravenous at my aunt's table for Sunday dinner, leaving feeling for all the world like my stomach was stretched to thrice its mass...and then I thought of my aunts, of my family...and I wept, a silent storm of bitter tears in the stillness of night, as the space I held, adjacent yet separated by leagues as you lay thinking me asleep and go about your activity, forfeiting yourself good rest, and by doing so me of the same. I miss moments when the cold of the bed surrounding me was an absence I was accustomed to, when my bed was shared by my Grams on visits and bad days, and by my sister when her mask of invulnerability disappeared before the waxing of the moon; before life became complicated and I hung by my collar, servant to love.
And it is that love that tempers the bile of loss. On good days I accept all; I see where I am happy and make happy, where moments pass of such unbridled bliss...but days like today, a low day, a day when it feels like I need that assurance I'm not a hamster on a treadmill going nowhere, when I need that word, that hug, that gesture...It is, like in others, absent...And it is absent because of my silence, yet my words don't and never have banished it...I am with you to be happy, I am not happy unless you are happy, you are not happy because of instability, I am on this wheel to combat that which would usurp your stability... I only ask that I be made aware I am remembered. Thoughts are unseen, and welcome, but not enough...

"Lonely" by Frozen Stardust

and still, come morrow, I greet the day and smile, and hope that today I am moored to land, not bobbing out to sea so close to harbour...please...

A Venting letter...Part 1 of....

If I were able to...
If I could, I would speak to you about your willfulness, your stubborn nature, your apparent inability to be anything but closed, however, makes this both an exercise in futility and in itself an impossibility

first note: I am an introvert. I will not explode, I will not be one of the loud voices clamouring to be heard. I sit, I hold my corner, and do my duties. In the event that I have something to say, I will say it, and if I am comfortable I may also share bits of myself. your needing an extroverted person who plays introvert so that you can feel superior is not what you have got here...and it is not okay to choose which moment to validate that I am not a loud person.

second: I am educated. I am well read. I am an adult. these things I put into one because quite simply, It is already draining me to express this in a way that is not direct, showing the universe because your universe is not receptive to the reality and relevance of it. I am considered a person of above average command of the English language, so your language needn't be simplified, it does however need to be clearer. repeating nonsense in a slow condescending manner while syllabicating three syllable words is not going to make it make sense. It will, however, offend me. My grandfather IS a carpenter, my father and uncle ARE tailors, my aunts and grandmother sew as well...I know my way around colours, fabric and tools. Do not feel the need to describe it after I have already said "I know what it is." I wouldn't say it if I did not know. I have done this kind of job before, I am proficient in most of these things and what I am not I seek help with. you rarely do this tutelage, and so I calmly posit that you do not try to be rude or mean in your addressing of matters concerning the completion of a task you watched me do to completion after watching me do all the other tasks, as opposed to actually helping with any of the work. you are quality control. this is not my company. you had the client watch me do it the wrong way and waste resources in a task that could not possibly 'teach' me anything if done incorrectly.

Wake me up Lord...when its over

The spiritual, as arranged by Uzee Brown Jr came to mind as I sat at my desk this morning, fatigued from my weekend of concerts with my dance company.

Yea, sorta like this, but discreetly

"The hurly-burly's done, the battle's lost and won..."and what has been gained?
I don't feel the euphoria I thought I would...I just...don't...
My dance season has just ended, and while the shows were awesomely received, and though the costumes were brilliant, choreography loved, dancers lauded...it felt empty
It felt like I was asking myself "is this it?"
what have I learnt about myself this year that I can take from this season? the lengthy rehearsals, fraught nerves, confrontations? I sat this morning at my desk, unable to pass through the day's to do list without going back to and being stuck on this thought cycle...what have I observed? learned? here's what came to mind

-Life is unfair.
-You are not superhuman, you will be injured. it will hurt. REST
-Your integrity is not an external thing, it is YOU. Honour yourself
-People hurt you. People don't always mean to. let it go
-Meditation is active. Practice
-Noone should be able to make you un-love yourself, your abilities, your art.
-It is hard. But you will always be tougher.
-Do not burn yourself out. People who love your presence and don't miss your absence are people who find you replaceable. be prepared for removal at any point
-Never fear loving something, someone, somewhere...be un-ironically Enthusiastic; Love DEEPLY
-Celebrate successes, defeats are easy to sink beneath.
-Loving someone does not excuse their humanity, be understanding

I live. I laugh. I love...and I share

Oh, for a Warm retreat

Tears, depressing changes birthed in deceit, hidden agendas and disrespect...I never thought that this was to've been what I got for this year's last 4 months...I was looking forward to enjoying Christmas...but it seems I am not to have that wish.

