I was thinking about rainbows this morning.
Jude drew a terrific one on construction paper last week, and I gotta say I was impressed he had is ROY G BIV down.
I don’t think I remembered the visible spectrum acronym until about 5th grade.
For some reason, I’ve also been singing the Reading Rainbow theme to myself over and over this week.
Butterfly in the skyyyyyy — I can fly twice as hiiiiigh
And I’ve been working with a student on “Finishing the Hat” from Sunday in the Park with George this semester, so there’ve been plenty of discussions about Georges Seurat’s obsession with visible light and a scientific method for painting — juxtaposing colors on the canvas and letting the human eye combine them into something new. Like the Eiffel Tower here —
And did you know that scientists at the University of Birmingham have created the first visualization of a photon by calculating its wave function? Lookit!
The behavior of light has informed my understanding of singing for nearly twenty years.
Here’s why.
That was when I learned about the Double Slit Experiment.
Scientists found that photons could behave as particles or as waves, and their behavior could be influenced just by them being observed.
They were confused as to why the photons made wave patterns when directed through two slits in metal sheeting, so they slapped a camera next to the metal. When they did, the light stopped waving and began particle-ing.
Matter was influenced by observation.
I bet you’ve experienced this in your own life.
Have you ever observed someone you formed a first impression about only to meet them later — and after you got to know them, realized many of your judgments were projection from your own brain stories?
Just me?
Or how about a close relationship of any kind.
One day you’re thinking, “You’re so funny when you do that thing,” and on a different day when you’re hangry, tired, or irritated, that endearing quality reads a lot differently.
I see this play out with teachers and kids a lot, too.
When Jude was 2 or 3, he was just beginning to learn how to be around other kids since it was 2021.
He had a learning curve on how to use gentle hands, and he hit a couple kids in the YMCA play zone.
Ok, we’re working on this, of course you can’t let him hit other kids, but the director of family services decided she didn’t like Jude and even suggested (after a whopping 3 visits to the play room) that she could refer us to behavioral services.
Thank you for your kind expertise. I’ll leave off the emoji.
(Strongly worded emails were written.)
My point is that the way the big person observed Jude affected how he felt in that space. When he was there on weekends with different folks who enjoyed him, there were no incidents.
I can’t prove correlation or causation, but I know from teaching thousands of voice lessons, the way I see a singer makes a huge difference in how they feel working on something as vulnerable as their voice and expression.
Somehow, Jude worked out how to be gentle and cooperative with other kids, and we stopped fighting Framingham traffic to go to the Y.
So, rainbows — butterflies in the sky — color and light! — and a (maybe) surface understanding of quantum mechanics —
What does it mean?
Your voice is a vibration, and it travels in waves — much like the photons when not being scrutinized by cameras.
I’ve often wondered how deeply our minds would be blown if we could see beyond our teeny visible light spectrum and witness the communicative waves emanating from a singer to the listener.
You can feel when you hear a singer — are they thinking about mechanics? Or have they opened up the door to their heart and invited you in?
Yesterday, my Conservatory studio shared their fall recital, and number one, I’m ridiculously proud of them, but number two, I was so grateful for how they opened their heart and welcomed the folks in the hall in. That’s invaluable, what a gift.
One student sang “On My Own” from Les Misérables, and I was in the back with my mouth open and my eyes watering all like, “I love him, too!”
And why? Other than my secret desire to play Éponine one day, it was because this singer opened up the most vulnerable places in her heart and welcomed us in.
I remember seeing Audra McDonald hold her baby and sing “Your Daddy’s Son” in the original production of Ragtime, and I couldn’t believe a singer could live through something like that in front of a theatre full of folks. The energetic sharing is something I’ll never forget. (My friend Lizzie’s IG story just told me that the revival of Gypsy Audra McDonald’s starring in is epic, so if you’re in NYC, get over to the Majestic Theatre. Lizzie knows.)
We forget that singing is collaborating with a great mystery. Our bodies have a deep knowing that this is a healing, sharing, connecting act.
When we sing, we interact with the very material of our soul; we take in a free breath and give it back as vibrated communication in beautiful mathematical proportion to other frequencies that make a song.
That’s nuts.
I want to invite you to recall how your heart first loved singing. What were the rainbow colors that told you there was gold at the foot of the arc? What told you there was something about singing that helped you fly like that Reading Rainbow butterfly? What lit up your mind about what yellow and blue right next to each other might do in the listener’s ear? And where has your life shown you what happens when you change the way you see things?
A song gives you the chance to try on a different pair of glasses, and when you see how much believing the story of the song can change you and the listener, you can carry that truth into your walking-around life.
And pretty soon, you’re constructing melodies and harmonies and making vibrational order in your immediate sphere.
Other folks may notice and remark, “I’ll have what she’s having.”
You’re a multifaceted diamond, and light shines through you in only the way your soul’s inimitable angles can refract them. You shine the radiance of the mysterious photons that grow plants and sparkle on water. It’s just a matter of letting it on through, no great effort required. That’s why it’s hard to experience. We want to work hard.
Nestle into your body, look out from your loving heart, and say to everyone you meet what I remind myself to tell the boys when we’re all wiggle-waggle: “You’re a good kid having a hard time.”
If you’re having a hard time right now, hear it from me. You’re a good kid having a hard time. And you’ll ride the rainbow on through this, I know.
I’m convinced light and sound are entwined.
Our synesthete friends tell us as much. So, enjoy and appreciate those free breaths, and give them back with the song only you can sing — someone would love to hear it.
Love much,
Dan
PS I love my walk to work from the train station and getting to work in Boston — some beautiful moments I want to share with you:
My favorite tree along the way, this gorgeous London Plane
Some days I ride all the way in to South Station and walk the couple miles back to campus through the Common. Just gorgeous.
And these Cosmos in the Victory Gardens always say hello and fill me with so much gratitude for beauty.
And a recent trip to the Museum of Fine Arts with the grad students — a gorgeous Georgia O’Keefe Iris, and these amazing model ships from the 18th Century.
PPS Speaking of rainbows and such, my friend Sara shared this video of Stephen Schwartz talking about some of the music from WICKED. I haven’t seen it yet, but looking forward to it.
Thanks to my smart Elon students back in the day, Andrew, Emma, and Jasmine, I already knew about the “Over the Rainbow” Easter egg. Most smarty things I know I learn from my students.