Did I Mention That I Sang at Carnegie Hall?

“Hallelujah!”

Maybe being only one voice out of ninety doesn’t exactly make me a star, but the experience was as exciting as if I had had the stage to myself.

It happened like this:  No longer having use of company computers after I retired, I immediately purchased my first desktop PC.  As with every new gadget I acquire, I spent hours just practicing, playing games, and searching the internet.  My internet provider at the time was AOL and one day in mid 1997 I noticed a “click here” button that said, “SING at Carnegie Hall”.  Upon clicking out of curiosity I read that a chorus was being recruited from across the country. But what got my attention was that the conductor would be none other than John Rutter from England.   Our choirs in recent years had sung many of his compositions and his recordings with the Cambridge Singers are among my favorites.  Added to that, the chosen work for the performance would be “Messiah” by Handel.

This was the perfect combination for me and what did I have to lose by applying?  The announced schedule involved being in New York over the Thanksgiving weekend for the concert on Sunday afternoon.  I called to tell Sue to go online and retrieve an application form; the deadline was August 31, giving us only a couple of days to make our decision.  In 1997 using the internet was much less commonplace than now, but we submitted the forms by email the next day.  The second step was to send a vocal recording to Mid America Productions.

Billy Trotter, organist at Northminster, graciously agreed to work with us.  The sound system for the church was capable of making cassette tapes and each of us sang a verse of Amazing Grace to Billy’s accompaniment.  I certainly didn’t profess to be a soloist, but I convinced myself that they were looking for people who could stay on pitch, had good diction and could project their voices.  In any case, within a week both of us had been accepted to sing with 90 other choristers recruited online.

The internet played an even greater role in this project as message boards were set up to allow the participants to get to know each other in advance.  We could talk to the others in the chat room, speculating on just what we could anticipate.  In a planned group chat in November, Maestro Rutter came on to give last minute instructions to the group while we made notes in our scores.  (Today we could have “Skyped” and actually heard him speak to us.) 

We flew into New York on Wednesday, enjoying watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade in person.  We were booked in the Grand Hyatt hotel at a great location near Grand Central Station.  The first rehearsal was scheduled for 5 p.m. on Thursday afternoon at a nearby rehearsal hall.  On the stroke of 5:00 Rutter entered to our applause, nodding his acknowledgement. Mounting the podium he announced the page number, gave a downbeat and we were off—no preliminaries or warm up.  

Most of the people had good choral background and were proficient in singing large works of music.  Here and there we learned that some had never sung “Messiah”, which surprised me.  But in my alto section I sat by a New Yorker who sang regularly in the choir at St. John the Divine.  Her diction was flawless.  Rutter’s demeanor was very low key but his methods were exacting.  To achieve an harmonious blend from so many disparate voices was a credit to his genius.  

We rehearsed on Friday and Saturday, then reported early to Carnegie Hall on Sunday for a final run through.  Four professional soloists were engaged for our concert and we were accompanied by the Brooklyn Symphony Orchestra.   We had a rather long wait until performance time, but a reporter from the New York Times was making the rounds interviewing various members of the chorus.  

When the curtain rose at 3 p.m. I was surprised to see that the every seat in the house was occupied.   The audience was enthusiastically appreciative, standing for a long ovation at the conclusion.  And in the Monday edition of the New York Times, there was a picture of the group with a long article about this “first-of-its kind” concert.  

The Story Behind the Sketchbooks

To explain how I began combining my love for traveling with another of my post-retirement loves, painting, I need to explain about the origin of my sketchbooks.  They are the source for many of the stories in this book.  

Despite having kept journals for several years, even including little colored pencil sketches amid the writing, it had never occurred to me that my newly found watercolor hobby could be incorporated into these notebooks.  That is, until I met Maggie Hoybach.

Having begun to take art lessons in 1996, I was eager to find good workshops to attend. In the spring of 2001, during a lengthy stay at our condo in Highlands, NC, I learned of a weeklong watercolor workshop at the High Hampton Inn in Cashiers, 10 miles away.  Without knowing anything other than the instructor was from Charleston, SC, Sue Spitchley and I signed up for her course.  This literally set me on a totally new path, not only with my artwork, but also for my future travel.  Because Maggie had a passion for watercolor journaling, she described her technique throughout the week.  The turning point for me came when she announced that she would be taking a group to Provence, FR, the next September to paint in the Luberon Valley.