*Laments while sad song plays*

I've resolved that despite the darkness that this season has brought, I will fight through it...I need to. and with the light of my family, friends and the love in my heart I will move through this all.

To The Girl-turned-Woman who moved me...

You are beautiful, whole and perfect; the universe's gift to all who are blessed to come into contact with you.

I have wanted to offer my two cents, but feel it would be an insignificant contribution to the outpouring, and so I stand with them, willing my sentiment to permeate the air and that you will know that I support and am awed by you. these four years I have had the distinct honour of being acquainted with you have truly been some of the most noteworthy of my life. As I stood by you that night, I began to muse on just how far our interactions have evolved.. I remember that you were one of the only persons that didn't seem to retreat into yourself in the presence of a certain ballet- mistress (in fact, you were the first to make me laugh at her, but as I MAY have been eavesdropping that one time, I wont tell you that). I immediately thought two things; you will come to be better when her time passes, or, that  you will perpetuate her stoic icy reign in the macabre system that was apparently "how things were done" in the Company. I am glad to say, your batch's seniority and leadership is looked on as a time of the best in relation between company members across lines of senior/junior and male/female.

Throughout all this, my first two years, I observed, pleased, but silent. A silence that did not last much longer, as it is well known that when one of your closest friends is Mr R.V. McKenzie, sociable isn't a choice, its a non-negotiable consequence.

I Never knew I'd be a dancer or that I'd've met you...seeing this recently I'm reminded
the world is a very small place :)

I always wondered why you seemed not to want to teach when a piece was remounted, but in the end never questioned it (which was probably wise, my mouth seems to have no filter and knowing my dunce ways I might've sounded like I was judging). but I am grateful you gave me an intimate view of life as an architecture student, and gained me a new-found appreciation for not only you and your balance, but to another friend's struggle and concern. Jo-Ann, I was amazed at the workload, and awed you took very little break, all day at studio to change scenery for another studio only to go back and burn midnight oil. I watched...you were phenomenal (This was around the time of that UTech Vid en pointe...you were EVERYTHING!).

I was beginning to feel like my vocal cords wouldn't rupture if I dared speak to you unbidden, and I struck up (on my part) an uneasy acquaintanceship (I was still quite terrified of you). and slowly, I was made party to the group of persons who stood in the awesome space of friend and fan of the incomparable 'Jo'.

Then the unthinkable happened...Sir was setting a new work on us...and you chose me as your partner...

*Pause, while I again recover from being starstruck*

You probably didn't know that by simply choosing to be my partner you ensured I would work the hardest I had worked in dance up to this point. I. Was. Floored...and to this day, it produced my favourite artistic shot of me in life... and I will always have you to thank for it

you went past the platitudes other senior girls would usually say to us supporting men, and showed that you ACTUALLY trusted us, that we were worth something to the continuity and growth, the image of the Company Dance Theatre...

This year, with the lineup of such a varied undertaking, we were all excited and a little bit afraid of the mammoth task. I was worried that you were not as present as before, but was confident you would return, star up class and then go on to take the stage. you then returned from  hiatus, and all progressed(smoothly is not the word one uses for this period, so I'll simply say progressed). 

Then you repeated the untinkable: in remounting the ballet RoseHall, you chose me...not once, but TWICE to be your partner...my glad bag jus' buss! I felt I had come full circle, that I did something right if I were worthy to be chosen again.

If you'll notice I have glossed over the negative bits, the espionage, the whisperings, mutterings and flare up that have caused this moment. I do so because they were to have been immaterial...and I somehow fear if it were anyone else, they would have been...Life, however, chooses who to be fair to.

I could join in the persons who decry and scream their resentment, raising my voice in protest...but I have never been a good orator, in fact, I don't think I communicate well at all...but I am standing there. I am standing there waiting to see you again recover from that fall, from the landing, from that moment of unexplained incident...I am waiting to be in awe again...the stage is not the same without you, and there is a heaviness that will remain with me until it has welcomed you back...

until then...I am Waiting. in the wings, in the audience, on my feet...I am waiting

