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So yeah I'm thinking I'll unfollow anybody who trashes on people. We've all got enough problems without striking out at the fat ones, the botoxed ones, the whatever it is that you don't approve of ones. Honestly, it does your brain absolutely no good to spend any time at all judging anybody else in any capacity whatsoever. Especially the nasty stuff. It's not who we are, these nasty thoughts. Catch them when they perk up their ugly heads and move ON.

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Graffiti in Vienna. A matching pair of ravens. #ravens #4thdistrict #graffiti #streetart #iwantthisonmywall

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Amazing exhibit at palazzo fortuny in Venice on the marchesa luisa casati. What a story. #fortuny #casati #venezia #venice #italy

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My Take on Art and Craft

One of the most enlightening things I've experienced over the past couple of years was attending the Venice Biennale. With the help of two artist friends who I traveled with, I was shown the very substantial difference between art and craft, and I saw that one doesn't necessarily have much to do with the other for an artist's work to have a great deal of merit. There was art there that moved me, really moved me. Not art that I could buy and take home with me, but then that's not the point.

Now with craft, that is the point. I have searched long and hard for a better term for this kind of art, because it is aesthetic, lovely and clever to look at - but it doesn't haunt me the way pure art does. It's a different kind of skill. There were times at the Biennale when although the craft wasn't finely honed, the artist's imagination cut through to the quick, and I took something raw away with me that changed me a bit. And even when the craft was phenomenal, it was very much secondary to the artist's concept. This kind of art is not for sale. If it touched me at all then I'm carrying it with me now. 

Wei Wei's exhibit "bang" is a good example. He explored the Chinese tradition of the family handing down crafted 3-legged stools generation after generation. After the cultural revolution, these stools were no longer produced. So there is a room full of these stools, and I strolled through the exhibit and carry his very strong, clear message that I won't  forget quickly. 

This doesn't mean that I won't want lovely things in my home, lovely things that I can look at and touch and enjoy. It's just that now, I'll know the difference. 

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Change is the Name of the Game

I began photography when I was 16 or so, renting a photo lab in West Los Angeles where the clerk gave me 10 minutes worth of instruction with the enlarger, sold me some paper (ah, the feel of that Oriental Seagull semi-mat!), and set me loose. When I moved to Europe thirty years ago, it was the perfect breeding ground for big impressions, and I began to write short stories. Some were published and are still online, and I've been thinking of a project that would put some of them to a series of photographs. I do so love to write, and frankly I don't think it is particularly worthwhile to stick with one thing over another. We should mix the pot up; we're here for such a short time.

This weekend I heard someone say that the soul is meant to have adventures. When it doesn't, it just curls up and waits, letting you go about your choice for another kind of life. Anyway, it was nice to hear that this sense of boredom I occasionally feel has nothing to do with anybody I'm with or even whether I like what I'm dong, but more a sense of questioning whether I want to test some other limits a bit more. Even wild and crazy is a routine if what we're doing goes in the same direction for too long. 

It reminds me of dancing. I just loved to dance 10 years ago - but after awhile I started wondering whether there wasn't something else that could make me feel that great. I had danced my heart out, and, low and behold, it started to wind down. Once in awhile it hits again if there is a particularly great song or if the mood is a dancing kind of mood, or, if my dear Vedad starts his moves (oh boy is it a treat to watch somebody who dances like he does), but I don't want to believe that dancing will be the only thing that makes me feel this joy. And if I stop looking, if I stop expecting wondrous things to happen in my life, if I settle for what I already know (and what must wear thin after some time), I most probably will miss something else that will take my breath away.

If you would like to read one of those short stories, here is a link:

http://www.melicreview.com/archive/iss19/fic_alexandra_thompson.htm

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Inheriting Risk

Cleaning out my cupboard this morning, I found this photo of my mother in a magazine, interesting because she was pregnant with me at the time. I don't know much about my mother's career as she stopped acting after I was born. She seemed to always be more interested in writing, hers as well as mine, and there were no stories at all about her career other than vague rumors of secret service agents and one of the Kennedy boys, encounters with Playboy magnate Hugh Hefner, and a possible child out of wedlock. And most of those stories came from my grandparents.

