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Karin Goodfellow may have the best job title around. For many years, I’ve thought the coolest thing to have on your business card would be ‘Ravenmaster’ (an official position, thanks to the Tower of London). But ‘Director of Transformative Art & Monuments’ might knock it from top spot. Even better, Karin came up with it herself. Previously the Director of Public Art at Boston City Hall (a position she also still holds), Karin created the new role to allow her to focus on establishing a ‘more socially responsive, energetic approach to public art through a participatory project’. After public discussions around monument removal in Boston from 2017 onwards, Karin felt there was both a public desire, and a need, for art that is more responsive to current social dialogue, as well as for more experimental art. The invitation to apply for a Mellon Foundation grant became the multi-year Un-Monument | De-Monument | Re-Monument: Transforming Boston project, commissioning temporary monuments for the city, along with satellite community events, such as conversations on the Common. Mel and I have already visited one of these art works. Arriving in Boston with a free Sunday, I combine my love of art with my love of plants, and sniff out Kate Farrington’s Future Monument to the Trees of the Boston Public Garden. An online map tours you through the garden’s grounds, pausing at certain trees to listen to audio of a poem or story written by community members. I find the peace of the public garden, coupled with these often personal reflections, both moving and restorative. I’m new to Boston but it already seems to me to be a city well-supplied with public art. Karin’s surprised to hear me say this - she wants to do much more - but I’m hard pressed to think of a public building in Australia that has at least five distinct galleries in it, like Boston City Hall. Mel and I have toured them all before my meeting; they run the gamut of everything from a photographic gallery by school students to a vivid and sophisticated solo exhibition. Karin works in the Mayor’s Office of Art and Culture, signalling the current Mayor’s vision and commitment to the arts. Arts investment in Boston wasn’t always as significant as it has become, she tells me. About ten years ago, political change coincided with public demand for more art, led by groups of artists who mobilised to make representations to various candidates. In addition to the political will available, Karin’s programs have had some success with grants, allowing them to fund pilots of programs which can later be successfully rolled out. Karin is visionary, but also practical. ‘Depending on the program,’ she says, ‘I think a lot of it seems very straightforward, why it’s worthwhile right now. In the public art program, we have a series of murals at public schools. I think that seems very straightforward to people, why colourful murals at schools across the city is a positive experience for the neighbours and school communities.’ I point out that it wouldn’t be straightforward everywhere in Australia, where the distinction between street art and graffiti isn’t always understood. Karin says that doesn’t sound unfamiliar to her, but there’s been a lot of growth in the past ten years. That gives me hope. The real reason I asked to speak with Karin, however, was the city’s Artist in Residence (AIR) program. The website describes it as follows: ‘In the program, we bring together artists and City employees that share deep investments in community and social justice. The artists bring artistic expertise and experience with creative approaches. Our City partners provide subject matter expertise and experience with existing City systems. Artists learn more about government, while City departments learn about creative problem solving. They co-design projects that test new approaches to City policies and processes. They explore how City initiatives impact the experience of all Bostonians. Projects are often responsive to the social and political context of that year.’ Neither Karin nor I are aware of a program similar, in a city hall or other civic department. Karin explains there have been five iterations of AIR; it’s currently on pause but she’s hoping to re-launch it soon. Usually the process begins with a call out to City Hall departments for staff members who might want to be involved, and finding out subjects they’d be willing to work on and devote staff time to. A call-out to artists follows, then the artist and City Hall staff member work together to co-design a project around the issues City Hall has identified. Sometimes other community members can be introduced to a project, but as Karin points out, both artists and City Hall staff are also community members, so there’s always a community perspective in each project from the start. Bringing in other forms of community engagement works best if artists or City Hall staff can capitalise on existing relationships that either the artist or the staff member have, rather than trying to forge a new relationship once the project is running. One exception to this was artist Karen Young and her Taiko drumming project. She worked with ‘Older and Bolder’, a women’s group from a local community centre. While Karen’s relationship with the group was new and she worked hard to develop it, the women already had relationships with each other and with people at the community centre where they met. During their work together, it emerged the women had concerns around a dangerous crosswalk, and worked with Karen and the City’s transport department to create an event that drew attention to the issue. ‘The thinking, at least for myself, as it evolved, has really been that there are community members who want to do this utilitarian work,’ Karin explains. ‘They’re already interested in using their work to achieve a purpose. People who work in City Hall, who are running things here, many have really good intentions and want to improve their community. They want creative solutions; they may not be able to come up with them or implement them themselves all the time, but they have knowledge of the systems within here. Then I’d be out in the arts community and see exhibitions about the work that we’re doing at City Hall, but there’s no connection. So the hope was really that there are artists who wanted to be activists, and those are the ones who are good for the program.’ After five years and many successes, it’s not surprising that Karin has identified a few areas for improvement. She’s proud of the ‘very interesting projects and propositions’ they’ve come up with, but feels the next phase of the program is for projects to have a long-term impact on policy. I ask what it’d take for this to happen, expecting a conversation about bureaucratic red tape, but Karin’s answer is ‘capacity’. As with all artistic projects, every project requires extra personal attention, which makes it harder to spend time thinking through whatever the next steps might be. Not all projects thrive, but not all will, as they’re experiments, Karin says - but of the ones that do, she’d like to see their impact reach further. This leads to the question of supporting artists and City Hall members in their work, particularly if they’re in direct contact with community members and community stories. Karin points out that artists bring their own assumptions to the work, including the idea that City Hall can be impersonal, but, she says, ‘it’s still just other people’, who may be equally unqualified to deal with difficult situations and subjects. ‘The city itself is not an endless bucket of skill-sets and capacity, that I think sometimes externally people want it to be,’ Karin says. It’s a good point, and perhaps one of the outcomes of the AIR program is to challenge generalisations about ‘the City’ and its capacity. And just as the City has limits, so do artists, especially when they meet or work with community members who’ve experienced trauma. ‘Artists need to understand they can’t fix things,’ says Karin. ‘They need to be able to have that clarity, and offer that clarity to other people, and the same is true of City staff.’ And while it might be possible to consider hiring appropriate staff to consult or help on these issues, Karin points out that providing emotional support is not what the AIR program is there to do. Negotiating between people’s (including artists’) expectations of what the City can and can’t achieve sounds to me like a big part of the work. Ultimately the Boston City Hall AIR program, with its wealth of new art and creative civic solutions, has several benefits beyond the well-known emotional and psychological benefits of participating in the arts. It helps residents of the City understand City Hall better. It helps City Hall staff develop creative solutions to local problems and connect more deeply with residents. But post-program evaluations show another surprising outcome: community participants in the AIR program felt better able to advocate for themselves, either individually or as a group. Not just because of increased contact with and understanding of City Hall, but because of increased confidence brought about through their artistic collaborations. It’s yet more evidence that the arts works in surprising ways, especially if it’s not siloed. It’s certainly infiltrating Boston City. One final question for Karin is about her current major project, Un-Monument. Why are all these commissions only temporary monuments? After half an hour in Karin’s company, I’m unsurprised by the very practical answer - it’s a great way to see what works and what doesn’t, and also much easier to get permissions for temporary monuments than permanent ones. There’s a good chance some artworks will have a life beyond Un-Monument, by which point they’ll already be tried, tested and beloved.  Karin Goodfellow and I enjoy the Boston city skyline from Boston City Hall After two weeks of big ideas at Santa Fe Opera, the willingness of Allison Drovairos, Executive Director of the Refugee Orchestra Project, to get into nitty-gritty operational detail is a welcome change. Big ideas can be inspiring, but the main outcome I’m seeking from my Churchill Fellowship is to find examples of sustainable operational models for my own project. I already know it’s possible; I want it to be possible for the next twenty years and beyond.
