Tomm's Fiddler Picture

Fiddler on the Roof West End Press Night

I think it is worth mentioning that the sizzle i felt during the climax of Tradition and the applause at the end of The Wedding Dance, were unlike anything I have ever experienced. Ever.

So.
After much toil, a lovely evening...

The Embassy Club, Mayfair
29 May 2007

The Red Shoe

So.
What I think is really great after a bad day at the office, where The Ghost of Jerome Robbins is giving our poor little company a lot of grief, is making fun of Jerome Robbins by (flawlessly?) executing THE West Side Story kick on the Aldgate East underground platform...

... ONLY to watch in total horror as my brand new adorable red pump FLIES off my foot, over the crowd and on to the TRACKS...

All hundred or so people on the platform stare. They stare and shift slightly. Will anyone do something? Shall we all just glance away? And I am frozen. Frozen, staring at my shoe in a "THAT DIDN'T JUST HAPPEN... OP! YES IT DID" way.

What to do???!

Damian goes to fetch help. A wooden broom handle, someone's cane, anything...

The only reason I got it back was because a steaming drunk guy (named Chris) singing "Happy Birthday To MEEEE! I'm 18 TODAAAAAY!!!!!" -- was too drunk to remember the tracks are in fact ELECTRIFIED. He jumped down on to the tracks, the crowd gasped (possibly because Chris might DIE on his 18th birthday...)

He jumped right down on the tracks, stumbled horribly, caught his balance, knelt down, grabbed the shoe...
... then jumped right back up.

"There you go!" he says, "Woo hoo! I'm 18 today!!!"

...and the crowd applauded! Victory.

So. Chris not dead.
Shoe retrieved.
...Absolutely fine that one.

Photography: Hannes & Tamar

Stadtpark: Hannes & Tamar
21 April, 2007
Stadtpark: A Berlin & London based acoustic duo - Guitar, Vocals, Clarinet, Flute, Bass Clarinet, Baritone Sax.







www.myspace.com/stadtpark

www.alexandrasilberphotography.com

Damian's First Snow

London.
January.
Freezing.
7:00 am.
There are things to do, sleep to catch up on. Places to sing tonight.

On a quick, stumbly sleepy trip to the bathroom I notice an overly bright morning...
It couldn't be.
It doesn't DO that here.
I haven't seen this since Detroit.
This is the real deal. Serious stuff.
Incredible!
It IS!

Al: (whisper) Damian... Daaaaaamian...?

Damian: QSndkjX%*ehliruw@##en....

Al: ... I am so sorry to wake you... but something VERY SPECIAL has happened... and I don't want you to miss it...

Damian: Huh? What it is?

Al: It's snowing. And the snow has stuck.

Damian: What?!

Al: I know. I think you need to see it.

We get dressed. We shuffle to the doorway.

Al: Ready?

He nods.
I open the door onto Carlingford Road. And there before us is a virginal, untouched blanket of pure white snow. It is exquisetly beautiful. Every little branch, every little crevice has been touched and decorated. There are at least six inches on the ground. His eyes twinkle and fill with wonder and emotion. He looks like a little boy. I remember this feeling so well. It seems so far away now.

Damian: Can we go out in it? Can we play in it?

Al: Of course! Let's get properly dressed!

We do. Coats, scarves, mittens, big boots! And cameras of course. Hardly anyone is even awake.

I teach him how to make snowballs. And then we decide to make a snowman. Of course. The secret is a good central snowball and patience in the rolling technique. No respectable snowman was ever made in haste.

A young woman and her son appear in the window of a flat across the street. We wave to them, they wave back. This would never happen on a normal day, people are very reserved and cautious here. But today, on snow day, that is different.

We find pebbles for the Snowman's eyes. Sticks for a mouth and a scarf and mittens of course.

Damian: Let's get a picture.

We do.
We've been out an hour. It's cold.
A morning made of magic.


Oh BOY.

New year, new beginnings

Sheffield.

A much-needed new year, new begining. I feel relief. I feel powerful. A massive shedding of a heavy and obsolete skin. Perhaps the skin once contained lessons, hard, adverse lessons now absorbed into my inner skins, there forever.