My mother's stories to me were about signing up for the LSD research program as a volunteer candidate at UCLA although she was pregnant (they discovered this of course and turned her down). Or looking for gold in the Black Hills on foot and getting lost. Or deciding that with the power of her mind, she could do anything she wanted to do. But nothing about her career in film. That information I've gotten through old magazines I've discovered on eBay, or old films now available on YouTube. She was simply not interested.

In my day to day life I'm aware that I'm more like her than I once thought, and in saying that I imagine we are all much like our parents whether we know it or not. Although I moved in with my father when I was 16, my very young life was highly influenced by a parent who pushed the bar on taking risks. So it is with little wonder that I have trouble understanding people who won't. In fact, I scoff, and I'm ashamed of myself but I'm working on that. If your parents told you to "be careful", or "get a secure job", or made you feel guilty or unworthy or just plain frightened when you got bold and brave and did something outside the box, then chances are you are not prone to taking too many risks. 

That said, I'm pretty hard on myself, always fighting with the idea that I'm too complacent and don't push myself into that "be scared at least once a day" mindset that is considered a healthy mental attitude for living a full life. Remember, both my parents acted like any 9-5 job I got would leave me tantamount to one of the walking dead. Nevertheless, instead of living out a true "Maude" existence of No Fear (I refer to the movie, Harold and Maude), I tend to stand back and ponder a bit too long, a bit too much.

One of the things I tend to ponder are people that have been in my life far too long, and who have no business being there anymore. We grow and change and grow again, so why is it such a scary thing to give up on relationships? This is especially hard with people I was once close with. I get mad at myself for not liking them any more, and think it must surely be something with me. All of that "we are all human and the same underneath the skin" kind of bunk. Anyway, I'm working on that as well, albeit a little late in the game, but whatever. We learn lessons from everyone we meet, and my lesson is to learn to move on and tactfully away without feeling guilty. They've got their own ladders to climb and demons to fight, and we don't need to be checking out each other's progress. 

I hope my mother would be proud of me if she were still alive, although even as I write this I can see her shrug. She wouldn't really care, because when we care about somebody, we let them grow and develop and learn at their own pace, and attempt their own risks according to their own rules. And if we don't care about them, we need to walk away and know that's okay, too. 

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Hiring a Photographer - (you get what you pay for)

Steph © 2014 Alexandra Thompson 

I rarely write about the business side of photography, but I found myself in a lively conversation with my neighbor about the photographer her brother had hired to photograph his wedding and felt so strongly about what I was saying I decided to share.  

Folks, we have a few rare moments in our lives - 'once in a lifetime' is what we call them - our kids graduate from high school, we get married, we welcome a baby into our life.  We spent the money on the school, the clothes, the party. We invested the time, the effort, the love. And who do we hire to preserve all of this for us? Surely not a photographer on the cheap. In this case my neighbor's brother hired one for about 300 bucks.  My neighbor sent me a link to the pictures. 

There were photos of all the people who attended, as well as the bride and groom in a few standard poses. It was sad that the groom looked so miserable, but worse was that there would be no record of the actual fun they must have had that day - the celebration, the conversations, the preparation and excitement. What they got was a couple dozen snapshots of people smiling for the camera.

Memories are what you've got inside your head but photographs are your only visual record, and for those incredibly special times, do you really want to skimp on a photographer? Do you really want to hand the responsibility over to a friend with a camera, or your brother, or a cousin, or somebody that had the lowest price, and trust them to capture the feeling of the moment, the details, what you were experiencing? Or are you satisfied with posed snapshots of the people who attended. Seriously? 

I've been a photographer since I was 16 and I don't want to know how many thousands of dollars I've spent on schools and workshops and courses learning my craft, but it was worth it to me because it's my passion.  When I find a photographer whose work I love, I know they've done the same and are just as passionate. Personally, finding a photographer whose work you love is so important, that I list it as one of the top expenses I would pay at an event that's important to me. And yes, I've researched a lot of photographers and know exactly who I would hire. For the guests, let's face it, it's about the food. But for YOU, it's the whole reason you're in this game in the first place - you got married, had kids, turned 40 - all of it. 

So ask yourself.  In 10 years, when you look back, will you look at snapshots and think how old everybody's gotten, and not recall one single detail that makes you laugh or cry or remember? Or will your photographs spark the memories that make the ones inside your head 'pop'. After all, it's your life!