Boston-based, the Refugee Orchestra Project was founded by conductor Lidiya Yankovskaya as a way to use music to highlight the vital and diverse roles refugees play in American society. I met Lidiya at the Hart Institute for Women Conductors at the Dallas Opera, and again in Sydney 2024, when she made her Opera Australia debut. On a pouring wet Sydney day, we sloshed our way to a cafe to discuss the founding of the orchestra, its history and its evolution. Now, in my conversation with the very focussed, articulate and practical Allison, several key themes emerge: again, the idea of excellence carrying the message; the experience and expertise of the conductor being key to retaining performers; operational and artistic staff working for a combination of love and money; and the likelihood of the founder working pro bono and at times supporting the project with personal funds, especially in its early stages. Allison came to the orchestra with a background in non-profits. After singing in a Boston performance, she stayed on, initially helping source donations of food for post-concert receptions, then assisting with finance, and, finally, stepping into the Executive Director position. Allison’s father and his family are all Russian immigrants, so she felt drawn to the Refugee Orchestra Project, saying she ‘always had a strong pull towards Lidiya and the work that she’s doing’. ‘I’ve always had something in my private life that I feel helps to give back - that’s just been a really important part of my life, so when this organisation was created, and I had really good friends that were a part of it, and I loved the mission, I just felt “why not? Let’s put another thing on my plate.”’ The Refugee Orchestra Project operates largely on what Allison calls a ‘gig model’: organisations who would like the orchestra to perform at an event complete a google form or send an email; the orchestra then reserves the dates, negotiates on budget, and signs a contract. The negotiated fee must cover all administration related to the project, the musicians’ performance fees and any travel, any public relations required, music rental fees, rehearsal venues, and all other on-costs. While this results in each performance being fully covered, it doesn’t leave much for extra revenue. This means Allison and the other operational staff currently aren’t covered for any administrative work required between gigs. At one point Allison received a stipend, funded by Lidiya herself, but right now, everyone’s agreed the gig model makes the most sense. Fortunately, Allison says, there’s a lot of interest. While the operational side of the Refugee Orchestra Project started out with volunteers, and Lidiya still donates her time, the musicians have always been paid (and well, Allison points out, considering the orchestra’s resources). One benefit of engaging professional musicians is that the orchestra can condense rehearsal time - one to three rehearsals per gig, depending on the repertoire. It’s often more practical to choose repertoire the performers already know; the fact that Lidiya can draw on her own extensive professional network to find players helps with this kind of knowledge. When the orchestra’s been engaged in cities where it doesn’t have pre-existing networks, or has gaps to fill, Lidiya finds a trusted colleague to recommend players. Now they’re more well-known, the Refugee Orchestra Project has musicians reach out to them and ask to play next time the ensemble is in their area. It’s not a requirement for performers to have a refugee background, but Allison thinks that around ninety-five per cent are either refugees themselves or children of refugees. ‘I’ve found personally that people aren’t reaching out to us to perform with our orchestra unless they feel really compelled to support the mission of the organisation,’ she says. I ask her about the Refugee Orchestra Project’s board composition, which I find very interesting; they mostly appear either to be artists themselves, or to work in the creative industries. It’s a different mix to the usual combination of legal, financial and corporate folk we often see on arts boards in Australia. Allison agrees it’s different to most boards in the USA as well. The Refugee Project Orchestra board acts mostly as an advisory board; they may move to a more formal governance structure in the future but haven’t had the need so far. It was largely formed through Lidiya’s industry contacts. For example, Beth Stewart is Yankovskaya’s PR manager, and has been instrumental in securing excellent media coverage for the orchestra. Olga Lisovskaya, a Bostonian, has worked with a number of different opera companies, and has close connections with local Russian and Ukrainian groups, bringing a lot of insight into relevant areas. Great PR coverage and high quality projects have made the ‘gig model’ highly successful; the orchestra has a busy dance card. However, the model does have its downsides: there’s less ability to focus on securing philanthropic support while gig requests keeps rolling in. And Allison says grants are difficult to secure. Funding bodies approve of the orchestra’s mission, but, as in Australia, prefer to fund ongoing programs instead of one-off projects. Ironically, the Refugee Orchestra Project’s success in receiving invitations to perform across the USA and abroad is a another problem for local funding bodies, where demonstrating ties to the local community is critical. The orchestra is now refocusing to bolster its connections to Boston and outlying communities. Finally, now that the orchestra holds 501C3 status and is able to fundraise in its own right, it must take care not to be perceived as engaging in political activity. While Yankovskaya might be free to make her own comments on personal social media channels, the orchestra is not; nor can it participate in fundraising events connected with political figures. Nevertheless, the Refugee Orchestra Project can still make an impact. Allison gives examples of performances given in collaboration with organisations seeking to highlight their own work on particular issues of social justice or human rights. Consider the difference between inviting a public speaker to amplify your message, and inviting a symphony orchestra. As Allison points out, there’s nothing like the visuals - not to mention the emotional impact - of a symphony orchestra to make your event or your message stand out. The Refugee Orchestra Project is heading towards its tenth year, and it, like the Pueblo Opera Program, is facing the question of ‘what next?’. One thing’s for sure: the issues that provoked its creation don’t seem to be going away anytime soon.  My second-last day at Santa Fe Opera, and Charles Gamble, Director of Community Engagement, pings into my inbox with this: ‘Hey Sarah! I just received a call from Dominik Morningdove, an Indigenous composer who also happens to usher here at the SFO. He was hoping to connect with you. I think Oliver Prezant might have talked to him about your work and fellowship. I've only met Dominik once and don't know anything about his work or focus, but Oliver thinks highly of him. If you have time to call Dominik, his number is …’ So I call. Dominik recovers from his surprise long enough to organise coffee with me the next day, before his ushering shift at the Santa Fe Opera. Dominik is with his partner Violet, who must be the only Australian working at the Santa Fe Opera. I met Violet briefly when she was ushering at the Pueblo Opera Program Youth Night; the torrential rain made conversation difficult, but I recognised her accent. Violet’s passion is design. She’d love to work in film, but for now the opera is a pretty good gig.