Short Story

     "The Lord is risen."
     "He is risen indeed. Alleluia!" The congregation beamed at their new priest, a beatific expression on his face. Reveling in their admiration, proceeded to give a passionate (if a bit halted) sermon on the concepts of faith and doubt. Matthew, seated behind the lectern on the rostrum, stifled a yawn, shifting to discreetly wipe his eye on the sleeve of his starched white acolyte's robe. He glanced down at the floor, bathed in the colourful light from the stained glass window above and behind him. startled from his reverie by a blare of voices, he was forced back into the awareness of his surroundings by the choral wall of sound slamming him in the face and eardrums from the all too near speakers before him, their feed from the choir loft opposite him. "Typical," he thought with a wry chuckle "that on resurrection Sunday the choir chooses a song that is almost totally unrelated to the observance." This service, they decided to butcher Randall Stroope's "The Conversion of Saul". one of his favourite A Cappella anthems. he did an inward cringe that very nearly became external. schooling his face into what he hoped was an appropriately reverent expression, he continued to muse "I can see why the new churches shout, God would probably have on earmuffs permanently after innumerable Sundays like this." he chuckled at his own joke, glancing up to the choir loft, following the exuberant gestures of the group's director, the aging but surprisingly robust Mr Deacon Dean. He chuckled again, almost chortling suppressed into a snort. At the final "Alleluia!" of the anthem; a warped, jagged and much flattened chord ringing through the chapel, aresounding "AMEN!" sounded from the congregation: whether to communicate their relief or one of congratulation was a matter of opinion (it wasn't).
      At the end of the benediction, Matthew took the cruciform back to the altar and proceeded to the changing room to remove the "linens of office" and again become "just Matt", holding off his canonization another week (another chuckle)

of Friends, Easter, and the gift of Music...Palm Sunday

SO...for Palm Sunday two friends of mine decided to perform two solos of mine for a concert of psalms held at the Barbican Baptist Church, where Peter's (the tenor soloist) dad is the choirmaster. they chose the tenor and bass solos from my choral work A Cycle of Psalms.  despite the issues with accompaniment and anxiety as well as other technical difficulties (the peron who videotaped it was a bit...Lax...with getting introduction and keeping the camera on the singer lol) They were good performances and I was honoured that they did my work, giving an aural component to the scribblings on a page. Here they are, Messrs. Peter Dawes and Michael Sutherland (Bass) singing Psalm 43 and 13 respectively, "Judge Me O God" and "Lord How Long Wilt thou Forget Me?" from A Cycle of Psalms

 

Short story...

I walk through the rusted gates into lands I've always known. it is dark, and the penlight I take with me creates more mystery than its absence would have. a rustling to my left elicits a jerky arc, and I send my spotlight into the hedge that goes up to my knee, a ball of fur bolts between my legs, and a whine and yip of amiable excitement placate my spiked pulse...
"Oscar, why're you out here buddy? who let you out?" I get on my knees and ruffle his auburn fur, and pat his muzzle...it doesn't occur to me to be suspicious that Oscar died the previous year of old age, and had by that time had grey hairs in his mated fur, and was too lame to gambol as he now did... but then, it never occurred to me that I could share his status; that I could be deceased as well. I took it for granted that I should be at my full height of 6 feet, standing without the aid of crutch or post, when I had spent 5 years prior confined to a wheelchair...A wind came in from the west, picking up momentum at my back. urging me forward.
"seems whatever took me here wants me to continue forward...c'mon boy, I'm glad for the company "...

this...This...THISSS!!!

DAMMIT!!! I wholly feel this!  wholly applaud this!!! Big up my friend Toni Blair who communicates exactly what we feel down here!!! Mi nah lie, I watched this and became enraged, I cried with her as well...this is right, whats going on here is utter SLACKNESS!!!!

The Silence that I carry when we speak

THIS will not do
what do you take me for?
this idiocy IS maddening
I will not comply
WHY should I?
when your hate,
YOUR bitter dislike
your thinly veiled contempt
threatens to suck the LIFE out of me
and boy!
DOES it ever sear at the "propriety" that masks it
I do NOT play this game
and frankly...
this fracas is resolved in my head
now to make action sync!
I never signed up for this
...and that's all I shall say on the MATTER

Carl-Anthony

My Sacrilegious Rendition of only one verse

This is by Civic ethics not done, But I could not at all resist it...the church was empty and I just...I just had to...the process to do this was...wow, tedious but it took 20 mins, two borrowed phones and a lot of projecting, but the church BLESSEDLY carried the reverb well...hard part was synching up the recordings...which was a huge fail but the opp wont come again so...here it be-eth, My six part (ATTTBB) of the Anthem's first verse (with so much interlapping you may never tell the lines apart, lol)
Enjoy and feedback Appreciated!
Carl-Anthony

so I have discovered the motherload of Voice Student Coyote Memes!!!

Short Story again...

So, I WAS going to write something personal...but then I do as I always do when I realise Ive gone too deep, and end up avoiding self probing in favour of something light...Here Goes

“In May…I remember…roses…”

“Must be nice, to remember” I mused aloud, as I stood in the kitchen, snatches of Mrs Harcourt’s garbled musings floating by on the air, her haunting voice still sonorous after decades off the stage. It has been my weekly duty to maintain the home of our neighbourhood’s ‘sweet old lady next door’, often foregoing the awkward social dance of adolescence so wholly embraced by everyone else my age. I had stepped in for a glass of lemonade, and a brief respite from the summer sun’s fierce onslaught as I toiled at the flower beds beneath the Porch and front windows.