I knew immediately that this was a trip I had to make. On August 29 Sue and I, along with our friend, Phyllis Parker, and our Jackson art teacher, Diane Norman, flew to Marseille by way of Paris.  Even though our flight from Atlanta was smooth, we landed at Charles de Gaulle airport at 6:30 a.m., only 45 minutes before our connecting flight to Marseille.  There were at least 200 people at passport control, causing us to miss our flight and wait for 4 hours in the airport.  Finally arriving in the south of France, we were met by Maggie and her husband Peter at 2:00 p.m., only to learn that Sue’s luggage was not aboard the plane.  (It arrived the next day.)

After driving north for an hour and a half to the village of Gordes, then finally making it to our hotel, Mas de la Senancole, we were ready to sit by the pool, drink wine and view Maggie’s sketchbooks.  Our instruction began immediately.  She explained to us that we would be expected to take our sketchbooks with us everywhere, making sketches, notes, observations, collecting tickets, labels and postcards in addition to pages of actual watercolors from our various locations.  The first thing to put in the book was a blank calendar for the dates of the trip; there we could jot down quick notes of where we were that day, because the names of all the places would become jumbled in our minds.

A van would pick us up each morning to take us to a different village where Maggie would give a demo to illustrate various watercolor techniques.  She pointed out that the sidewalk cafes were ideal for doing our sketches.  All we needed to do was order a pot of tea and the wait staff would let us stay outside all afternoon to paint to our hearts’ content. We also carried small collapsible stools that allowed us to perch in any  convenient spot to get the right view for our sketches. 

 

Maggie could communicate with the local people just slightly, but it was enough to help us get by.  She encouraged us to keep a list of French words and phrases so that we could make ourselves understood in villages where there were few English speakers.  My list in the back of the sketchbook was valuable in restaurants when I tried to interpret the menu.  But being able to ask for  d’eau chaud  (hot water) was essential when I was served black coffee that was stronger than double expresso.  All of Maggie’s little tips have given me a foundation, not only for my artwork, but also for every trip that I have taken since then.

Another trick that Maggie showed us was how to peel off the beautiful labels from the wine bottles at our dinner meals.  We would take the bottles back to  the hotel, soak a hand towel in water, wrap the wine bottle and leave it overnight.  The next day the label could be gently removed and flattened to dry.  Later these labels formed beautiful collages in the sketchbooks, reminding us of the variety of wines served during our trip.    

She insisted that we learn to make quick sketches just to capture a moment.  As we set out for the beautiful  hilltop town of Roussillon, glowing from the red clay of its buildings and the cliffs on  which it sits, Maggie had our driver stop at an overlook to gaze across the vineyards at the scene.  She instructed us to sketch it quickly, giving us only 90 seconds to capture the image.  Later I was able to expand that image into a two-page watercolor.

From Maggie I learned to really see what was in front of me.  Until then it had not occurred to me that I should draw the designs from the tablecloth while waiting to be served dinner.  If I had not sketched the unusual shapes of the ice cream dishes served on the hotel terrace, I would no longer remember the delicious citron et menthe chocolat that was so refreshing on a hot afternoon. 

  And how fabulous it is to have images of Cezanne’s studio, where we were forbidden to take our cameras. Many times I have been reminded of the door that was 2 stories tall and 2 feet wide which had been built to transport his enormous canvases out of the studio.

When she told us to carry the sketchbooks everywhere we went, I took her seriously. Every evening in the hotel I would write about our activities that day and put final touches on my artwork.  My diligence paid off because on the last day Maggie critiqued our work, awarding me the prize for most complete sketchbook.  I will be forever grateful to Maggie for giving me such a basic understanding of travel journals and helping me to see the endless possibilities that they afford.  All these many years later I can return to those experiences with much more passion than I ever could with a photograph album.  I now have sketchbooks of every trip I have taken.  

The date we arrived home is indelibly printed in my mind:  September 10, 2001.  Returning to Atlanta, Sue and I spent the night at Marietta’s apartment where we were having a cup of coffee while watching the Today Show on Tuesday morning, September 11.  One day later and we would have been stranded in the airport in Marseille.

Lovely fountain in Saignon, our first village of the trip