It’s a good gig for Dominik for now, too. He is from San Felipe Pueblo, one of the southern Pueblo nations that are part of the Pueblo Opera Program, but not yet represented on the Pueblo Opera Cultural Council. In his mid-twenties now, he grew up without knowing anything much about opera. One day in 2017, when he was about sixteen, his grandmother called him up and said, ‘We’re going to the opera!’ This was Dominik’s first encounter with the art form. That performance of Strauss’s Die Fledermaus changed the course of his life. Although always interested in music, from that first trip to Santa Fe Opera, he began to consider opera as an art form he could work in. Dominik says the experience pushed him towards going to college to study voice. He was accepted into a Bachelor’s degree at Fort Lewis College, which has a Native American tuition waiver. Even with the waiver, he estimates his six years of college still cost him about $6,000 a year in food and board, and remembers his first year, when required to live in college, as especially tough. Without the tuition waiver provided by colleges like Fort Lewis, many Native Americans like Dominik couldn’t attend university at all. Even with the waiver, there are still problems - not just the potentially unmanageable cost of living expenses, but also the limited degree choices. As Dominik said, his Bachelors degree was in Voice. But what he really wanted to do was compose, which wasn’t on offer as a major at Fort Lewis, the only college he could afford. Nevertheless, his time at Fort Lewis gave him a range of complementary skills, including two years of conducting courses, the exams for which involved conducting the choir and orchestra in concert. He describes himself as playing cello to intermediate level, some piano, basic brass, and guitar, as well as his college degree in voice. Dominik’s composition experience predates his college education. He recalls that, around the time of the 2018 Doctor Atomic production, Santa Fe Opera sent teaching artists to Santa Fe Indian School. Dominik was one of four students who contributed music around a particular theme; Dominik remembers his was about radioactive waste on the wind. All four students performed their work at the Lensic Performing Arts Centre in Santa Fe. Dominik also worked with composer Raven Chacon for Site Santa Fe, creating graphic notation for a string quartet. His work was professionally recorded and hosted at Site Santa Fe, both score and recording with headphones for public listening. Now, he’s been out of college two years. He started writing for orchestra while at college, and since then, he’s been paying someone to look over his scores, whenever he can afford it. There don’t seem to be any other viable training opportunities for him, so he’s trying to support himself. Dominik’s dream is to write an opera in his Native Keres language. He says his generation completely missed learning their language, so he’s now passionate about language reclamation and preservation. It’s not easy. Dominik describes San Felipe Pueblo as being particularly conservative. There’s a strong resistance to language being written down. In fact, unless it’s for your own private use, it’s forbidden, and Keresan is definitely not to be shared publicly. Dominik risks retribution - most likely ostracisation - from his tribe if he were to publish or perform such an opera. For him, though, the risk feels worth it. ‘I feel like opera would be one of the perfect avenues [for language reclamation] because the culture’s not just spoken - it’s in the things we wear, the way we greet and speak to each other… opera is the perfect avenue to incorporate everything it is to be Native American.’ Dominik is deeply passionate about opera, and full of ideas. He tells me about performing in a production of Sondheim’s Sweeney Todd, and how he loved the director’s choices to avoid dead time on stage; there were no black-outs or blue-outs, and the audience was in the moment the entire time. He compared this to seeing La Traviata at Santa Fe Opera, where the whole set moved on a turntable. None of the ‘machinery’ was visible, nor were the stage hands; there was nothing to take the viewer out of the moment, or the place. This fully immersive potential of opera thrills Dominik. He’s keen to write his own libretto, as it’s important to him to conceive everything about his opera’s construction, so it has flow. He also sees characterisation as paramount: he’s currently creating musical sketches for characters from Kafka’s Metamorphosis, as a precursor to drafting an opera. Part of his interest in opera is also as a way to platform Native American culture beyond featuring in textbooks of historical battles. ‘We generally don’t get put in textbooks unless it’s who conquered who’, he says. Opera - because of its complexity, its multidisciplinary richness, and its prestige - seems to him to be the best way to showcase what his culture has to offer. I ask Dominik, if he could wave a magic wand and change one aspect of the Pueblo Opera Program, what would he change? He points out that it’s very hard to galvanise people in a particular Pueblo if the Governor isn’t into it. A lot of things are word-of-mouth and if you don’t talk to the right person, you might not hear about something. Like Renee Roybal from the Pueblo Opera Cultural Council, he recommends speaking to as many people in person as possible, as well as physical collateral - fliers. ‘Spread it to the edges’, he says. Public noticeboards in the middle of a Pueblo won’t necessarily reach everyone, so it’s important to create multiple places where information is available. Ideally, he’d also love to see marketing material in both English and the local language (which is tricky if you’re not supposed to write it down). And finally, always go to the schools, especially elementary schools. Bring singers if possible, who can sing an excerpt, so kids understand what they’re going to see. This is something Santa Fe Opera actively does, but finding ways to increase their reach over time sounds like a good next step. Finally, I ask what Dominik what he needs. He’s hamstrung by not knowing exactly who to talk to, in order to get his works on stage. It’s clear he needs a pathway, first for his own artistic development, and then for career progression. I have some ideas for him, including offering to review his work. But this highly articulate, passionate and determined young creative really needs local pathways if he’s going to realise his dream of telling his own people’s story. I feel strongly that it was serendipity that connected me with Dominik as my last meeting after two weeks at Santa Fe Opera (that, and Oliver Prezant and Charles Gamble). Here is a young Pueblo person, product of the Pueblo Opera Program, who has fallen passionately in love with the art form and dedicated his life to it ever since. It’s clear that, in terms of creating engagement, the Pueblo Opera Program is working. But there are also gaps. Some of these are being filled: there are opportunities for young singers in the Young Voices program, and for technical crew in the Apprentices program. But there’s nothing for Dominik. Yet. Whether or not he ever writes a Native American opera, his example raises awareness of the barriers still in place. Is the Santa Fe Opera responsible for creating pathways for every single individual who expresses interest? I don’t believe so. There are always individual situations that exceed the capacity of any organisation to solve. But if part of the question for the Pueblo Opera Program is ‘what could be next’, then perhaps creating pathways for all the different kinds of Pueblo youth who fall for the opera, to be able to try their hand at finding a home in it, is one answer. Because then the answer to ‘what could be next’ isn’t just about the Santa Fe Opera. Nor is it just about the Pueblo Opera Program. It’s about the future of the young people in the surrounding Pueblos - their capacity to become creatives, to become leaders, to shake the ground under our art form’s feet, and to hand it on to future generations, side by side with those of us who offer over four hundred years of operatic heritage to these far older peoples and lands.  Sarah & Michelle You pronounce the name, ‘PRO-testra’ (as in, protest + orchestra. Just so we’re clear).