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Other artists - other trends OR What I Saw This Weekend

Other people's art influences me. I get angry if I feel like my time is being wasted by someone whose pretension is greater than their talent, but also super psyched to see how clear and concise an artist's vision can be when they pursue it honestly and with focus. 

Two art fairs took place in Vienna this week - Parallel Wien and the Vienna Art Fair. 

Parallel Wien is touted as a contemporary art fair that "showcases today's laboratories and tomorrow's trends". I wasn't able to go last year, and at the time I literally got phone calls telling me to drop whatever I was doing and head over before it closed because it was THE most amazing collection of work. Couldn't wait to see it this year, and what can I say. I'm not an art critic but come on guys...most of this stuff looks so thrown together I can only say I'm either so out of it, or if that's not the case, then we don't have much to look forward to if tomorrow's trends take off.

There were exceptions, like the room transformed into a tunnel using long pieces of paper - creating something interesting with the space and involving the viewer. But most of the exceptions I'm talking about would have been better placed at the Vienna Art Fair. You may not have liked their work, but they were focused on their concept and, how can I put this, they had respect in learning their chosen technique, be it painting or installation or whatever. They hadn't just picked up a paint brush or a clever idea and slapped it into a given space. It's that clever shit that bugs the hell out of me.... Make me smile ( please! I love artists who on occasion are not possessed by their demons 24/7 ), but get over the snickering. Don't think for a minute that you know more than your viewer.  

On to one of the exceptions. Damien Daufresne's 6-minute slide show, 'Ressac'. The background sound was a bit like a machine, or a train. You can find it on Vimeo without the sound, although there is something to be said for watching a slideshow in a dark room at a proper slideshow size. By the end, I was so full of feeling that when I met him I had to excuse myself by saying I felt if I talked too much I would cry. He was a bit concerned and will surely remember me as that crazy lady on opening night. The prints from the slideshow appeared to be framed quickly and on the cheap - but even this didn't take away from the power of his work for me.

The Vienna Art Fair, which has proven a bit of a disappointment over the last few years, was a very pleasant surprise. I was quite dismayed to see many of the galleries hanging the same stuff they hung last year (what's with that anyway?), but there was enough really interesting work that had me taking notes like crazy. Top favorite gallery was the Hada Contemporary out of London. Two of their artists, Hong Sungchul and Lee Jaehyo really stood out. Sungchul has a secret method of printing on stretched elastic strings in a frame of steel. The gallery rep said he does other work with LED lamps that follow you when you move, and what I would most love to see is his video installation, "Please Call Me". Enter the room and the video is of a person with their back to you. When you call out to them, they turn around. If we're talking tomorrow's trends, then this bond between what is so technical and removed together with a real, live person is where it's at for me.

I must also mention what I brought home with me - the publications from L'Hermitage in St. Petersburg that the rep at the counter handed to us like they'd put them together quickly for a buck a piece and no one was buying.  I can only say that these publications are exquisitely made "magazines" if you can call hard-covered, informative, beautifully printed and highly informative little gems simply magazines. I can only think that L'Hermitage has money to burn and happily does so in putting out these beauties. I walked away with three and felt like a collector with her stash. One of the few times I pick something up and know I'll treasure it as I read it end to end.

I'll be going happily back to my own work this week feeling quite confident in the road I've chosen after seeing the work at Parallel, and pretty mortified at how some artists have already beaten their chosen path after seeing the Vienna Art Show. Best tip of the day for artists even if it's your own life that is the art, is to observe, appreciate, and wonder at what's out there, and then get down to it - for the artist, it's a continuous process (don't ever get too comfortable), far more than this year's product.

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Falling in Love with Genoa

In July, I spent a couple of days in Genoa with two friends who I'd been traveling with for the past week. We all had different ideas about how we wanted to spend our time and I opted for Palazzo Reale (Royal Palace), not really knowing what was there, but in the mood to see something weighty. Sometimes you're into just walking and feeling, and other times you want some facts and figures: that is what I call 'weighty'. Anyway, I wanted to see something that might reflect Genoa's days-gone-by. Just to clarify, I had no idea that Palazzo Reale translates to Royal Palace. It looks like a grand home on a normal street where a very wealthy family might have resided, not like a palace. But that seems to be what all palaces look like in Italian cities. 

Anyway, I purchased a ticket upstairs from one of four ladies who were having a nice chat. Very friendly, nothing to do but chat and be helpful, as it appeared I was the only visitor. Let me repeat, the middle of summer and I am the ONLY visitor at the Royal Palace. I was asked not to use flash, but was welcome to photograph to my heart's content. 

