I play the Violin. And….
What do I do? I play the violin! Seriously, this blog is NOT called “Chronicles of an Adventurous Arts Administrator”! And YET…so many classical musicians find that this line of work presents sneaky invitations and opportunities to expand from playing music into teaching music, fundraising, and YES, the joy of administration. Sometimes it’s an easy NOPE. But there are tons of non-bowing-of-the-strings activities that totally overlap with my heartfelt mission to share great music as widely as possible…can’t a girl say yes now and then?
As I write this, I’m on an airplane heading home to Oregon from Chicago. It’s been a busy 5 days, an unexpected trip squished precariously into my schedule. Tomorrow morning I’m expecting a horde of eager students arriving at the Majestic Theatre in Corvallis, ready for a week of orchestra, solo classes, lessons, and electives ranging from Instrument Autopsy to Introduction to Conducting.
And this trip to Chicago? Not about playing my violin, either! My manager asked on short notice if I could squeeze in a couple of days to support her at a huge conference. She’s had a bit of a health set-back, and she wanted to have someone at the booth, or available to help with meetings if she needed a hand. I was able to clear a couple of days, and she began to send long (loooooong) emails with details about her roster of 20 artists/groups I should be familiar with, as well as presenters and organizations with whom she had meetings.
I printed her notes (7 pages) and began studying. I found myself getting kind of excited about being on the other side of the table. Not an artist, but an agent. I’ve had more than 15 different agents, from North America, Europe, and Asia, and this particular agent, who manages my trio (Amelia Piano Trio) and piano quartet (Thunder Egg Consort) is the most hands-on, detailed and persistent manager I’ve ever had. Supportive. Knowledgeable. Involved. What a treat to help her out and see the world through her eyes for a few days!
So when she emailed me the night before my 6am flight out of Oregon saying she was at urgent care and not able to travel and could I handle all of her meetings, meals, set up her booth, and manage drop-ins, I said “yes.” A confident sounding “yes,” but inside, soooooo nervous to be responsible for representing this amazing roster for her, wanting to put my best foot forward and lock in those bookings.
I quickly dumped my suitcase, which had been filled with my “artist” look – white bell-bottoms, funky shirts, colorful runners – and exchanged for my Zara black suit, thin flats, cream shirts. Eye liner. Slim black notebook, business cards, my moss-colored Italian leather satchel. Darn right, I’m going to look the part.
I arrived in Chicago. This is the first time I’ve set foot in Chicago in 14 years, since my estrangement with my father. We’ve all got complicated pasts, and my main hesitation in agreeing to come to this conference wasn’t the fact that I haven’t done this before, but the location, my memories of my childhood in Chicago. I texted my on-again off-again therapist for some words of encouragement. In case of a panic attack or the recurrence of my now-dormant PTSD. She texted back immediately. “You’ve got this. You are strong. Breath.”
My manager extended my original 3 days to the full 5 days, so I could handle set-up, tear-down, and the early and late extra meetings scheduled. The gorgeous, historic Drake Hotel would be my home for the better part of a week.
The first meetings were a little funny – questions like “Does the Italian Saxophone Quartet live in Italy and what are the visa requirements?” and “Can you give us the fee schedule for the baroque trio” were answered by “I would guess that, yes, they live in Italy, and that my manager handles the visas. She will be happy to work with you on fees and details, I’ll be sending her the summary of our talk after our meeting.” By the time the third business meal was over (I opted for deep-dish pizza joints and hole-in-the-wall waffle places instead of the hotel restaurants, allowing me to take interesting, memorable walks with my guests), I started to hit my stride. My booth ended up being very boisterous, with extra chairs pulled up and a line forming to chat. I wasn’t just talking to presenters, it turned out, but old friends, colleagues, former managers and students. They all wanted to catch up, ask advice about blogging or careers, see pictures of the family, or just grab a selfie.
Over 80 emails later, and happy to have been a help to a person who has been so generous to me, and who ended up in the ER the day after she was at the urgent care, I’ve got a new appreciation for the teams that support us musicians. The knowledge needed, the relentless energy required, and the flexibility to switch from one type of situation to another.
I’m looking forward to arriving back in Oregon, dropping my suit at the cleaner, shoving those flats to the back of the closet, putting my flip-flops back on, my favorite mushroom shirt, and catching up with Jason and the girls.
Tomorrow morning is a whole new day, with a new set of challenges and obstacles. This time, tuning a bazillion instruments, making sure people have their music printed, orienting parents and faculty. Not actually that different from a conference, come to think of it. And I’m thankful to learn a bit about the flip side. I have renewed appreciation for the teachers, administrators, and fundraisers who support the “work” I am so lucky to do. It’s a reminder for me to say “Thank You” to all of those around me as much as possible.