I found them while researching my Churchill Fellowship application. Type ‘orchestra’ and ‘socially-engaged’ into your search engine and not much comes up, except these guys. Their feisty figurehead is New Jersey-based conductor Michelle Rofrano, who just happens to be on staff at Santa Fe Opera covering Maestro Gemma New for Britten’s Turn of the Screw. We meet up at Tesuque Village Market, a short hop from the opera and therefore a popular hang for the artists - also perilously close to our Air BnB. There are several apprentices having pizza at the next table when Michelle arrives. I start by asking her what she’d most like Australians to know about Protestra. She says it’s an activist orchestra with regular concerts trying to educate audiences about issues of social justice, made up of musicians who donate their time and talents performing and organising, and who believe we have a responsibility to use art to make a statement. We unpack the question of musicians donating their time and talents more. I’m particularly interested because the projects I’ve run in Sydney at the Chris O’Brien Lifehouse are voluntary; I like giving my time and so do the other musicians who join in. But I’ve also received pushback from colleagues who believe an artist should never ask other artists to work for free; that we have such a hard time making a case for proper pay to the wider community that setting up a volunteer orchestra is doing everyone a disservice. Michelle says Protestra’s first concert was entirely voluntary, but now they pay a small honorarium. The 2017 #NoBan concert, Protestra’s inaugural event and a response to the first Trump administration’s Muslim ban, came together in two weeks as an alternative to the ‘shouting into the void’ of social media. Since then, the orchestra has been grassroots funded, including for payment of a lump sum honorarium for musicians in acknowledgment of small costs incurred like parking or meals, or having to miss some teaching. Nevertheless, the honorarium is way below what professional musicians would expect to be paid. Michelle says that all musicians receive information about the honorarium up front, along with details of repertoire, dates, and other logistical details. They are also offered the option to donate their fee directly to the concert’s chosen charity in the musician’s own name. Michelle says about half of all Protestra musicians each concert donate their fee. Beyond that, the orchestra is covered almost entirely by fundraising; any fundraising monies and ticket sales in excess of their budget are donated to the concert’s charity partner. Michelle thinks the honorarium, however small, goes some way towards acknowledging the orchestra is aware that players’ participation in a concert comes at a cost. She also points out that the organisers all donate their time, Michelle included. But at the end of the day, it’s not about money. People come because they have a chance to play great repertoire (Mahler 5, anyone?) that’s a refreshing change after subbing on Broadway, often in chairs they wouldn’t normally play in their professional lives. Protestra works hard to create a collaborative, accepting environment; orchestra members can pitch causes for future concerts. And that’s often what’s most important: ‘People are just excited to play, and to use art to care about a real cause in the world, whereas a lot of times it’s like, for some reason, classical music and the real world seem separate,’ Michelle says. I ask if the Protestra team auditions or vets players. So far, there’s been no real need, although they might review a video of someone they don’t know. It’s a self-selecting organisation; people ask to play because they support the premise. Michelle says of her musicians and volunteer organisers, ‘It does go back to human rights. If you fundamentally believe all people deserve to be treated with respect, deserve autonomy, and to create a life for themselves where they’re happy and they’re respected and fulfilled - and you look at the world and the systems that prevent so many people from doing that, then it’s like, okay, we’re fighting those systems and we should all fight them together! If you believe that, then come on down, and hopefully we’ll see eye to eye on the big things.’ Protestra is currently project-based (although Michelle is open to having it as her full time job, if anyone wants to fund an orchestra?). The season is largely based around responding to current events, and everyone’s availability, especially Michelle’s. ‘Would I love to spend all of my time responding to everything, every single day? Yes. Can I? No. And it also benefits Protestra if I get to work other places too. I’m a better musician and I get to know more people.’ This also means they fundraise concert to concert. As Michelle points out, classical music is really expensive. There’s pretty much no government funding in the USA, so Protestra is funded almost entirely by grassroots donations from donors who believe in what they do. The occasional matched grant of $2,000 is a significant amount for them. While this model means no single sponsor controls their messaging, leaving them completely free to work that out for themselves, available funds limit what the orchestra can do. Michelle is torn about what would happen if they did get a big donor who wanted to control some of their messaging. We’re speaking on the same day that, back in Australia, the board of Creative Australia has just reversed its politically-prompted decision to drop Khaled Sabsabi and Michael Dagostino from the Venice Biennale. While the situation in 2025 USA is even more fraught than in 2025 Australia, artists in both communities face loss of funding if their work attracts criticism from government, or, in Australia’s case, if they choose to refuse funding offered to them by corporations to whom they have a moral opposition. To my mind, Protestra is making some pretty brave decisions in their programming, even if they don’t yet have corporate or government funding to lose. It’s an animated conversation, and somehow we end up spilling the corn chips all over the table. Should we we eat them anyway? Michelle jokes that with her Italian heritage, perhaps because they’re salty we should throw them over our left shoulder. The beagle at the next table looks hopeful, but ultimately loses out. The chips get eaten as we talk about how Protestra chooses its concert themes. ‘We don’t shy away from issues even if they don’t directly affect us,’ says Michelle, ‘because I think it’s important for all of us to care about issues of human rights. We all should care, because that’s how you fix it.’ And if you don’t shy away from difficult issues, then you really need to think carefully about your messaging. Protestra’s goal of raising awareness and funds to improve human rights isn’t always a straightforward proposition in the twenty-first century, especially not for a group that wants to be both outspoken and inclusive. Michelle says that for each concert, they have a lot of eyes on all the messaging, to make sure they’re capturing genuine perspectives. The Mahler 5 concert to raise funds for victims of war on Gaza is a key example. The team spent several weeks workshopping how to make the messaging strong enough to highlight the humanitarian crisis, without appearing to be apportioning blame. ‘Before we launch every concert, we joke about the “V” word - verbiage,’ says Michelle. ‘We’re like, we’re workshopping the verbiage for this concert. And we’re exhausted by the time we announce every concert, because it really goes through so many rounds of editing, especially our team members who might be more personally connected to the issue.’ Aware that learning about the issue is not the same as lived experience, the Protestra team always tries to get multiple people’s perspectives. And when they get negative feedback about their messaging, they treat it as a learning experience on how better to focus future messages for that person or group. We finish by discussing the inevitable experience of burnout. We all laugh in recognition when it comes up, but it’s a rueful laugh. Yes, it happens to Michelle - by the time each concert ends, she usually needs a break. But whenever there’s space on her dance card, there’ll be another concert. ‘I want to believe that me, speaking up for an issue I care about, and you, and the musicians in the orchestra, will have some kind of ripple effect, even if it just gives someone else courage and they’re the ones who have a bigger effect. I want to believe it matters. Because if we don’t try, then nothing will get better.’ It’s not so much data - it’s a true history. And my history with the program dates back to 1993.’ Andrea Fellows Fineberg is responding to my reason for being here at Santa Fe: that fifty years of the Pueblo Opera Program is a lot of data on First Nations engagement with classical music. We’re sitting in a cafe that wouldn’t look out of place transported to Brunswick, Melbourne, or Alexandria, Sydney, a bit different from the hummingbirds-and-clematis vibe of the Santa Fe Opera cantina. Andrea essentially created the role of Director of Engagement at the Santa Fe Opera; before her, most community engagement projects were run by the Guilds, chapters of Santa Fe Opera volunteers located in neighbouring communities. Since the 1970s, the Pueblo Opera Program ran largely as free opera tickets for Pueblo youth, managed by volunteers, and with Connie Tsosie Gaussoin as liaison to all the Pueblos and tribal councils. When Connie stepped down, an Advisory Council began, via an open call-out to Pueblo Opera program volunteers. At this point the relationship began to be more reciprocal, with Santa Fe Opera asking for input from the Advisory Council, and both sides working to develop more of a sense of community outside the opera season. ‘Part of what I always liked about the Pueblo Opera Program is that it’s a reciprocal relationship of hospitality and culture,’ says Andrea. ‘Hospitality is critical - we’re inviting people to our house - what does that mean? You take care of them, make them feel welcome.’ It’s a good way of thinking about inviting newcomers to classical music: not just as inviting people to witness an art form, but as guests being welcomed into your space. Inviting guests to your home becomes a pretty sterile affair if they don’t know how to be themselves around you, whether they’re allowed to help in your kitchen, if they have to take off their shoes - that kind of thing. As a first step in hospitality, the Santa Fe Opera started to provide dinners at Pueblo Opera Program Youth Nights, in part as a gesture of welcome, but also to acknowledge the size of commitment it was for some Pueblo folk to attend, especially from further locations. A couple of hours’ bus travel each way, plus a four-hour-opera, with no opportunity to eat, is not for the opera-ambivalent. Andrea is frank in admitting she doesn’t feel the Santa Fe Opera has always been 100% successful in terms of accessibility and providing a welcome to members of New Mexico’s sovereign nations. I ask what she thinks has worked, and, like Marita, she points to the importance of having people in leadership positions accept invitations to Pueblo feast days as part of the reciprocal relationship, instead of as ‘cultural tourism’. How do you make sure you’re not being a cultural tourist?, I ask. Andrea says to stay curious. She says it’s also important to teach cultural competency in your organisation, led by people from the relevant culture(s). And then, before you invite newcomers in, do your own check - what is the space you’re inviting people into? What did you need when you first went into that space yourself? What would have helped you? And, of course, ‘I believe in care and feeding,’ says Andrea. Not just water and food, but also considering practical accommodations like taking breaks at relevant times for people who may not be familiar with the experience, or, if they’re performing with you, the work. At the same time, she says, it’s still important to establish the conventions of the art form. Respect for the project is really important, as are boundaries and expectations. Yet again in Santa Fe Opera stories, Andrea points to the 2018 production of Doctor Atomic as clarifying much of this. Even thinking about it in the hectic atmosphere of the cafe, Andrea says: ‘I have chills. It was one of the most meaningful experiences I’ve ever had in my life. Walking across campus with [director] Peter Sellars is one of the most meaningful experiences you’re going to have in your life. But to work that closely with him, and to watch him work with the Pueblo communities and the Tularosa Basin Downwinders Consortium from the Trinity site, was a masterclass in being human.’ She talks about the different understandings of time between the Pueblo communities and the opera. For Pueblo people, the timing of a performance such as a corn dance is dependent on many things. A watch isn’t one of them. For Doctor Atomic, Peter emphasised that being on time is essential to everyone coming together as a community - that we can’t create a moment in time unless we all agree that time matters. A key part in ensuring that agreement worked was giving the Pueblo performers adequate time to arrive and prepare themselves for the work they were about to do. There were other practicalities around inviting non-opera folk to be part of the opera, and making them feel welcome. Much of it seems simple, but anyone who’s ever worked backstage will be able to think of environments where some of these requirements would need a little extra boost. Andrea’s advice extends beyond feeding performers properly. Make sure they have somewhere to sit or to rest. Sofas are better than chairs; for an all-ages community engagement project, a plastic chair for three hours won’t suit everyone. Provide backstage monitors so your performers actually get to see the show. Be responsive to what you hear around the traps, whether or not it’s your responsibility, and make sure there are avenues for feedback. Don’t make assumptions - and, importantly, this includes not micro-managing, worrying too much, or treating people too gingerly. Finally, Andrea says, ‘It’s also not being “done”. Not thinking everything’s set. And also accepting not everything’s going to be perfect.’ Andrea recalls being as surprised as I was as to the extent of support the Pueblo Opera Program has found among the Pueblo communities. For a number of Pueblo folk, it’s the chance to experience a Western European tradition in the place they live; they don’t have to travel far to learn about other people’s culture, and to share in its performance at a high level. Andrea points out that there have also always been people in tribal leadership who question the opera’s motives, and the assumption that going to the opera is just what you do as Pueblo youth. Like all communities, each Pueblo has its own diversity of opinion and working to engage with them all is part of the opera’s ongoing responsibility. ‘I’ve been asked, “how do we get a Pueblo Opera Program?”’ Andrea says. ‘Like really, people have asked that clumsy of a question, and I generally have responded by saying that the Pueblo Opera Program is such a misnomer. It’s really the Pueblo Opera Relationship. That’s where the Pueblo Opera Cultural Council has helped shift people’s understanding, because we can refer to the tenets and principals of the Council by way of explaining what does it mean to have a relationship with sovereign nations on land that was stolen? So that now is really the core of the relationship - that it’s Pueblo-driven, not opera driven.”  Mesas at sunset, viewed from the Santa Fe Opera. I don’t know whose idea it was to create Museum Hill in Santa Fe, but I think it’s a pretty good one - four museums and a botanical garden all in one picturesque location. We’re visiting the Museum of Indian Arts and Culture. Marita Swazo Hinds, who serves on both the Pueblo Opera Cultural Council and the Santa Fe Opera board, is the Museum’s Director of Education; we’re here at her invitation. She gives us a tour which stalls pretty much immediately in the pottery room. Mel and I have both fallen completely in love with Pueblo pottery, and Marita is a potter herself, patiently answering all our questions. The pottery collection shows examples from all the Pueblos of New Mexico and Arizona. Marita tells us about how the pots are made, and also about her work in an upcoming show that’s a Native American response to Georgia O’Keeffe’s art. She shares the Georgia O’Keeffe quote that acted as her inspiration: ‘God told me if I painted that mountain enough, I could have it.’ ‘Except’, Marita says drily, ‘it’s not your mountain, Georgia.’ Her artwork in response will involve a series of teapots and tea cups; O’Keefe was a huge fan of tea and had an extensive teapot collection. I immediately imagine these two women sitting down to tea together. I’m pretty confident Marita would have no problem getting her point across. Mel and I tour ‘Here, Now, and Always’, a beautifully educative exhibit using Native American art and cultural artefacts to outline tribal histories and culture, which inevitably deals with the impact of colonisation on Native American nations. We’re both shocked at the degree of resonance between Australia and New Mexico, even up to present-day struggles over water rights.  Mel, Marita & Sarah Later, Marita meets us for coffee so I can learn more about the Pueblo Opera Program. She tells me that it was originally initiated by a group of women associated with the Santa Fe Opera who wanted to bring opera to the neighbouring Pueblos, and to Pueblo children in particular, in part as an acknowledgment of the opera being on Pueblo lands. The program began, says Marita, ‘as just signing up kids, putting them on a bus and going to the opera.’ While other forms of community engagement have developed since, Marita agrees that what really shifted things was the 2018 production of Doctor Atomic, composed by John Adams, with librettist Peter Sellars also directing at Santa Fe. Conversations began among the Pueblo participants around wanting the opera to do more, to ‘see us’, Marita emphasises. ‘That was when we created the Pueblo Opera Cultural Council.’ Since then, the POCC has been full of ideas, from creating a Native American opera in a Native American language, to international cultural exchanges. Marita explains that the Pueblo communities look forward each summer to participating in the Pueblo Opera Program, geared toward youth and families and to introducing them to this experience of a different art form, music, song and performance. This is in contrast to their own songs and dances at their own Pueblos. It’s a cultural exchange, so to speak, honoring both expressions of music, storytelling and performances. Bringing reciprocity into the relationship is a significant part both of its success, and ensuring a respectful exchange rather than a colonialist one-way-street. Marita’s position on the Santa Fe Opera board, inviting board and staff members to Pueblo feast days, Santa Fe Opera musicians giving chamber music concerts at Pueblo community centres and aged care homes, creating and including a Land Acknowledgment pre-performance, and employing Native Americans backstage, as ushers, and as artists and designers, are all ways that the POCC and the opera are working to develop their relationship. There are also always scholarships available for Native American participation in the opera’s various music camps; the POCC has made sure of that. However it might develop, the continuation of the Pueblo Opera Program is critical. ‘This is generational,’ Marita says. ‘We’ve been doing this for a while. We’re all very passionate about it. Our children have gone through the program ... It’s been going on now for 53 years. So it’s something we’ll continue to work on and continue to do what we can to bridge that relationship with each other.’ Marita agreed to a place on the Santa Fe Opera board provided she felt her role was active and not token. Soon after she joined, a year-long Diversity, Equity and Inclusion program was rolled out, which brought up a lot of uncomfortable questions and difficult conversations, all of which Marita feels was definitely necessary for the board to move forward. ‘We know with the POCC that there’s still a lot of work to be done, but we report at every board meeting, we let them know what’s going on, they support us, so that’s a really positive thing’, she says. ‘They’re open to hearing things that we’re suggesting.’ One suggestion which Marita hopes will be enacted involves her role at the Museum of Indian Arts and Culture. She’s suggested that, at the start of each season, new staff and artists come to the Museum for a tour as part of their induction process, so they understand the land on which they’re performing. Having just seen the Museum, and preparing to head back for more after our coffee, this seems like both a very generous and an extremely valuable offer. If I were performing, I’d sign straight up. As part of her role as Director of Education, Marita often hosts interstate opera society tours at the Museum. With a cheeky grin, she says she enjoys introducing herself to them as a Santa Fe Opera board member and seeing their surprise. She’s well aware that both opera companies and their boards can be perceived as ‘kind of stuffy’, so for people to discover that Santa Fe Opera has a Native American board member is a surprise for them - a good surprise. I’m curious about where the idea of a cultural exchange with Australia originated. ‘With Sydney, we see that big opera house, and it’s just like the Holy Grail,’ says Marita. What’s impressive to her about the Sydney Opera House is the building itself, but Marita points out that while Santa Fe’s building is pretty impressive too, it’s the setting that makes it both wildly beautiful and totally unique. ‘There is not an opera house in the world like ours. So we can aspire to go to Sydney, but also, we have it really good over here too. Where can you see an opera like this?’ The answer is: nowhere. Our opera house in Sydney might be more famous, but there’s much about Santa Fe Opera that’s utterly unique, and that also includes the presence of the POCC itself - something from which we in Australia could learn a lot, while the POCC is equally keen to meet Indigenous Australian communities and artists, many of whom have unique and groundbreaking practices of their own. At the end of the day, Santa Fe Opera’s willingness to engage with the people to whose lands it owes most of its impact and uniqueness, coupled with the generous and engaged response from members of the surrounding Pueblo nations, has created, and is co-creating, something that shows opera’s potential to exceed one of its greatest contemporary questions: the art form’s capacity not just to survive, but thrive. And Marita is rightly proud of it. ‘I think, I can go all over the world and go to an opera and visit it, but it’s nothing like our opera. It’s very, very special.’ Next to the unique building and setting, Santa Fe Opera’s Apprentice Program is probably one of the most renowned jewels in the company’s crown. Originally conceived by Founder John Crosby as both a stepping stone to major companies for young American artists, and a way to provide chorus and covers for productions, the Apprentice Program still fulfils both these functions. Now, however, its international prestige means many of its singers are only a few steps away from appearing on the main stage in principal roles themselves. For example, in 2025 tenor Duke Kim is leading as the Duke in Rigoletto, after having last been a Santa Fe apprentice in 2021. In 2025, the Apprentice Program, directed by Chandler Johnson, has 39 singers, whittled down from a staggering 1,000 applicants worldwide. Coachings, not just on Santa Fe repertoire, but on a singer’s general audition repertoire, are available to apprentices, and I’m heading to a masterclass given by Chief Artistic Officer, David Lomelí. I know David from my time at the Hart Institute for Women Conductors at The Dallas Opera, back in 2018. Despite an increasingly busy consulting career, a big part of David’s Santa Fe Opera calendar is dedicated to apprentice workshops. I’ve met a number of the apprentices already. They seem a collegiate and friendly bunch, necessary as they’ll be together across five productions for three months. David’s advice to them is technical, practical, and often divided into what would work in a USA opera house compared to expectations in Europe. His breadth of knowledge is extensive, but it’s clear the singers value him most as a fellow singer - he’s been there, on some of the biggest stages himself, and knows exactly what it’s like. He works with one young tenor on his upper register, trying to keep the sound forward and full. As the notes climb higher, the tenor is sounding good, until he takes his foot off the gas right before the top. David immediately reassures him: ‘Don’t worry about cracking. We all crack.’ Cracking a top note in public is one of a singer’s greatest fears, so for David to normalise it as an unavoidable part of figuring out how to sing is a great way to help a young artist relax (and therefore be much less likely to crack in the first place). The next day, David and I meet for lunch. We catch up as much as we can on each other’s career adventures before I turn to my questions. David is well-known for his public stance on diversity in casting. He’s Mexican, so he’s walked the walk, and our conversations these days are often about the difficulties of encouraging organisations to walk as far as they talk.
A few years ago, David said to me that when he’s trying to make change in an organisation, he feels like he ‘wins’ 51%, maybe 52% of the time. It’s been an open question for him, and for me, as to whether you can live with the fact that such small shifts of the dial often seem to be all that’s possible. Opera companies are big ships to steer, and sustainable change is usually slow - frustrating when the world around you, and society in particular, can change expectations fast. I ask him about a comment he made on the Destination: Santa Fe podcast. In it, he said his mission is making the highest possible level of art that moves people to do action. So why is that high level of art important? It’s the impact on the human brain and heart, David says - awe, shock, the way you pay immediate attention to something that’s delivered at the highest level. And it’s not perfect technical execution he means. It’s a high level of heart, of emotional intensity, of artistic quality. Bringing together the highest talent for a common goal is like watching someone break an Olympic record; ‘perfection creates admiration’, he says. And it also generates funding. ‘There’s a human sensation that we have [established] in all the years of studying psychology of audiences - people want to be associated with success. So if you are the number one, it’s easier to fundraise than if you’re number twenty-three.’ David’s keen to point out that it’s not all about having a big budget. As long as you are seeking the absolute best for the money you have available, you’re creating a culture to ‘push the buck to the highest calibre’. And then success begets success, potentially leading artists who might be a little out of your league to feel differently about the possibility of working with you. I’m interested in his comment about wanting to move people to action. What kinds of action does he mean? Part of it is who you put on stage, David says. He gives the example of the current La Bohème production at Santa Fe. It’s a high quality production, with a diverse cast and a young conductor. Because of the quality that’s been invested in the show, David feels that it has the potential to change the lives of all the young artists performing in it. But he also wants to make art that’s ‘punchy’. Art that inspires people to connect with the music once they leave the opera, to have it on their playlists, to feel the urge to share it with people they love, perhaps even to reconsider some aspects of their own lives based on the impact of the story they’ve just seen on the stage. ‘That’s why I’m so high standards when I do things. I love when you’re in a performance and the imperfections (because there’s always imperfections) were not enough to get you out of it. That’s what I want - that’s the type of art. When [an audience members talks] about the technique, I feel like I kind-of fail, a little bit.’ And the Pueblo Opera Program? ‘I think that this is a very good example of phenomenal ideas that have been developed to a point, and now they’re in that phase of, what do we do now?’ He wants to see members of the Pueblo communities in every part of the company - on stage, backstage, operations, leadership. In particular, he’d love to see a Native American ‘fluent in opera’ trained up to lead fundraising initiatives, considering what a key role development plays in the reality of an opera company’s day-to-day. And, of course, a Native American opera on the main stage of Santa Fe. We finish up with one of my favourite questions. How do you sustain yourself in this work? David divides his work into three categories (which sometimes overlap): work that feeds his personal artistry, work that pays his bills, and work that energises him to continue. ‘If I have crossed paths with you and I’ve left you in a better position to succeed towards your dream, it does feed me, the energy,’ he says. He talks about his recent work with Vincerò Academy, bringing young artists from all over the world to perform on the biggest stage in Paris. He’s unsure whether any of the artists will choose to pursue an international performance career, or if they’ll succeed - but having the concert on their CV will already increase their earning ability as teachers and performers in their own parts of the world. Small steps, he says, but with a cumulative impact over the life of each person. As someone who thinks largely about the social impact rather than the economics of community engagement, it’s both refreshing and challenging for me to recognise David’s laser-like focus on the economic impacts of his choices. But it’s also useful to consider the ways in which community engagement can be a value-adding proposition. That’s it for lunch. David’s off to more workshops, I’m off to a Rigoletto staging call, where many of those 39 apprentices will be put to work in small roles and out-of-the-box choreography, led by Maestro Carlo Montanaro, my Master Teacher from Dallas. There’s another Santa Fe storm brewing but it won’t stop rehearsals, despite the fourth wall of each rehearsal hall being open to the elements; there’s no better way to train up the cast for what they might encounter on the mainstage. The rewards of working here must outweigh the difficulties though, if the application numbers for the Apprentice Program are anything to go by. The first monsoon of the Santa Fe summer season lands about an hour before Pueblo Opera Program Youth Night. The heavy rain plasters the fancy up-dos and bright satins, polished shoes and immaculate suits of the young folk turning up for what could be their first opera. There’s no requirement to ‘get all gussied-up’, Renee Royal of San Ildefonso Pueblo explains, but that doesn’t stop most of the audience. Renee and I are sitting in the cantina for the pre-show dinner, along with five other members of the Pueblo Opera Cultural Council: Renee’s husband Leon, Marita Swazo Hinds from Tesuque Pueblo, Toni Herrera from Santa Clara Pueblo, and Mina and Jordan Harvier, also from Santa Clara. Known as POCC, the Pueblo Opera Cultural Council formalised after Santa Fe Opera’s 2018 production of Doctor Atomic. The Pueblo Opera Program itself (POP) has been running for over fifty years. I’m especially interested in POP as I haven’t found another example of classical music and First Nations engagement that’s been running as long. To celebrate POP’s 50th birthday in 2023, the Santa Fe Opera commissioned a documentary: ‘The Pueblo Opera Program: And What Could Be Next’, directed by Santa Clara Pueblo film maker Beverly R. Singer, and produced by the members of the POCC. ‘What could be next?’ is a live question for the Council, who are keen to see the program develop further. Mina points out that the Pueblo Opera Program has historically centred on kids. Parents can attend, but ‘if you don’t have a kid to bring along, you don’t get to go’. Enter the POP ‘Date Night’ - dinner and an opera for adults only. And yes, friends count as dates. If the dinner is anything like the buffet we’ve just helped ourselves to, you can sign me up for date night. The food is generous and delicious, the menu collaboratively curated by the POCC and Santa Fe Opera, as generous hospitality and a communal meal are key elements of the reciprocal relationships developed between the company and the Pueblo nations. Renee’s young granddaughter drifts over for introductions, in a fuchsia party dress and colourful clips in her hair. Her grandfather Leon asks me if I intend to take any music into Australia’s First Nations communities. I tell him it’s part of what I’m planning, and I’m curious to hear how POP succeeded, because as many arts organisations in Australia have learned, free tickets don’t automatically equal accessibility. People need to feel comfortable walking through the door of a concert or rehearsal, especially if they’ve never been before. Renee says human contact, and information in hard copy, is essential. She puts information and sign-up sheets at her seniors’ centre; community centres are also good. The next step is being physically present to answer questions immediately and in person (just like the above, ‘do we have to get gussied up’? Answer: only as much as you want to). And then, there’s Doctor Atomic. Everyone on the POCC has their own Doctor Atomic story. It’s clear the production is still both a source of great pride, and a point of deep learning, that’s set a very high benchmark for future engagement. Jordan explains the director Peter Sellars chose to include a Pueblo Native American corn dance during the opera because he wanted to show the Pueblo peoples’ resilience: that despite everything they and their land had been through, they’re still here, dancing, just as they had for centuries before. Mina agrees on the symbolism: “It doesn’t matter what the chaos [around us] is - we’re here to bring the balance”. The Doctor Atomic corn dance was created especially for that performance. While each Pueblo has a corn dance, they differ in detail - music, traditional dress, choreography - so it was better to start over than try to amalgamate. This also helped address community sensitivities about displaying cultural dances publicly. Another key factor was that the opera’s choreographer, Yup’ik woman Emily Johnson, asked Marita to organise a meeting with the Governor of Tesuque Pueblo to let him know her plans and gain his permission to work on Tesuque land. After dinner, we pack into Stieren Hall for the pre-show entertainment - local arts educator Oliver Prezant’s incredible 3, 2, 1, Opera! A pre-concert talk with a difference, Oliver has commandeered the skills of the Santa Fe Opera costume department to fit out enough kids to represent each major role in Mozart’s Marriage of Figaro. Not skimping on the overture, which he has the whole hall singing, Oliver whirls through the plot. The kids model the characters with varying degrees of success and hilarity. Dr Bartolo’s performance is Oscar-worthy, but his scene is stolen when Susannah and Figaro refuse to hold hands (ew!), holding sleeve cuffs instead. I’m impressed to find Oliver teaching the kids how to sing key phrases from arias in Italian (‘it’s like Spanish, right?’ he encourages them). The whole event is funny, smart, and most importantly, full of active, intelligent participation. The following dress rehearsal for Figaro is spectacular. After the rain, New Mexico puts on a ravishing sunset, the liquid gold of the sun reflecting in the glittering bronze clockwork set. While some of the littlest kids and their families leave at intermission, there is plenty of audience remaining to laugh at the jokes until the show ends at midnight. We see most of the Pueblo Opera Cultural Council again before the La Boheme dress rehearsal the following night. It’s particularly fun to sit with Toni’s daughter, and see photos of her pets, including a wolf spider (a kid after my own heart). It’s the last time I see Jordan and Mina - they’re off on a road trip to see Metallica with their son. It was his idea, and he’s saved up to buy them all the tickets. So I ask them a final question: if you were me, and wanting to build a relationship with First Nations communities, where would you begin?