It's a little hard to describe what it's like walking through a place like this with nobody next to you, or in front of you, or behind you for that matter. In each room there was an info sheet describing what was special - art work, paintings, or the room itself - and I took my time, sometimes going back to the room I had just left. One was a long, golden, and magnificently mirrored room where Napoleon had dined. He spent some time at the Palazzo, and when it went up for sale in the early 1800s, he was the first to bid on it.  

At one point I entered a room with a guard who stood next to a small door texting on her phone. I asked whether I was supposed to reverse my steps to exit as all the other doors in the room were closed and she shook her head, pointed to my camera and shook her head again, turned and unlocked the little door, motioning me in. It was eerie, and a little crime-novelish. 

The room turned out to be tiny, and I found myself standing nose to nose in front of four large paintings. In fact I was standing precisely where the painters themselves must have stood while they were painting.  I read the names - Tintoretto, Rubens, Rembrandt, and Van Dyck. They were literally in front of my nose, and I had to step back almost to the wall so I could see them fully. It's hard to describe the feeling - alone with these paintings that I could lick if I took one step forward. 

Genoa is not a place that anybody I know has visited, which means it's kind of a secret anyway, yes? And considering it was in mid-July, it is very curious indeed that I walked out of the Palazzo having been its only visitor, at least for the couple of hours I spent there. When I left, the ladies were still chatting, the sun was still shining, and the world, full of surprises, still turned. If you'd like to see more photos (lots of mirrors in this Palazzo!) here is a link to my FB page: Alexandra Thompson Photography

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Ladies of LeMura

Amy at LeMura

Returning from a trip to Umbria where friends and I rented a villa for a week, and then 4 of us (then 3...we missed you Jaimy!) took off on a road trip through Tuscany for another 9 days. I was not homesick, although I fretted over my cats a bit every now and then. The trip was organized to celebrate my birthday.

Many, many photographs were taken - there is a lot to shoot in Tuscany, and I will be sorting through them all and hopefully adding blog posts about those sites and my thoughts over the next couple of weeks. I have enough footage to put together a wonderful video, if I can keep it focused, which nobody will see because my friends, you've got to love them, are all professionals out in the real world - doctors, lawyers, accountants, even a judge! - and they would not want their drag counterparts up on YouTube giving interviews and dancing in heels. Except for Amy Winehouse, who looked more like Amy Winehouse than Amy. They put on a real show, these guys.....!

They were an eclectic group. I was wary of bringing them all together because they're such different characters, and the very thing I might love in one of them could well be a quality that is non-existent in the other. To be honest, I'm not quite sure how the whole thing turned out as I am only one person and we were 17 in total - friends coming and going all the time and small groups forming for wine and conversation or a dip in the pool, and then re-forming in a different constellation.  I plan to gather a special moment to remember about each of these dear ones in writing, combine it with a photo or two, and put it together in a small book just for me. As for the video, should you know any of the 16 Ladies of LeMura personally, you might just get a private viewing.

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Just Who Are We, Exactly?

Blue Girl

I'm reading a book by Martin Gayford called 'Man with a Blue Scarf - On Sitting for a Portrait by Lucian Freud'. It's a fascinating read because although it includes observations on the quirks of the painter, it is even more a study on the connection between an artist and his subject and the resulting piece being produced, which he calls the third person in the room. 

The artist, Tom Lohner, and I are working on a portrait project that for lack of better words can be described as a kind of 3-dimensional discourse. It started with me trying to explain that I wanted to shoot glamour portraits, but that it was almost impossible for me to validate somebody from the outside only. I don't see people that way. It's concentrating too hard on what we pretty much cannot control, plus it doesn't validate all of the unique things that make us who we are. Tom understood this, and we came up with this idea of combining our work to reflect the whole person - beautiful, complicated, and terribly human both inside and out. 

The portraits I'm making are more work than I've ever thought possible. At some point the third person in the room is my camera. As I've said before, there are times when I wonder where exactly I was when I was shooting a series, like the Lipizzaner horses. The photos are not what I was thinking about making, nor is it what I remember seeing. I am, like one of my favorite photographers, Sarah Moon, absolutely terrified most of the time, and almost embarrassingly certain I'm not getting anything usable. 