“Oh, and dancing! Such delightful dancing that it was as if we moved on clouds and not the flagged stone floors of the great hall…”I poked my head in the sunroom, where she sat on her spindly chintz armchair, a delicate demitasse poised at her lips for a dainty sip. She looked absently at the table before her, on which she had arrayed her complete discography, then to the chair identical and opposite her own.

“Then when they had announced that there was a starlet amongst the crowd, such a twitter rose around me, whisperings and murmurings as everyone tried to figure out who the celebrity was. I was tickled pink,” here, she hid a giggle behind a tiny palm. “Though outwardly to my escort I feigned displeasure at the loss of my privacy…” I observe her beatific smile in profile, blushing as my presence went unnoticed.

“Mrs Harcourt? Are you okay in here?” just my first time, and I hated this; intruding on her reverie. Though her daughter insists it was not healthy. In my opinion, if it makes her happy, doesn’t she deserve to do it?

“Oh Anthony, I didn’t hear you come in, I’m just here regaling Ms Bradbury about the early days of my career.” She gestures to the empty armchair opposite her expectantly, turning her head in that slow graceful manner. Thus gently imperioused, I turned, and in my most polite voice uttered:

“A pleasure, Ms Bradbury, how are you this fine afternoon?” I looked in earnest at the armchair, as if, for all intents I were really seeing her interviewer.

“I am just splendid Anthony, My dear friend Agatha speaks quite fondly of you. How are the camellia’s coming?” so utterly shocked at the response I dazedly look back at Mrs Harcourt, on whose face is the most puckish grin. After a growing silence, in which I contemplate my sanity, she asks, still with a glint of mischief in her eye

“Well? How are the new darlings of my garden Anthony?”

“They thrive well.” I answer, my voice suspiciously thin. “The grafting was successful, and they should be budding any time now.”

“Oh, I am glad to hear it, I do so look forward to my visit next month.”

“Next month ma’am?” I quickly turn my gaze to the armchair, then shift back to Mrs Harcourt in three quick volleys, my confusion growing.

“Yes, it’s why I called, I had just come back to the states and thought to chat up Aggie here, one thing led to another and now we’re still here talking, lost to the past. Forgive us old ladies our long reminiscences.”

“That’s not the reason for our dear Anthony’s bewilderment I’m afraid.” Said my host, impish with delight. “He seems to have thought, and I assume with influence from Sarah, my eldest, that I was engaging myself-or worse, some invisible entity- in avid conversation!” Ms Bradbury makes rushed breaths that I slowly come to realise is laughter. “Oh, but you should have seen the look on his face as he said good day to the armchair!” she again daintily giggled behind her delicate hand. I shook my head and politely withdrew from the room, an embarrassed chuckle escaping as I opened the doors back out onto the lawn.

Just me and some seconds of Vocal Madness

So, a "resolution" of mine is to finally stop being a coward and become the first (or one of the first) Jamaicans (who still reside in Jamaica) to contribute to Eric Whitacre's Virtual Choir (this one's VC4) If you want to know more about Virtual Choir and probably try submitting and joining yourself click here. so yea, to this end I've made a SHORT foray into just singing again, I sight sang two bars of music for four vocal parts, SATB and layered them... and here you go!

Look to the new Year...

I looks amogst the things I have written over the years and I find a promise I had made to myself in 2010...I share it as my first post of 2013 to set the tone for my year




it is said that wisdom is gained when one untethers the future from the past and resolves to just live life...while that is do-able and can be laudable, I find myself at an impasse...i can let go of the hurt, release the anger, doubt, scorn, disdain, antipathy, corruption...the list goes on, but why should i relinquish the good memories? of laughs stolen and shared, good friends, good times, of fun formative experiences as mischief of youth becomes bane of maturity?...the answer is simple...happy memories have the same amt of power to hold us in the past and cloud our judgement...they can make us naive, stubborn, idealistic....which are good in moderation, but can all to easily be to our undoing....the question I raise is why bother? after one has expended all this effort to "live life" what comes next? do we really start to "enjoy" the experience? who's to say that one was not already doing so? why are we so caught up with "optimising life" that we forget that we just need to LIVE IT?




so i'll "live it"I will read and dream- to keep my mind alive and nourish my sense of emotional jointure with the worldI will sing- for my sanity is above all thoughts of my inadequacyI will dance- for physical catharsis is liberatingI also shallReflect- if one does not look back one loses the lessons needed to go forwardReform- innovation is needed in order to stay afloatPreserve- for one cannot in changing to adapt endeavour to lose oneselfConserve- Possibilities are infinite, but in the grand scheme i am frail and finiteObserve- if it becomes a nihilist battle, one needs the strength to walk...