Reflections by Naomi Stephan

When a composer finishes a work, and she knows it is good, she nevertheless has to let it go and let others take over. Mater in Memoriam (see two posts down) was a multi media work with solos, choruses, dance, graphics. So much to juggle! I waited on the sidelines to see what would happen. Well I wasn’t disappointed.

Those sidelines were magical. Even before the concert, I got emails and missives from chorus members and a mother of one, and one who was in her 40’s, a volunteer out of love of music.

Joseph Eppink and his women from the College of the Saint Rose Women’s Chorale delivered a sensitive performance, which showed they understood what I was writing about, namely, a daughter (me) who had lost her mother, a daughter who had not resolved all the issues with her mother.

As that daughter, I had to write a requiem in gratitude to my mother Irene, because there was not that final word between us that I wanted to have taken place. Closure and resolution, so crucial to music, took place on a higher level because I turned it over to others.

It takes courage to perform a work, which is both thematically and musically difficult. It also takes courage for a conductor to entrust this work to young budding and maturing college singers, whose life experience lay largely before them. I wondered if perhaps I should have restricted this work to more mature choruses, but how can you put clamps on on your music? But they got it–the fact that I was struggling with life, death, laughter, tenderness and love, and everything in between in this work, and that I was, by the way, a Lesbian (although the word does not occur in the Requiem). They took in as they would information on any work.

This essay would not be complete if I did not ask what it takes in the choral world, when I hear raves, tears, gratitude, enlightenment, insight, and growth from people, for this work to find acceptance. Bach did not have it easy in his life, and as my mentor, I have learned from him that art is not about the moment (although it is certainly so during any performance), but for serving a higher purpose, about acceptance, insight, transcendence and joy.

As the director wrote me after the concert: “I chose a piece that challenged us in many ways in addition to the music. We took a journey together that was sometimes extremely pain-filled but none without many laughs and terms of endearment along the way. I thank you for that. You gave our musicians, me, the audience, and our college a wonderful gift.”

One the following day, he wrote to me:

“As I was driving to work this morning, the tears started and they wouldn’t stop. You see, my grandmother died 2 years ago and it had been a few years since we had spoken. . . . . It was very sad and I didn’t even know she died until about a month following. Anyhow, this morning driving in it totally hit me… “If I could see you one more time, what would I say to you… could this second chance with you ease the pain inside…” Perhaps now I’m finally ready to say “blessed be” and allow that part of me to heal.

And from one singer to her conductor:
“Just wanted to let you know how much I’ve appreciated the entire experience this semester…. I was out of my element on many levels but I pushed myself and had fun…. had a lot of laughs last night, behind the scenes and came away with a new found outlook on my relationship with my own mother…. which has for the last seven years, been strained…to the point that we haven’t spoken in the last two.”

I treasure these letters, of which I have received many from other performances with similar emotions and themes.

Composing this work was/is worth the struggle.

Thank you for your love and support.