Yet perhaps it can be said that as a photographer, if you can get into the zone, you drop almost into a state of meditation and push that button subconsciously. When you come up for air, something quite magical has taken place below the surface.

I am very happy with these portraits. They are glamorous, but they're my kind of glamour. The beauty who is a little out of focus. The buff who loses it for a split second between looking buff. Or the Caravaggio boy who, after posing for hours, cuts loose and starts to dance and sing to the camera. It's what attracts us and what draws us in to touch one another as human in some way. Recognizing the tremendous beauty in the flaws. Real life. True glamour.  

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Over the last couple of months, I've been collaborating with an artist on a project we are both excited about and committed to - who would have guessed that my enthusiasm for photography could be revived simply by working on fine art again as opposed to school snapshots (I have worked as a school photographer for more years than I care to mention...about twice as long as I should have, to the detriment of what I love to do. That is about to end.).

With every series I work on or portrait I take, I am learning something about the very thing you cannot teach. The relationship between the photographer and the subject. The dynamics of what goes on during a photo shoot. I'm making enough portraits now so that I see a system and style developing, a uniform, stable way of doing my work. I've tended to rush before, not wanting to burn out my subject.  Now I see how the work progresses at its own pace. Neither one of us can control how long it will take to get what I'm after. More often than not, we both need to give up, and that's when it happens.

Photography is such a surprising way to look at things. When you start moving beyond the snapshot, there's so much to uncover that the naked eye doesn't catch. Not too long ago, I was invited to a party at a Lipizzaner ranch. There was a torrential storm shortly after we arrived, which meant no chance to shoot a series of gorgeous white horses with their black foals in an open meadow, just a muddy mess. I did what I could inside the stables, but when I got home and looked at the photos, there was a story there. I didn't feel it while I was shooting, but a camera doesn't record what's going on in your conscious mind. It sees what it sees.

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Living the Big Life

Susanne Widl - actress & muse, owner of Cafe Korb in Vienna

Let me start this blog entry by saying I'm very grateful to have lead such a big life. Let me also say to those who know me well, that you do not know me well. In fact, should all of you get together at a small cocktail party after I die and share stories, you would come up with about 25% of what actually happened.  It has been a ride, but it has been very private and my own. To hear anything, you have to listen very carefully and you have to stop talking. Good luck with that.

What I realize now, since last night in fact, is that I have a character flaw which simply doesn't jive with being handed a big life, at least not for those who would like to hear my stories. In truth, I'm a floater. Determined to go for the gusto, I'm ready to float to the next event in an instant rather like a diaphanous ghost when it's over. I'm there. You know me by sight. But when you look you can't quite find me. If the spotlight should hit me it's because I'm not in charge of the switch, but you can be sure I'll find a way to turn it off. My life the way it is, well that's more than enough for me.

Then there are those people who come into this world and are not handed a big life but make one for themselves. Now these are the ones who interest me. As Jack Kerouac said, " ...they danced down the street like dingledodies, and I shambled after as I've been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue center light pop and everybody goes "Awww!"

It's a very delicate job, shambling behind dingledodies, because they are so extreme. They reinvent themselves constantly and although they are so terribly brave, they view the world from a fragile place. They are subject to extreme highs but extreme lows as well. I don't run into them very often anymore, and I miss them. I live in a quiet place, this Austria.

I was lucky last night to photograph one such brave soul. She has stories to tell, and I am quite determined to have her tell them. Perhaps I feel so singularly obstinate about this project because she is so passionate about her life, and don't get me wrong, I am passionate about mine as well, quiet as I keep it. It feels good to observe someone who is on fire and has kept it big - as big as they can possibly make it - a fabulous yellow roman candle. She is not Meryl or Barbra or Cate. I know them. We all know them. We don't know Susanne; she's the surprise package. But in listening to her stories, maybe we can discover what is big in ourselves - our own stories that we've kept alive and burning in our own, quiet way.

I hope my energy doesn't wane. I have other projects I'm passionate about and then there's the challenge of paying the bills. That said, I will meditate on what I once told my neighbor when my cat escaped. I would rather he live one week truly wild and happy than 10 years miserable in the apartment. Although Orlando has since come back a year and a half later and has settled down considerably, I don't much see that in my stars. 

