Commitment, contentment and chutney.
Mezzo soprano Lucy Schaufer talked to us about ‘making’ - projects, connections, a legacy. And chutney. And jam.
photo: dan welldon
Who are you?
Oh well, there are so many hats! To say I know who I am means that I’ve sussed it out, and I certainly have not sussed it out at all. I’m a performer, producer, commissioner of new works, advocate, educator, wife, stepmother, and it is said I do make some damn wicked jams and chutneys.
What I am is someone who’s voracious. I’m voracious in my personal and artistic life. I have an enormous desire to know things, ask questions, seek answers, and I’m hardly satisfied if I don’t know an answer, so I keep asking WHY - yet it’s vital to add that my voracity is not the quest for being right. It is to seek, clarify, and understand.
So…Who am I? I’m a person who likes to walk on the road (never the pavement) and go off piste, who chooses to create my own desire path, in the woods – and say, ‘that looks interesting over there, I don’t understand why people haven’t walked this way before, so that’s where I’m going’.
Where did this curiosity come from?
Maybe it comes from being the last of four children, with a big old, fat ten and half year gap between my brother and me. And I do consider myself an only child in many ways, even though it’s a 3 plus 1 arrangement. Everyone in the family sang. It was taken for granted that the Schaufer kids would always have the leads in the musicals. My siblings would sing in harmony as they dried the dishes at night. My father Henry Schaufer, who worked for Zenith Radio & Television, was part of the team which developed the first FM Stereo Radio technology in Chicago. It’s in the blood.
Yet spending a lot of time on my own made this kid have an imagination that just wanted to… go…to fly! My best friend was ‘Mabel the Maple Tree’ - my dad planted her well before I was born, and it was in the front corner of our yard. I used to pretend she spoke to me when the wind blew through her leaves. How poetic! Ha! I would climb her every day, hang upside down. My eldest sister married a local dairy farmer, so I would spend a lot of time at the farm, feeding the calves, playing with the dogs, and making sure that all their ticks were pulled out. All the cows had names, but I still renamed them and made-up stories.
I suppose it’s storytelling, yes, I suppose it always comes back to that for me, creating that inner life. Hollywood musicals and films were my salvation. I would stay up late, late at night watching TV and my dad would come in, “Why aren’t you in bed?!” But I couldn’t go to sleep because I was sure there was always going to be something on the next channel, in the next movie that would fill me with that sensation, that life force that would make everything...all right.
I was looking for this life force, always curious as to what was next or going to happen. Maybe it was the boredom of childhood. If it doesn’t stifle you, it makes you curious.
Why do you do what you do?
It’s why I’m here.
Would you exist without it?
When you ask me that question, the tears want to fall. I don’t know is the simple answer. Consciously, I know I would. Spiritually, if it’s why I am here, then the answer must be no, right? Logic demands. I would find it a very difficult path without my artistic life. Even if I were to stop singing tomorrow, I would not stop producing, teaching, creating in some way. There’s no scenario in my head where I would not be part of this creative world. Hell, I’d start a jam company. Anything. I’d have to MAKE.
Sometimes you’re forced to ask this question. Years ago, when I was an undergraduate, I had the beginnings of a nodule, and after my mum died, I had a vocal haemorrhage. These are the two times in my life where the “will I ever be able to sing again” came into play. You have no choice but to ask yourself deep questions, and often you’re not ready nor do you have the tools to answer. Dark days. Or upbringing clouds your vision. For me, at one point, Catholicism darkened my ability to fully examine my life and made me wonder if I were being punished for hubris. Would I exist without it? Yes, I would. Would I want to? Absolutely not.
So let me circle back - it’s one of the things I do, I circle back to things. Bear with me… Why do I do what I do? How do I put that into words? It’s why I want to get up in the morning. I like making sounds, I like telling stories, I like playing with others. It really is how I vibrate in this world. For me, as many have heard me say before and you’ll hear me say it again: it’s about connection. It has always been about connection and it will always be about connection.
When you’re a bored, curious child, you look for people to love and to love you. You seek out and find places where connection happens. The beauty of it fulfils you, and you acknowledge your own contribution and power within this spark. Then it grows, becomes bigger than, more than. I have this huge, great desire to love. That’s one way of how I express it, through my music and my work on the stage.
Is there anything in there about being seen?
Completely. Are you kidding? Of course! I found, as an adult, there were stories in my family that I knew absolutely nothing about because they’d all been told before (remember, I’m the youngest). But not to me - I felt not seen, the outsider. Typical, perhaps, but it’s a seed of insecurity in a child. Not valued, not in on the family “skinny.” Is it no wonder my favourite question is WHY?
The follow up to that is the fear and fury of being misunderstood. Being misunderstood is the most hurtful thing in my consciousness. That’s why I’ve had to learn to say, “No, you wilfully misunderstand me.”
