Art and grief
The universe doesn't send me messages; sometimes art does, though.
Art and grief
For Benish Shah
Friday morning I woke up to very bad news. A friend who I’ve been in near-daily communication and community with as part of a small private chat group (since the day NYC locked down in March, 2020 to be precise) had died. She was young. And brilliant and wise and full of love and empathy, and despite knowing she had been struggling with some health issues, it was a shock. And surreal. I had never even met her in person, to my great regret. Being in a community experiencing shocking loss together in real time was both comforting and weird. Because it was all happening in my phone. In the chat group, in text, in a call or two, in Zoom. All around me in the physical world, life went on. Unaware.
These days there is an undercurrent of grief that seems ever-present because of the state of the world, from the Middle East to our degrading climate to the increase in local homelessness to the tenor of our national discourse and the actions of political “leaders.” Adding a very specific and personal grief to the mix seemed over the top. And knowing it was a grief that many wouldn’t understand, given many don’t understand that #OnlineFriendsAreRealFriends, didn’t help.
Luckily I already had a weekend planned that immersed me in the performing arts and music, something I have always found uniquely able to tap into my emotions.
On Saturday evening, I saw a local production of Sondheim on Sondheim, a musical revue featuring lots of documentary footage of my idol, composer Stephen Sondheim. On Sunday afternoon, I saw Renaissance, Beyonce’s film about what happened behind the scenes and on the stage during her recent tour de force tour. Both, though seemingly such different animals, brought me to tears.
Near the end of the first act of the Sondheim revue they performed a song from Passion, featuring an image from the Broadway production. That image featured an actress I had worked with many years ago in summer stock theatre. When I moved to NYC I kind of did a benign, theatre-focused Single White Female thing…I got headshots at the same photographer, went to the same voice teacher, hired the same vocal coach. I admired her a lot, let’s just put it that way. And she was always super kind, even if we were really only acquaintances. As you can tell by the past tense, she passed away, far too young, from ovarian cancer. Seeing her picture, from a time when she was at peak health, was a bit of a gut punch.
The first act of the revue closed with a stirring choral rendition of “Sunday,” the Act I finale of Sunday in the Park with George. I cannot hear this song without being transported back almost 20 years. I was part of a hastily assembled choir of local theatre folks who sang the song at the memorial service for a musical director we had all known and worked with and loved. This was in the 90s when the theatre world was losing an entire generation to AIDS. The ending of Sunday is a repeated full, fortissimo chord on the title word, with the last time including holding that climactic high note as long as you possibly can. Once we were cut off by the conductor, many of us burst into tears. We held it together to perform, to honor his work, and then we lost it in a very intense and cathartic way.
I remember this moment and that feeling every single time I hear the song…it is Pavlovian.
As the Act and the song ended, with an image of Sondheim projected on the wall, it occurred to me that Sondheim…my idol, as I mentioned…died in November of 2021. Which reminded me that my stepfather had died a mere one month before Sondheim. Which reminded me of my friend who died just the previous day.
It was an unexpected emotional pile-on. I had a moment where I was not OK. And that was OK.
If you’ve never seen Sunday in the Park with George, a meditation on creating art, and what it does to and for the people who are part of the creation, I highly recommend it. [link]
I wasn’t expecting a similar emotional trigger watching Renaissance. I expected to be massively entertained and to bow down to Beyonce’s talent, power, vision, work ethic, perseverance, and so much more. It was the shots of the audience, though, that moved me deeply. The crowd of people who felt the freedom to be who and as they were. Who clearly felt seen and acknowledged and honored by her music and her message. And I would like to say that if that is what an artist accomplishes, that is a lot. I think it is enough.
I will likely spend more time thinking about and writing about the experience of seeing both Renaissance and Taylor Swift’s concert movie, but my immediate takeaway from this entire weekend was about the power of performance and particularly music to unlock emotion, to synthesize connections amongst our experiences and give them, quite literally, a soundtrack, but really to help us find the meaning for ourselves.
This is why I say it is not the Universe sending me messages. And it’s not even really the art doing it. It’s me. Our response to music is much like our response to horoscopes or to tarot readings…each of us will find and synthesize the relevant messages and meaning for ourselves. And that is valid, and it is important, and it is helpful, and it is sometimes intense and cathartic. It gives us the permission and the power to feel (and honor) our feelings.
I was thankful for it this weekend. I am thankful for music and art, always.
What else is going on?
The Op-Ed Page podcast
I published Episode 100 of The Op-Ed Page podcast, and while I think normally that would be some cause for fanfare, I haven’t really been celebrating the milestone. Because celebrating is hard right now in general. And because the subject of episode 100 is about my disappointment in how the discourse that dominates my online social spaces is filled with lack of consistency, from people I have looked to for consistency, and is full of cementing entrenching perspectives that seem to have removed the possibility of empathy. I still believe Impact > Intention. I still believe we can acknowledge and lament any horrible event or outcome, just full. stop. No “what about-ism” required. But I see less and less of it online. Even as *every* conversation I have IRL or in small groups online is FULL of this empathy and acknowledgment and true grappling, not single-minded entrenchment. So yeah, “yay Episode 100!” isn’t exactly my vibe right now. And yet. I hope it is helpful. That is my mantra, after all, to be helpful and not argue with people on the Internet.
TikToks this month
I’m trying to define a brand new book genre on TikTok…who’s with me in wanting to read #CozyDystopia? I like futurism; I like people rebuilding, but do dystopian novels have to be so BLEAK??? I’m collecting suggestions, and I’m hoping such a genre will join #CozyMystery and #CozyParanormal on my #TBR pile.
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Out in the world
If you’ve got an eagle eye, you might have noticed a new project of mine on Substack. Optionality is a new membership community of practice for experienced professionals who want to build a better NOW of work. It’s a passion project I’ve launched with one of my former BlogHer co-founders, Jory Des Jardins, and just like with BlogHer our passion was born out of about something we wanted to se in the world. We are focusing on what we know we do best: Content, community, convening, conversation. We’re in private launch right now, but I consider you all my private network, so you’re on the list :) There’s a private launch early adopter special on right now for the Premium membership, and there’s a free Public membership for those not ready to make the Premium leap. You can learn more about Optionality, its origin story, and the membership benefits on the site. And you can, of course, let me know if you have any questions.
That’s it for today. Until next time, please leave a comment and let me know your thoughts on any or all of the above. This is basically my blog now! And as always, I appreciate a share of this newsletter or my podcast.
If I can help you break through the things that keep you stuck (or if you are intrigued by the idea of securing my fractional leadership for your initiative), set up your first introductory 30-minute consult for free by booking it in my Calendly. And you can always check out my new LinkedIn Learning Course, Telling Stories That Stick, a 57-minute course on crafting your stories for different audiences (media, investors, prospects, hiring managers) and ensuring those stories stick…and convey exactly what you hope to convey.
Thank you for this beautiful post, Elisa. I'm so very sorry for your loss.
Thanks for the thoughtful post. The relationship between grief and the arts makes sense... grief is seldom a rational, quantifiable thing. It makes sense that such an intuition based thing like the arts are one of the most effective tools to explore what is happening within us. There was a Rabbi interviewed on a Podcast a while back who spoke of grief coming in waves... it flows in and flows out. And there was something powerful about looking at grief through that lens. Knowing that it will ebb and flow is helpful when I'm at flood stage. An old boyfriend committed suicide back in 1991 and there is a song that he'd written the lyrics out in calligraphy in a letter to me. Whenever I hear that song, I remember the pain, but I also remember the good things as well. Art can reach complicated, nuanced places that are inaccessible otherwise.