Finding My Voice

“Did you live under a rock?” I was often asked this question throughout my childhood when I didn’t know who all the ditsy teenage TV stars and pop singers were. People knew me as “quiet” or “shy” and asked me why I didn’t talk more. I would usually smile sweetly and mutter something like, “I don’t have much to say.” In reality, a sassy voice in my head would retort, “Well, if you would shut your mouth for more than a few seconds at a time, maybe others would have a chance to say something.” But my mom always quoted Thumper from Disney’s “Bambi” movie: “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say nothing at all.” I’ve attempted to hold to this quote steadily throughout my life; I’ve decided it’s usually best that my voice is not heard unless what comes from it is positive and uplifting to others.

Since I am not especially excellent with words, my voice is usually the most uplifting when it is being used for song. Singing has been a lifelong love of mine (my parents confirmed that I sang since the day I could speak), but with such a small voice, nobody could hear me if they stood further than five feet away from me. I desperately wanted to know how to beautifully project my voice while singing, but was so shy about my singing voice that I thought it would become a reality. Then, when I was fourteen, I was asked to sing the Christmas Eve solo.

The solo was the first verse of the hymn “Once in Royal David’s City,” and we sang it every year. I knew the song well, so I made the mistake of putting off practice. With barely any preparation, I stood in front of the congregation on Christmas Eve, exposed and frightened. That first verse was a replica of my reoccurring nightmares. Three hundred expectant faces stared at me as the organist began to crawl through the introduction. I didn’t have the chance to practice with him beforehand, and his pace was painfully slow. I began the verse, and my whole body and voice shook like an earthquake. The tempo was so slow that I ran out of breath halfway through a simple phrase in the song. I panicked and proceeded to squeak the highest note of the verse and then run out of breath again. Since this song was so familiar to me, I felt like I was stumbling through the house I grew up in, but in pitch darkness. I knew it so well, but I was not prepared with a light as my tool to venture through. Subconsciously, I was hoping the ground would open up and swallow me then.

My first performance portrayed otherwise, but I knew that I was completely capable of singing well. And I knew I could train myself to prove that through future solos. My first solo was a catastrophe, but it was also the beginning of a deeper love for singing than I ever had before. That was the night when I found my voice.

A New Start

Each new semester instigates in me a deep anticipation. It is a combination of excitement and fear. I think back over the break and wonder where the time decided to fly. Perhaps it flew with Peter Pan to Neverland and never came back. Throughout the previous months, my peers have told me stories and advice about certain professors and classes - some that make me want to run - so I use discretion in figuring out which stories are valuable, and which are exaggerations. Wednesday was the first class of studio, and now I can have a fresh start. The anticipation is over.

Our first project began with us scanning pre-cut wood pieces and assembling them to make an assortment of animal models. Many of my classmates have a type of dinosaur, but I decided to build a praying mantis. It stands poised with one of its forelegs outstretched as if ready to punch anybody who comes too close. Its wings resemble the pattern of a monarch butterfly’s wings, yet it has a sternness that never shows in a monarch.

Before we punched out the wood pieces, we all scanned our templates in order to have the shapes of the wood pieces documented digitally. We will use a process that involves Photoshop and Illustrator to convert our scans into drawings in AutoCAD, so that later on, we can model our animals and make scaled up versions. These versions will require laser cutting at the Ranch, a place I have only been to once.

That introduces a minor problem that I have managed to avoid for an entire semester. Last year, I had to pass a quiz and be taken on a “tour” through the woodshop that is located in Building B. I used the woodshop a lot last year to make multiple models, but unfortunately, my certification expired after two semesters. Last semester started pretty suddenly, and I didn’t have the chance to make it down to the woodshop even once. Well, I might have avoided it intently because I knew it was a hassle. Anyways, that is on my list of things to do for this project: get re-certified to use the woodshop I already know how to use.

I am eagerly looking forward to this project, because it seems that we will be learning mostly about how to strengthen weak joints in our models. This project compared with previous studio projects is much like editing a paper that already exists. The main “design” is already there; we are just figuring out where the weak spots are.

My guess is that my praying mantis will have its weakest joints where the forearms extend out past its body. The body seems fairly stable right now, but time and a bigger scale will tell if my guess is correct. Please join me next week for an update of the activities we have been doing in studio. Or perhaps I might give you an example of life’s little conundrums in my world.