So I am in the process of creating an improvised vocal work, called Between.

And, boy, does the name fit.

Between is coming up all over the place as I work on this project. For me, it connects to my original experience in Tenerife of finding myself between Africa and North America and feeling connected and disconnected to a place at the same time.

In the time since the trip, however, Between has expanded to an exploration of being a biracial/bicultured, middle child who is attempting to hold and balance ancestral lineage and wisdom with contemporary intuition and improvisation. (Or something like that.)

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So there is this idea or identity of Between that I am using the work to explore, but Between is also showing up in the process itself.

And that feels more challenging (and less art-y).

For example, I am between starting and finishing.

I am looking for a sound and collection of musicians somewhere between a choir and an ensemble and between a vocal group and a band.

I want a performance space that feels like something between a theater and recital hall so the audience can witness and interact.

Not to mention that I am switching between being the project’s creator and producer. (These are very different roles.)

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Most relevant, however, is that I am working to create a piece that is something between a composition and improvisation. Something between a journey and a destination or a story and a moral.

The main question I have to answer is how does one or, at least, how do I compose an improvised work?

Or improvise a composed work.

Or something in between. *smile*

As you may know, I am working on a full-length improvised vocal work. (It’s called Between and was/is inspired by my visit to the Canary Islands in 2010-11.)

Now, I guess it shouldn’t have surprised me that the creation process for an improvisational project would require so much flexibility.

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Something about moving an idea out of my mind and into the world always takes more energy than I expect. Rehearsals and artists have shifted and the first clear firework of this idea has faded a bit. I guess it’s simply the tension between limitless possibilities and a single desired reality that can make my head start to hurt.

Oh, and that I don’t know what I’m doing. *smile*

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I don’t mean that in a throw-up-my-hands, ditch-the-project “I have no idea what I’m doing!” kind of way.

I know what I’m attempting, I have a vision for which I’m striving, and I have faith that I can manifest it.

But I haven’t done this before so I am figuring out how to do it.

Now. With this project.

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I find that as we get older we find ourselves in the position of not knowing less and less often. Sometimes this is a conscious choice, other times it just … happens. We learn our jobs, our partners, our friends. We know what’s expected of us and how to do it.

And, it’s comfortable to know. It feels good to be confident and sure.

But I’ve learned to appreciate not knowing.

(Most of the time,) I like figuring things out. I find it satisfying and rewarding.

As I say to my scat singing students, one of my favorite things about improvising is “solving the problem.” It satisfies the part of me that has a great love of order and appreciation of resolution.

I dig that each of us gets to decide what the problem is for ourselves and I love that the solutions are as infinite and varied as we are.

I am fascinated by the fact that in one moment there is no solution and in the next one can present itself from our intuition, experience and knowledge.

By spending time not knowing, we learn new things and invite unanticipated answers. We acquire varied skills, meet unforeseen collaborators and — at least in my case — create new music.

clip from 1st Between rehearsal (Bruce Henry and me)

Back in January, I picked START as my keyword for this year.

I chose it because I hate starting starting can be challenging for me and I had some projects I really wanted to start (and finish) this year.

(The universe confirmed my keyword choice by showing up with the funds for me to start a vocal improv project.)

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Now, I am a solid finisher — I love crossing things off lists and chipping away until it’s all done.

But starting? Starting always feels trickier.

I think it’s because I don’t know what I’m doing. *rueful grin*

By the time a project is nearing completion, I can see what needs to happen and in what order. When I’m starting out, the to-do items seem tangled up like a big knotted mess of yarn and I can’t figure out where to begin pulling.

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What is interesting is that this starting struggle doesn’t show up when I’m spontaneously singing.

When I begin an improvisation, I only worry about starting. I don’t get tangled up in what comes next because I honestly have no idea what that might be. I just find my way to a workable idea and hang on.

And then at some point I’m not starting anymore; I’m in the middle, working my way towards the finish (ah … much better).

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See, I’m a think-y gal and it can get me into trouble, particularly at the beginning of new things.

I hem. I haw. I procrastinate and work in circles.

While improvising has strengthened my intuition and made me more comfortable trusting my instincts, I prefer to understand how and why things work.

I enjoy considering, pondering, cogitating, etc.

(I think, therefore I am.)

I like to plan.

Plan the work and work the plan. In that order.

And, to me, it seems that in order to do something, I should understand what that something is first.

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This showed up when I was learning to sing in contemporary styles.

I wanted to understand how I should be attempting something. Which register? What vocal placement? How high should I lift my palate and where should my tongue be?

Well, there was no single answer and no answer that was right in all styles.

That’s because singing is an experiential process. You understand what you are doing AFTER a good long while of trying things out and discovering what works and what doesn’t.

It is also an individual experience, because every singer — and  his/her vocal anatomy — is unique. Even the best teacher can’t tell you how things will feel and sound in your body. (You’re the only one in there after all. *smile*).

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So.

Sometimes I won’t get to understand first. (*sigh*)

I will have to wade in, muck it up in order to figure it out.

I will have to make mistakes and do things over.

After all, it is right there in the etymology of the word – “under” “stand.” As in one thing stands under another. As in what happens next is standing on what you figure out now/first.

I might not like it, but I’ll keep starting to understand.