Brutally honest

That’s an in­tri­guing question! After all, the pressure actually increases as you climb the career ladder. Once your roles reach a certain scale, you simply can’t stay under the radar anymore—even if you might not be at your best on a given evening. On the other hand: As a freelance singer, I can organize my schedule however I want. As a member of the opera studio and the ensemble at the State Opera, I was able to get to know myself very well—including when it comes to finding the ideal times for me to rest—and I benefit from this knowledge today. Being able to live at my own pace takes a lot of pressure off me. And as a freelance singer, I have the opportunity to choose my own projects completely on my own terms. That’s a great sense of freedom that I enjoy.

After big debuts, I feel the need to treat myself to a few days of rest. That doesn’t mean resting on my laurels, but simply winding down and processing everything. I’m not a fan of being in high-stress mode and running on high for extended periods. Sure, I can function that way, too. But in the long run, it takes a toll on me artistically—and also on my zest for life. Professional singing undoubtedly has many components of competitive sports, but even so, I’m not a competitive athlete. It’s not about setting records; rather, it’s about music, about art, and there are profound philosophical elements involved that are easily lost if you just go through the motions. It would make me sad if, at some point, it were all just about “delivering” and not about the art. Because the music I’m privileged to sing, the people I’m privileged to work with, and the stages on which I’m privileged to perform are simply too wonderful for that. I never want to forget what a gift this career and the crazy life I lead are.

It varies a lot. When I’m in the middle of an intense project, my day actually revolves around a lot of things: getting up, yoga, meditation, warm-up singing, rehearsals, practicing, sleeping. It’s a pretty strict routine that takes place within a small bubble. But when I have time off, I try to make up for a lot of what I missed, catch up on all the things I’ve missed, meet all my friends, and live a “normal” life. It’s often a very stark either-or situation. In that sense, life as a singer is really different—also because it’s actually almost always about the voice.

Of course, I have friends—both male and female—who also sing. Then we quickly open up to each other, because the other person understands us. Most of my close circle of friends—which has remained the same for many years—aren’t singers, though, so we talk about completely different things. For example, many of them have small children right now, and I love spend afternoons at the playground and be happy that someone has started crawling since yesterday. So there I am, completely immersed in a different, “real” life—and I find that truly wonderful!

Yes, definitely. During the busy phase of a production, my routine is very precise: what I eat for breakfast, when I do yoga, how I get into the right mindset. This has nothing to do with neuroses or superstitions, but is simply the ever-changing result of a process of self-discovery. It does me good and helps me. For example, when I do yoga and meditate in the morning, my body, mind, and soul are well warmed up and connected; the day begins quite differently, and, quite concretely, getting into the groove becomes quicker and easier.

(laughs) Well, ideally, I’d love to sleep eleven hours every night… I had the experience with sleep problems you mentioned very early on, namely at the opera studio. I was cast as Zerlina in the new production of Don Giovanni—that was my first premiere at the State Opera in a major role. It was great, but also an incredibly nerve-wracking time, even though everything went well. As a young singer, I was just incredibly nervous before every rehearsal. It was all still so new … As we approached the final rehearsals, I suddenly just couldn’t sleep anymore. A lot of people know that feeling: You look at the clock at three in the morning and think to yourself: Even if I fall asleep right now, I’ll only have four hours left. And then you definitely can’t sleep at all. So at some point I was a total nervous wreck—on edge, frantic, and desperate—and was actually only getting two or three hours of sleep a night. It was hell. But I just kept going—what else could I do?—and eventually things got better again. That doesn’t sound like a very deep story, but through it I learned the hard way that even when I’m not sleeping and I’m on edge—in other words, the circumstances become as unfavorable as they can possibly be, I can still sing and play—and above all: rely on myself. Whenever it happens again, I always tell myself: You know what? Even if I’m not sleeping right now, it’s not that bad. Everything will be all right anyway. And then sleep comes all on its own.

I cannot overemphasize the value of the experiences I have already gained in practice and, above all, in border-crossing situations. How do I deal with stressful situations? How does my voice react? What does “autopilot” feel like? I’ve had the chance to learn this over the years, and sometimes I think that by now I must have really gained enough experience to know how I’ll react in any situation. But at the same time: the longer I’ve been in this profession, the more I realize how little I actually understand and know. This is true, however, not only in opera singing, but in all areas of life. As is well known, with knowledge comes a greater awareness of what one does not know. On top of that, my voice is constantly evolving, which means I have to keep exploring new paths. What was right for a few years is suddenly no longer true. Why? Because the voice, just like me, is a living being that never stands still.