I feel ambitious-- I feel solitary. I feel free and powerful and solid. Bold, in control and strong. What a difference. how weak and uncertain was 2006... i have and shall continue to learn from those dark days. I shall endeavour to grow further, take calculated risks. I feel such potential taking hold of me-- such wonders await! I shall be audacious! Any mistakes made through audacity are easily corrected with more audacity.

"Everyone admires the bold; no one honours the timid."
-- Robert Greene

* * *

To London this weekend partially to take things back, partially to visit JNF and partially for a very stupid audition. Had a wonderful visit with JNF, we exchanged flawless Christmas gifts (a beautiful red vintage handbag, a gift certificate for a rubber stamp, and three winnie the pooh prints circa 1929).

Life has taken an inexplicable... quailty. I find i am taking pleasure in more of life. A flower, I will find myself overwhelmed by it's beauty. Or find myself irrationally excited about a meal, seeinga friend, browsing in a shop, the pleasure of a day off, reading, folding freshly laundered clothes, the smell of "clean"... is this happiness? Is this what it feels like? For I have never felt it before except in short burts. (That Proustian orange at the Birmingham Airport in 2003...)

The other day I observed D in his sleep, smelled his musk and just sat there gazing at his gentle face, and I was filled with... a feeling. It can only be described as delicious, anticipatory, wonder-- the bursting joyful kind a child feels when offered a hot cookie. I could even smell oatmeal raisin when this feeling began and I wanted to bite him. I could not wait for him to wake up, so we could spend the day together...

What is this? 

Life is full even when it is hard... the sense of wonder is profound.

Happy New Year 2007

A beautiful meal followed by festive fun (loosely translated that means, Millionaire and Twister... til the wee hours...)

Next year in the holy land...

Backstage Madness

Um. Enough said.

Sheffield Oboe Player

"Nobody stopped to hear him
Though he played so sweet and high
They knew he had never
Been on their T.V.
So they passed his music by
I meant to go over and ask for a song
Maybe put on a harmony...
I heard his refrain
As the signal changed
He was playing real good, for free."
-- Joni Mitchell

He busked nearly every day on the high street in Sheffield. I would leave rehearsal to get dinner, and there he would be; playing with his gorgeous, dark tone. Sometimes the classics, sometimes folk, sometimes those recognizable songs buskers always play.

Once, I saw him call out to a kid, a young boy of about eleven or so. Hey kid, he seemed to say, would you hold my oboe for a minute while I grab a Mars bar? I'll give you a quid when I get back. The kid seemed to think this was a great idea, and so the Oboe Player carefully handed him the instrument and took off to the newsagents.

Whilst the Oboe Player was away, the kid examined the oboe as if it were a relic! Or made of gold! He didn't dare try to play it, but he did fiddle with the keys a bit... it was pretty adorable. The Oboe Player returned a minute or so later with a mouth full of mars bar, a crumpled wrapper, and a pound for the kid.

And then, picking up the oboe, he began to play again. He closed his eyes. It was Goosens. I knew it because Lilly played it for Concertos at Interlochen. And the kid stuck around, he listened too. And then, without making a fuss, whilst the Oboe Players' eyes were still closed and concentrated, the kid put the pound the Oboe Player had given him, into the small pile of change inside the oboe case. And he sat on a nearby bench until the piece was done.

Sometimes I have a really short attention span...

...I really do.

Auntie Al

So. Aside from excessively bad hair (due to a combination of a bad seat on public transport and less than desireable humidity levels in The Smoke), these are some pictures of Auntie Al and Neice Hannah in action. Note: white fuzzy jumper thing was chosen with great effort, finally finding it a lovely baby gift shop/pharmacy/communist propaganda & leaflet distributor (a mish-mash sort of a place...)

Anyway! She is pretty incredible, and I cannot escape the delicious feeling of belonging to someone. I can be there for her and take care of her if she is ever in trouble or needs Aunt like advice.
I might be the crazy Aunt: the one with a very strange nocturnal lifestyle who reads The Fountainhead as a bedtime story.
I might be the cool Aunt who brings you along to West End rehearsals or lets you sit on the set whilst filming.
I might be the faraway Aunt. I AM the faraway Aunt, let's not be pedantic.
Anyway. It's great. And it is just the beginning.

Photography: Redheads

Redheads
Continuous study 2004-Present

Models: Alley Scott, Sherry McNamara, Juliet Alderdice, Joanne Cummins