The answer’s immediate - start with the community’s elders and reach out to their leadership of each respected Pueblo who have their own Governor and Tribal Council. In an Australian context, that would mean starting with each nation’s Elders. They say I should explain what I want to do, and make sure nothing I’m planning is disrespectful, or unintentionally appropriating cultural content. I remember this comment when, a few days later, I’m at a Preview Dinner for Figaro’s opening night. I’m seated next to another POCC member, Claudene Martinez, and her grandson Damien, both from San Ildefonso Pueblo. Claudene is telling me about the shock Pueblo folk felt at their first sight of Janáček’s opera Cunning Little Vixen. On seeing singers costumed as animals, including foxes and deer, it took a while for the Native American audience members to decide that the characters were an original feature of the opera, and not a reference to Native culture. ‘That was one opera where everyone stayed to the end!’ Claudene says; they wanted to figure out what they were seeing. As a half-Czech, such a confusion would never have occurred to me; I’m surprised and then slightly embarrassed to realise it. Like a number of young people I’ve met, Claudene’s grandson Damien is a third-generation part of the Pueblo Opera Program. Figaro will be his second opera; he found his first opera ‘pretty interesting’. The fact this program is now generational is, to me, one of its most impressive elements. Something is working. Yet there’s still a desire to do more. Along with Doctor Atomic, there’s one thing every Council member raises with me. To my surprise, a major element in the ‘what could be next’ for POCC is a cultural exchange to Australia. Sydney Opera House is on their bucket list, but so is meeting Indigenous Australian artists and communities. So let’s make it happen, Sydney - and make sure the hospitality is up to standard, because these folk set great store by feeding a person, body and soul. Pulling into the carpark of the Santa Fe Opera is a surreal experience. In Australia, it’s the kind of place we’d put a look-out, with cumbersome treated pine railings and a daggy signboard alerting you to distant landmarks. Instead, in Santa Fe, John Crosby built an opera house. The first one in 1957, the second (after the first one burnt to the ground) in 1968, and the current one, with the benefit of a full roof, in 1998. The mesa rolls out for miles in ochre, turquoise-grey and juniper green, with distant mountains and a hazy blue sky. Santa Fe Opera blends into its surrounds, its curving walls toning in as it spills down the hillside. I’m here to meet the Director of Community Engagement, Charles Gamble, but first I’ve been booked on a docent-led backstage tour. Our docent Beth is clearly a passionate opera buff herself and is full of the requisite stories and information. The biggest surprise to me is the garden. Apparently conceived by Crosby himself, the grounds would rival the best-kept heritage homes in Australia, and are maintained in large part by a team of volunteers who I will come to see often, roaming the ground with snips and trugs. We can’t go in to the opera theatre itself but that’s no problem - as the most surprising element to this theatre is that it’s open on the sides and back. There’s a wall behind the audience, a roof, and sliding flats behind the stage which can close for effect, or for the weather. I had thought the cheap seats on the sides were due to partial views, but I’ve learned it’s also partial drenching if the rain and wind really hit their stride. After the tour, Maddie Adams (Community Engagement Assistant) takes me to meet Charles, who is with Amy Owens, Director of the Young Voices Program and an old colleague of mine from The Dallas Opera. Music pours from all directions; the rehearsal venues are dotted around the gardens, all with the fourth wall open to the air, so the sonic landscape includes Britten, Wagner, Mozart, Puccini and Verdi, as well as vocalises and warm-ups. Both Charles and Amy are effervescent with enthusiasm for their work in Community Engagement. We begin with an overview of the Pueblo Opera Program, bound up in SFO founder John Crosby’s original vision: an opera company of high artistic merit, a training ground for young American singers, and a place that respected and acknowledged the surrounding Pueblo peoples. The Pueblo Opera Program (affectionately referred to as POP) was founded in 1973; neither Charles nor Amy are aware of any other classical music organisation that has a fifty year engagement with First Peoples, and nor am I. In fact it was in part SFO’s continued relationship with the eight Northern Pueblos that drew Charles, whose background is in improvisatory theatre, to the company as a teaching artist in the first place. For him and for Amy, First Peoples’ involvement in the SFO is important as a clear acknowledgment that the opera house stands on native lands. But he also finds the “rich, vibrant and obviously contemporary current native tradition of storytelling” energising. “The part of opera that I’m most interested in is honestly the future of opera, and so to find inspiration and connection with contemporary Native culture to me feels like an obvious connection,” he says. “I feel additionally that, in looking at the future of opera, part of the way forward is creating work that elevates the voices that aren’t part of the traditional canon.” He sees this as part of the role of the SFO’s Opera For All Voices program, which co-commissions and co-produces operas committed to social impact and diversity. Amy identifies being part of an Opera For All Voices production, Sweet Potato Kicks The Sun, as one of her two most important experiences, along with Doctor Atomic. This 2018 production brought Adams’ opera back to ‘where it began’ (Los Alamos is forty minutes’ drive from Santa Fe). Director Peter Sellars involved Pueblo communities in the production, as well as downwinders, as an acknowledgement of the ongoing effects of nuclear testing - but the Pueblo peoples’ participation also symbolised their resilience and continued presence on the land. As Charles points out, including a corn dance was both an acknowledgment of culture and an acknowledgement of ‘what we did’. The corn dance brought together people from three different Pueblos: San Ildefonso, Santa Clara and Tesuque, on whose lands the opera house stands. While each Pueblo nation has a corn dance, they all differ in details, so three Pueblos performing together in the same dance was new. The dance was part of the opera, but also appeared before the opera began. Without the benefit of a pre-show announcement asking for audience’s attention, however, there wasn’t the respectful silence in which corn dances are traditionally performed - a learning, Amy says, for the future, and a chance to educate the audience beforehand. Some of the Pueblo dancers would go on to form the Pueblo Opera Cultural Council (POCC), who I will meet later in the week, and to whom Charles directs my questions about how this new corn dance came to be. I am momentarily distracted by a flash of movement in the garden - I’ve just seen my first hummingbird - before we continue discussing how the Pueblo Opera Program developed. SFO currently arranges and pays for buses from all the Pueblos, which has been the case since the program was piloted. The opera offers the kids and their families dinner curated in consultation with POCC, and an interactive pre-concert talk called 3,2,1 Opera! presented by Oliver Prezant, before watching a dress rehearsal. “In Community Engagement, opera is not the point, it’s the vehicle,” says Amy. “Because opera has so many art forms coming together, there are so many entry points.” She points out that when Young Artists are asked ‘why opera?’, they usually talk about having been part of a production, and that’s what’s key: “for me, opera is more interesting because I do it, not just because I watch it.” This is also why 3,2,1 Opera!’s presenter Oliver’s strategy is so effective, allowing kids to get on stage, put on costumes, and experience life from within an opera. One of the main focuses in Community Engagement is in providing pipelines into opera for children. There’s the Opera Storytellers program, while a high school apprentice-style program - Young Voices - offers completely free singing training, from which students often move on to major in music at the university level. 2023 was the first year a Young Voices graduate had been selected into the highly competitive SFO Apprentice Program. There’s also Active Learning Through Opera Arts (ALTO), which brings teaching artists into local schools in a program that uses aspects of opera to inform aspects of the school curriculum. Amy highlights her love of Charles’ description of the program as ‘making learning more sticky’. Combining academic learning with art (and often therefore emotion) helps retention. And as Amy says, ‘it’s hard to argue with sticky academic learning’, either from a board and funding perspective, or from a teaching perspective. Charles acknowledges the work of Andrea Fellows-Walters in founding Community Engagement, and she’s on my list of folk to meet. A volunteer gardener wanders past with a pink trug, somehow managing to find a few remaining weeds in the immaculate garden. We discuss funding, as well as the thorny question which plagues many of us artists: opera is an expensive art form, so are we justified in accepting funds which could perhaps be channeled into direct aid instead? Amy speaks up, noting she’s sharing her personal views and that this is a question she asks herself all the time. Having met donors, she said, everyone has their own reasons for choosing to donate to a particular cause. “You’re now a steward over money that’s for a vision,” she says. “Take the ‘could this be used in a better way’ out of the equation, and just be a good steward for the vision that you’ve already advocated for.” She signs off there, having to dash to another meeting. Charles and I are left to contemplate one of my favourite questions as Verdi’s Rigoletto floods the warm Santa Fe summer air: how do you sustain yourself in this work, which can be difficult and demands long hours? “A lot of it honestly is the opportunity to continue to reconnect with my own work as an artist, a theatre artist,” Charles responds. “The people I get to work with I find inspiring. To be part of a small, curious team from a range of backgrounds, I love that. I love that collaborative place, to be vulnerable and take risks together, I find that very sustaining. That feels good. Being able to do some artistic work that just feeds me. That, and then you know, being surrounded by this.” Hummingbirds, clematis and smokebush, distant clouds over sprawling mesas, the occasional splash from the onsite swimming pool, and everywhere, opera.  Mel Penicka-Smith talks to Charles Gamble at the Santa Fe Opera’s stall, Santa Fe Pride 2025 |
AuthorWhen I was awarded a Churchill Fellowship to travel overseas and study socially-engaged orchestral and operatic models in September 2024, the trip seemed a lifetime away. Now, in June-August 2025, it’s here. ArchivesCategories |
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