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What I Learned at the Armory

Last week I went to the Armory show in NYC. I had been told by my son, who develops art books for artists and artist exhibitions, that he had heard the show was not so good this year so I wasn't expecting much. I was pleasantly surprised to find just the opposite - there was plenty of stuff I'd have gladly hung on my walls. 

I had dinner with my son the next day and announced to him that his sources were totally wrong - the Armory had great stuff! He said he was glad to hear it, and then asked me what pieces I had found most challenging. Challenging? What do you mean by "challenging"? His answer reminded me of Friedrich Nietzche's quote, "We have our Arts so we won't die of Truth." Did I see anything that seemed risky? Did it raise any questions? Did I walk away feeling a little bit different after viewing a particular artist? Well, no. Not exactly. But I had a funny story about the couple who were arguing over which Picasso to buy. He rolled his eyes....

I've said before that I wish there was another word for that pleasant, Ikea brand of art. It doesn't make me question a damn thing, but it's nice to look at. Still, I find all art informative, whatever you want to call it. As for the Armory, after the conversation with my son, my favorite piece was the LED screen at the front of that enormous warehouse that let me know which artists were trending, which galleries were being looked at the most - all in all, a who's who of the show. That was very interesting, and very telling. And slightly disturbing. After all, according to Hugh MacLeod, "Art suffers the moment people start paying for it."  

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Behind the Scenes of Tuntenball 2014

This past weekend I traveled to Graz for the 25th anniversary of Tuntenball 2014. Loosely translated, Tunten means "Queer", a word that makes me laugh - maybe 25 years ago gays were considered queer, or even a decade ago (remember Queer as Folk?), but today we know that they are no more queer than straights. Nevertheless, once you give a big event like this a name, you're stuck with it....

This was a first time production for Gerhard Pruegger and Matti Finland, and wouldn't you know it would be the anniversary and they would have to turn what has always been a wonderfully fun, friendly, slightly outrageous but provincial ball into an extravaganza, while still maintaining the wonderful experience the people who buy tickets (which sell out in under an hour!) have come to expect. There are no VIP sections here. Equality for ALL! We were sure they were up to the task - but a task it surely was.

I was asked to photograph the moderator, Alex Desmond, for the billboard / tickets, etc. etc., last year (the photo above) and it was a privilege to do so. Just as much of a privilege is that they let me run free with my camera at rehearsal as well as during the ball .

Here is a link to some more of the highlights of this year's ball. You can find the photos under On-Going Projects:  www.alexandrathompson.com

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Enjoying the Calm

www.noisli.com

Now I wonder whether this noisli site will help me write more frequently. It is such a pleasure watching the colors change and hearing sounds I love (trees and babbling brook) very quietly in the background. 

Ah, the enchanting time between Christmas and New Year's Eve. So quiet, people running around doing what they do, and I can stay still, concentrate on what I like, read more and computer less.

Now that it's going to be legal to practice photography in Austria, I'm working on a re-vamped website. It will be finished the first week in January. What a Xmas present! 

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So You Think You Can Sing?

I've been given the opportunity to sing Carmina Burana at the Lincoln Center in New York. Imagine my dismay! I mean, you've got to keep the instrument tuned, right?? And since I stopped singing in the car, mine is down to a scratchy croak. 

I thought about Kathy, the choir's conductor, hearing those first screechy notes out of my mouth. She'd toss me out on my ear! Thanks but no thanks! But you know me, I still said yes.

I walked in to our first rehearsal expecting to see a fairly large choir, but it was a small group. They were just people like me, who love to sing in their cars and their showers, and for a couple of hours every week Kathy will work with us and get us into shape so that we can join the bigger choir. 

Kathy is a firm believer that everyone who wants to sing should sing. She tells us to leave our "I can't" at the door. There is no such thing in her book as being good enough. It's this attitude and generosity of spirit that allows her to offer people who love to sing an experience of a lifetime. 

It's got me wondering how many things we don't do because we aren't the best at something, or even close to being the best. How many doors of opportunity don't we walk through because we might be laughed at or we might embarrass ourselves. We shouldn't take the chance!

Well why the hell not? The more things we say no to, the narrower our world becomes. And who wants to live in a box? Not me. I'm singing at the Lincoln Center in New York. And if there was a way that I could take all of you who love to sing there with me, not to watch, but to sing Carmina Burana, I don't care how out of tune your croak, I'd do it.