Clemenza is a play that explores central questions with great depth. Betrayal, kindness, generosity, love, friendship, trust—the whole package. The exploration of these themes moves me anew time and again because it is so deeply connected to all of our lives. What I like about Annio is that he isn’t a cynical character, but has something pure about him—high moral values. He has an inner compass, and he embodies those oft-heard but rarely truly lived-out principles—like loyalty, “a handshake you can count on,” and “forgiveness”—he puts them into practice. I find this happens too rarely in my daily life—even when it comes to myself. After all, many of us tend to have a sarcastic undertone in almost everything we do.

And that’s not the case with Annio. He tries to bridge the gap and find common ground. Seen this way, he’s a great character who, in my opinion, is often misunderstood. He’s simply not boring—he’s much more than that. And I’ll try to bring that out and connect with it.

Absolutely! Especially with Octavian. Here’s the thing: At first, I thought I was the one shaping the performance. But then I felt more than ever that I wasn’t alone at the helm— but that the role itself also develops its own energy, which affects me, which changes me. This is exactly where a process of discovery began, during which I was able to learn an immense amount about myself. Especially when you’re on stage with such a magnificent cast—Christian Thielemann, Julia Kleiter, Peter Rose. I felt that I was truly living the things I was singing in those moments, and the emotions just came naturally. Yes, I had to hold myself back again and again on stage so that I wouldn’t start crying or burst out laughing spontaneously. The emotions—Octavian’s emotions, that is—were just there the whole time! For me, that was an intense process during which I didn’t have to force anything.

So, I am still Patricia after all. Because, actually, I don’t slip into a role—rather, I find aspects of the stage character within myself. And then the interplay begins with what’s already inherent in the role and the music. For some re­ason, there were a great many as­pec­ts and emo­tions in the character of Octavian that I was able to re­con­ne­ct with within myself. Whether from past relationships, from my life, my experiences, or my empathy. There’s a strong connection, so I didn’t have to dig very deep to sense Octavian’s emotional world. But of course: At the end of the day, it’s not my life after all—not the life I lead as Patricia. The emotions I draw upon, however, are my own.

Because I immersed myself so deeply in the role, I sometimes retained—let’s call it— “Octavian energy.” Sometimes on the weekends, when there were no rehearsals, I couldn’t even bring myself to put on a dress or a skirt. It would have felt wrong somehow.

Exactly! And that’s even though I don’t really try that hard to come across as boyish when it comes to Hosensrollen. In this case, though, there was a kind of take-over—something connected with me in such a way that I sometimes had to shake it off a little in my day-to-day life.

I'm feeling really emotional right now! Suddenly I realized: Okay, I’m currently deeply immersed in an emotion that has nothing to do with my life as Patricia. It was really fascinating to see how that affects my day-to-day life.

(laughs) Yes, that's really true! But it goes even further: By portraying such a young person, I’ve come to terms with my own teenage years. Playing a teenager as an adult changes your perspective on a lot of things. On stage, I always had a dual perspective: As Patricia, I marveled at the Marschallin’s wisdom and foresight, while listening to Julia Kleiter, I simultaneously thought, as Octavian—who cannot yet grasp the concept of mortality: “What the hell is she talking about??”

Yes, that really does happen. Something seizes me and seems to pour out of me—something I didn’t even know was inside me. Vocally, emotionally, and musically. There are moments when I feel like nothing more than a vessel and make myself available for something that wants to unfold. Maybe I’m just imagining this now in hindsight, but when I tune into myself like this, then I have the feeling that I may have embraced my calling out of a premonition, a longing for such moments. In that sense, the sonnet really speaks to me.

Yes, I’m always on the extreme end of the “I-want-to-know-everything” spectrum. Even when I experience something that unsettles me. That’s exactly why I’ve been doing inner work in a wide variety of ways for many, many years —with the help of people from whom I can continue to learn about myself on every level and come to know myself more deeply. Yes, this desire to know and to feel is a passion, just like singing. I always enjoy digging just a little deeper. And I always want to understand, right down to the root, why I am the way I am and not some other way, and why, for example, something upsets or preoccupies me. Where does that come from? I’ve never reached the point where I can say, “Thank you, my curiosity is satisfied.”

Absolute­ly. Because there I can also express some of these things in a strange, protected way. And I believe that my two passions—thisin the deepest sense and the desire to sing and perform go hand in hand. In any case, I hope that my unsparing honesty toward myself can also come across on stage.