February 19, 2009

Frigid night, just minutes until midnight.

First rehearsals of Titus in the performance space were no worse than they needed to be. Most things will improve. Some things, some performances, will not. This cannot be helped.I think it may be a social success, though, a feather in the cap of those who saw it through. J controls the stage like Lear, often magnificent, often wrong. Acting opposite him is like acting opposite an alcoholic. No minute is your own, but every minute is spent supporting him. I think he was probably born to play Titus, and those who come to see him will see–in addition to whatever else–a culmination.

Paul reminds me that I have a recital to sing Saturday afternoon, Purcell and Vaughn-Williams. In the midst of this week, it is largely another burden, another thing that has to be done, and I am sad, for it should be joyful and anticipated. Tonight I left a rehearsal of Bach and went to a rehearsal of Shakespeare. I know what a gift, what an honor that is. I need to be more selective, though, so gift and honor shine out of the catastrophe of overflowing schedules.

The acid is still conquered. It has been five days.

Damaged my toe on the treadmill. It’s good to have running injuries again.

Finished the revision of The Last Poet.