Excuses are made: you’re a woman, just a singer, or blonde (God forbid!) or five foot two. There are so many bits of ammunition in this toxic world that say, “We don’t need to hear from you.” Which is why I guess I’m loud. I’m just tired of not being heard or given the space to have a voice. I am not the only person who feels this way, boys and girls, am I?
There are multiple levels as to why we‘re not heard - be it colour of our skin, gender, socio-economics. We could talk all day. I wanted to be heard and I was always told to be quiet. It’s not about walking into a room and being at the centre or demanding attention. It’s simply that I’m eager to hear other people’s voices. Tell me something and let’s share.
There’s a difference between wanting to be heard and wanting to hear. Through different experiences, my mantra became ‘Listen. And believe me.’ It’s #metoo, BLM, LGBTQ+… everyone is saying that very thing. ‘Listen. And believe me.’ I’m not going to sit back any more. I’ve got maybe, maybe thirty-five more years. I’ve already had fifty-five. I’m not going to fuck this up.
In this enforced hiatus, creatives haven’t been seen or heard. What has that been like for you?
I am incredibly lucky, that over the years I have become friends and colleagues with some of the younger generation who are incredibly innovative and really want to put things online. Alex Parker asked me to sing for his online concert extravaganza The Kings of Broadway: Celebration of Styne, Herman, & Sondheim. That was in May, 2020. Then we did the our residencies Wild Plum Arts - Made at the Red House in August and that felt like - YES, we did it!
It was serendipity, in the grand scheme of things. August was that pocket of time when we all could meet up. I was so grateful my job in September was not cancelled, and I filmed The Diary of One Who Disappeared, for Scottish Opera with Ed Lyon, for the Lammermuir Festival.
My last job in “the before times” was Weill’s Street Scene in Monte Carlo at the end of February 2020. March was going to be a personal month anyway. So I worked May, August, September. Then we did a live concert of Kings of Broadway at the Palace Theatre in London in front of real people (socially distanced) in December in that wee window before the Christmas lockdown.
I’ve had plenty of ‘soul food’ and again, I was very lucky. No, I wasn’t seen a lot, had no desire to put any work online personally, and my first Mrs Lovett in Sweeney Todd was cancelled, so that did bring some anxiety. But I found myself - content. Yes, content.
For very first time, in my twenty-five years of marriage, my husband (Christopher Gillett, or more widely known as Mr G) and I spent a whole year together. We slept in the same bed for a year. That has never happened. It was amazing. And we still like each other! We sorted, gardened, we went the full Marie Kondo on our arses! I foraged and fermented. It might have been an artistic hiatus but, personally, I felt free.
It was a time for questions. What isn’t serving me? What is serving me? What do I want to do? I allowed it to fester and bubble, and allowed myself time to figure it out because I didn’t have a deadline. One of my artistic advisors for Wild Plum Arts, Gillian Moore told me not to plan anything before April 2021 and to go slowly, slowly. So, I had permission to postpone projects, do nothing, and it reinforced the contentment I wanted. I had enough gigs to feel in demand, so I didn’t feel left out.
I took leadership courses, I was chosen for the Beth Morrison Producer’s Academy, and I went back to teaching in September at the RCM, which was a battle and a half. How do you teach acting and movement and guide people’s bodies on Zoom? I went off piste and we did many different things, and allowed the students to be more inventive, autonomous, and personally creative. So, Amen.
It was that year of allowing danger, doing things I would have never allowed myself to do. Like read books, nuzzle on the sofa. My husband’s been walking sixty kilometres a week, so he gets out. And when he’s out, I’m doing other stuff. Though I’ve knitting projects that are not quite finished…(apologies to Thomas Hyde).
It was okay. It truly is okay to stop and say, “Some of this really doesn’t work personally, institutionally, systemically.” And it was good to question it all and whether I wanted to run around like a headless chicken for the rest of my life. Quality over quantity, and I know that’s difficult as a freelancer.
Sometimes, I’ll hold onto the door closed, window open adage of the universe working in mysterious ways - because when you leave space for the opportunities to appear, and allow your heart and mind to open, clarity comes.
The year has been refreshing, renewing. Allowing in a new way, what I want and not what the industry wants from me, or what I think the industry wants from me and fighting the tensions. Change of perspective. We’re all different today - No, I don’t really have to play your game. I never really did to begin with, and why are you still trying to play it?
I am so grateful I have agents now who do get me and allow Wild Plum Arts to flourish, who value my contemporary works, opera, and the music theatre gigs, who get that the industry has had to catch up to me, in a funny way. Is not every opera house doing musical theatre works and commissioning new opera? You might need me and my experience. I’ve been waiting. And I’m still here! Institutional speed is akin to a sloth. Some move quicker than others, and kudos to those making new paths forward. And we haven’t even scratched the surface of equality, diversity, and inclusion.
