What happened to the listeners that night, when My Sister's Tears was premiered? What happened to me, a particular listener? In this section I consider the reactions and responses from a number of listeners who are close to me or have become close to me. How I then responded is also discussed and the genesis of the healing that began that night is also evident.
"My Sister's Tears" is different. There is no need to 'like' this or to applaud it. I do want people to consider it and what it says. A number of family, friends and colleagues did so and their reflections can be found via the synopsis page of the work.
Claire Petherick said "...it was vivid and moving and because, to me, it represents a maturity and sense of 'having arrived' for the composer. There is a sense of contentment, ease and completeness to this work" (personal communication, June 3, 2005). And then Brydie Bartleet said that "On a personal and musical level...it drew on my 'heartstrings' and invited me to a very beautiful and visceral place: a shared space" (personal communication, June 3, 2005).
I am touched and moved here. She then goes on to say: "On an intellectual level, it made me uneasy. Was this appropriate? How would your sister feel? How does your family feel? How do the musicians feel about playing this?" (personal communication, June 3, 2005).
I am taken aback by such comments! Confronted, yet not offended. I question myself and wonder if I have been too bare in my openness; not 'prudent' enough maybe. Or has the work challenged her and where she stands and reacts and feels? Still I question what the correct path is to take in telling this story. Throughout the process I have been very unsure at how much to tell, who to speak about and how to identify them. Mostly I wonder about when to stop the story, not just a part of it but how deeply to plunge the reader and listener into the lives of others.
Back at home, Julie said that "Like is not a good word for the effect it had on me because of the emotional response I had to it." She is talking of the narrative of the work here. She said that if she "was unaware of the context of the piece, I would say it was a delightful piece" (personal communication, June 3, 2005).
But do they understand why I write music like this? Should I expect that they would or could?
Each time I sit to write about My Sister's Tears I am caught in the throat. I tighten up and often weep. I really do not like this lack of control; the lack of control I feel at this very instant. Rick said it is because my work was more about the memory than the event. He has known such feelings suffering similar tragic loss himself. Opening his heart he noted that:
My emotional reaction related to my personal history which is somewhat similar, with regards to the narrative, to the story of "My Sister's Tears". By this I mean my emotional reaction ranged from happiness to sadness and back and forth. At the end of the piece I felt as though beautiful happy memories will never be lost but often they will continue to be tinged with sadness (personal communication, June 3, 2005)
My "…beautiful happy memories (are) often…tinged with sadness." As I place photos of Heather in presentations for events such as workshops and seminars I reach out to touch her face and my eyes fill. I go back and forth too, for sadness is not the silo in which our hearts are stored but is more a dampness which seeps into emotion, and flesh and blood.
As I write these words I work hard to not allow my emotions to sweep over me. My endeavour is to closet myself in a more academic mind set, and that means the power and resonance of the feelings and meanings may be lost. The events remain as they happened but what those episodes bring to the mind may not be recounted as potently.
A report of the premiere can be given. The video may be shown and the audio presented to listen too, but is 'that' the work and its meaning? I think not.
I am constantly reminded, as I said above, of the sadness. I may well work too hard to counteract that. Of the premiere Brydie, the colleague who questioned the ethical implications of such work, noted that
Ralph opened himself up and made himself tremendously vulnerable in front of his colleagues, students, friends and family. He brought the most private of feelings out in the most public of ways… he left me with no choice other than to respond in the same manner" (personal communication, June 3, 2005)
I have not presented this work as a conductor, apart from at my doctoral confirmation. I have been present for a second performance, with Matthew George and his University of St Thomas Wind Ensemble, but I have not conducted the work in a public concert and I wonder if I may ever do so. That vulnerability to which Brydie alludes makes me fearful.
Emma said, "I cried" when asked her reaction to the premiere. While others tended to explain their reaction, she described her response in her simple and unadorned manner. Lyndal cried too; "…but as much for the beauty as for the sadness." (2005) One of my family members reacted that the work was "upsetting" because "Heather…was so alone and sad."
I cry too…
Right now I think of my Mum and Dad and how it is good that they didn't know this pain, especially Mum. I think of the nephews and nieces who caught a glimpse of Heather but will never know the wonder of her loving way (or the wrath of her tongue), the wonderful poetry she would write and the manner in which she concerned herself over the younger family members. She was the 'perfect' aunt in that way.
When I listen to these listeners I learn about the work and about me. Being in charge has been my way for most of my life, yet I was not able to 'be in charge' of Heather and her fate. Now I am not in charge of the music which tells my story of her.
It has reflections of Heather and me and the family and now it may have become an echo from the lives of those who have listened and those who will listen in the future. It may become part of their story too. Brydie said, "The work captured me because it contained a message; it allowed me to learn something about Hultgren and something about myself" (personal communication, June 3, 2005). Each time I listen, or reflect on the process or weep over my sister, I learn about myself.
I learn that the man who has sought to be at the centre of everything and the focus of adulation for his compositions and conducting may well have changed. For example, the potential to make the work a rallying point to raise awareness of the problem of suicide in our community, instead of an intimate gentle word, is something which concerns me. Once I would have been in the middle of such a rally, and pleased to be the instigator of it. Now my concern is not for its capacity to have such an impact but more for me not wanting an invasion into the story and my life. My focus has become less on the outcomes from me and more on the benefits for others. My prayer then is that I am more and more useful for others, those I care for and those with whom I am entrusted.
It's a very perplexing perspective for me, not being in charge. Not having "presented" the work, not having recorded it, not being active in its published life; this is all very unusual and somewhat intimidating. That situation makes me a listener and a receiver too.
When I reflect on this, I again consider Matthew George. Our deep friendship and my trust in his musicianship made handing him My Sister's Tears, to give to the world an unquestionably wise thing to do. What that meant though was that I became passive; objectionably so - passive in rehearsal preparation and passive at the premiere. On that occasion I sat away from my family to gain easy access to the stage. Making a short statement at the premiere of one of my works is standard practice, especially when working with Matt. That night was more difficult and I prepared a typed note to read to the audience.
No nerves took me as I went to the stage to read. I worried about my family; I could hear the sniffling from them. I worried about the ensemble too. Some of them had taken the narrative to heart and had displayed some emotional reaction. What if there was someone here who...what if someone here had suffered from loss the same way, or had contemplated suicide themselves?
Then I sat and listened; listening honed in my compliant circumstance. I closed my eyes and listened and let the young musicians and the experienced conductor, my friend, take Heather's story and share it with the world for the first time. I was in awe listening to my band as they played under his baton; so musical, and so young.
It was beautiful, like it sounded inside.
It was delicate and strong all at once.
My eyes filled.
Reaction from the audience was generous. The responses considered above are responses of consequence and consideration.
I was quiet and somewhat adrift; pleased, yet not satisfied; heartened, though a little bemused.
Had I let her down? How I loved her! Would she be pleased with this? Why did I do it and do it as part of this study? How I wanted it to be okay, for Heather and my loved ones.