A Conversation with Los Angeles-based poet Claressinka Anderson and Magdalene co-creators Danielle Birrittella and Zoe Aja Moore.

C: The opera begins with the breath—with Magdalene’s breath—the breath we share with her as women. Let’s start here— 

D: Yes—breath as the root, breath as the essential, elemental expression of being and life force. 

Z: We felt certain we wanted to begin the opera with this breath—that place of embodied connection that comes through voice but is unbound by meaning. 

C: It brings us directly to the mouth—to the face and voice we share with her. When speaking about Mary Magdalene, Marie Howe said: “Her name was a mask I could wear so that I might speak about living as a woman.”

D: The breath is the portal between the enormity of the universal archetype of Magdalene and a contemporary woman, M., who we follow through each episode of the opera. As M. evolves, she travels through the five stages of grief on a journey towards wholeness. We hear Marie’s poems and each individual composer’s voice weaving in and out of a collective breath—each rising and receding, merging and emerging. 

 C: It feels to me like everything about the opera channels this idea of connection—the through line of women’s collective experience. And how vital it is for us to hold each other through it—M. being the conduit here as we follow her voice, her breath through the night and into the morning, through the dream, through the flashes of a life, the pain of loss, of
separation—

 Z: And a core of that pain is Magdalene’s separation from herself, from being the subject of her own story—an experience of being split, which so many women live with. 

C: This split is something that M. is trying to transcend. 

 D: Certainly. We wanted to honor the gravity of Magdalene as a historical and religious figure while acknowledging that she has never truly been known. Accessing her through the elemental, by returning to the breath, to the collective, perhaps she can become again herself.   

C: And that is where we merge—at the level of breath, of voice, of sound.

Z: In making performance—in performing—we practice holding masks. We learn and reveal truths about ourselves—fleeting and unfixed—by holding others very close.

C: And in coming into such proximity, are we granted more freedom? The first quote in Marie’s Magdalene is from The Gospel according to Thomas: “His disciples said, When will you be visible to us? And when will we see you? He said, When you undress and are not ashamed.” 

D: There is potency in the willingness to be seen in spite of whatever projections visibility invites. Magdalene has been a projection surface for millennia, whether she chose to be or not. By stepping into the projection as performer—into the nakedness and vulnerability—I feel that the implicit biases and judgements are named and reflected back at the viewer. It's a way of saying, I am everything and nothing. I am the saint, the whore, the mother, the father, the lover. I am, ultimately, boundless. And so are you. 

C: And in that boundlessness lies the actual truth of experience. Sometimes, we wear a mask in order to better facilitate the truth.

 Z: Yes, in this opera, M. is the first mask that Danielle wears—as a woman, a singer and performer. She is a woman living now who is moving through grief after the loss of her lover and teacher. Magdalene then becomes the mirror, or mask, for M.—a guide or muse as she begins to heal. 

C: And historically, the muses are connected to truth telling. There is this idea that the muse leaves you if you are not truthful. I think one of the most striking things about Magdalene as a collection of poetry is its honesty. The myth or mask of fiction can often point to the truth in ways that non-fiction can’t. 

 Z: Absolutely, in Magdalene, the masks allow for both honesty and multiplicity—an opening into a relationship with archetype, ourselves, each other. Marie holds up Magdalene and Danielle gives breath and voice—body—to Marie’s words. 

 C: In speaking about the body, I feel we must mention the dancer, Ariana, here. She is also the muse—when she moves Danielle’s body, she commands her, taking her over. 

 Z: Yes, she is also reactive, mercurial, responsive to Danielle—her gestures an offering. 

 C: There is always someone moving inside us, and the dancer makes visible the internal movements that no one usually sees. 

D: She is the internal voice, allowing M. to finally see herself— 

C: She is part of the breath. I kept returning to this breath when thinking about my poetic response to the opera. 

D: The dancer completes the circle. Their dynamic is a reflection of this entire creative process, which has been intuitive and wildly collaborative. Inherently feminine. Through the merging of Marie’s words and our fourteen distinct compositional voices, we found the voice of M.

C: And opened her mouth.

Z: M.’s journey is one of transformation, of integration—and through it, we transform ourselves. As we imagine her, we imagine Magdalene.