I’ve been doing music theatre for my entire life (my first job was 4 variety shows a day, 7 days a week from May to September at an amusement park) and I’ve been belittled for it, or told I wasn’t a serious artist.
Change on all levels may be hard, and many are discombobulated by the speed the world and the younger generation wants them to evolve, but evolve these institutions must. We are not the same as we were in the “before times.” To try to revert simply to old patterns and structures risks deep failure and stagnation.
You were given ‘permission’ to not do anything. Did you take it? And – going forward – will you keep giving yourself permission?
I’d like to change the noun, please. Gillian (Moore) gave me the affirmation (not permission) I needed to know I was going in the right direction, to acknowledge what was in me already, that I wanted to STOP, WAIT and look for the longer arc. I needed her counsel and guidance, and because I respect her so much, I listened. I needed to stop in order to quiet the noise, for me to hear what I was telling myself.
Oh, there was too much in the way. There was way too much noise in my head to hear what my inner voice was telling me. The inner voice needed space to be creative again, to breathe again, not plan the next train journey or cram another thing into my week or create online content. Inner voices like life forces need regeneration. Like our creative sector itself. The commoditisation of the arts and artists is a tough systemic nut to crack and eradicate. We can’t breathe…
The next battle is the democratisation of the arts and how we fund it. Which leads back to what actions/choices will I make? I will try to make better choices - and again, quality over quantity. Recently, Alice Goodman posted golden words from her husband, Sir Geoffrey Hill: Hill…” defended the right of poets to difficulty, as a form of resistance, to the demeaning simplifications imposed by maestros of the world.”
So, it’s okay to be difficult, it’s okay to be different. Stand up. Create the space for the world to change.
What’s the definition of difficulty?
It could be as simple as non-violent protest. Civil disobedience. Yet, clearly, that’s too difficult for some to accept as we have seen every single gosh-darn-blasted day.
Personally, in work situations, I think it might be that I have an opinion. And I don’t cork it enough. For me, when someone considers me difficult, I think it’s because I believe in something so strongly that I have to say it. It doesn’t mean that it has to be acted upon, I just need to say it. Or God forbid, I would want something to be better. Others may feel I undermine their sense of security by asking a question.
To be branded “difficult” is the price for caring so a pal told me recently. There are obviously times, under budget or time constraints, when we have to accept a situation or agree to disagree and get on with the production. That’s respectful pragmatism. But, if there’s time, make it better, speak up. Simply have the conversation. Use your voice.
That’s true in life too. It can always be better, there can always be more. I’m not asking you to fix it. I’m just asking the question. (I like questions!) Maybe it’s that dang Catholic family again.
I would ask my mother “Why?”
Her answer, “Yours is not to question why.”
Of course my next question is, “But, why?”
Why do you do what you do?
I love what I do. There is no greater joy for me than when I do what I do.
Which is a different joy from the profound love for my husband and step-children.
Talk about Wild Plum Arts. Why did you create it and what does it give you?
It’s been a long held dream of mine, ever since I was a fellow at the Tanglewood Music Festival. I love the idea of helping create a viable artistic future for us all. If we don’t commission and support it now, what will we have for tomorrow? I suppose it’s my way of leaving a legacy - I want to make a difference. Wild Plum Arts is where I can funnel my unconditional love, to be absolutely blunt about it.
The name? Chris and I chewed over many different options, but none rang true. Make it personal, right? Every autumn, we pick wild plums in a hedgerow near our house and this hedgerow gives of its fruit unconditionally every year. I can make jam, I can make chutney, I can make whatever I want from the fruit. And wouldn’t it be great if somebody gave of themselves, so somebody else could make what they needed or wanted? Isn’t that the most amazing thing? And not make it conditional or transactional, but to provide support and nourishment for another creative artist to become their optimal, whatever that may be.
Chris and I have always felt strongly about WPA’s unconditional ethos. That’s why I love to teach and Wild Plum Arts exists, so that artists can become their fully vibrating selves in the world. If I can help, if I can advocate for you, that feels great. And that means I’ve succeeded as a person and as an artist, too. WPA is now in its fourth year, will host its third season of Made At The Red House residencies in August, and we’ve created The Wild Plum Songbook, which is a cornucopia of our new commissions.
Who are you?
So, who am I? I’m an artist. But that sounds wanky, even if possibly true. I’m a MAKER who wants to use her creative energy to imagine new things, form new connections, and find joy with others. Whatever it is that I make while I’m here, I want that path to be wide enough for others to walk with me and clear enough for whoever comes after. But for Pete’s sake, please veer off the path. I promise it’s more fun out there in the weeds.
