Happy International Women’s Day!
In honor of International Women’s Day, we are featuring the #wonderwomen on our team! Lee Ann, Mary, and Reina all come from varying backgrounds (check out our “Meet the Team” blog post to read more!) but working at Eureka has cultivated a sense of community and support between us ladies. Without further ado, here are the girl bosses of Eureka!
Lee Ann Song — Development Chair
Honestly, I love playing cello. My grandfather was a professional cellist. My dad is a professional cellist. Then Dad had a daughter, and no one was sure what to do. I’m glad he said, “Screw it, she’s going to play cello too.” Even though trudging through snow and sun with a case that bangs the back of my knees makes me question my decisions sometimes, I think playing cello has literally made me stronger. Freshman year, I must have looked so pathetic with my back bent against the wind carrying my cello to Sanders Theater for orchestra rehearsal, that I heard some girl elbow her boyfriend and whisper loudly, “Aren’t you going to help her carry that?” I smiled politely and told him it was okay. I did this every week. And every week, I took my seat behind three girls and in front of four boys in the cello section. Music, and the sense of community I’ve found through it have helped me form a strong sense of identity and grow more confident in myself. It’s helped me articulate some of my feelings, and communicate them both verbally and nonverbally. It’s taught me to look out for and listen to other people around me, but assured me that I can hold own too. I’ve had people ask me before, why I didn’t pick a smaller instrument, or a more “lady-like” instrument. A elderly man at the airport once looked at me aghast when I told him I played the cello. “How do you hold the instrument when you play?” he asked incredulously. I spread my legs apart and hugged an air cello. He looked at me like I was a whore. “They let women sit like that? …Most unladylike. Shame on you….” he muttered in disgust. I don’t know if he expected me to side saddle when I played or something, but that whole exchange made me smile. I’ve always loved surprising people or proving them wrong. Cello is empowering that way for me. Sometimes I’ve sat in male-dominated cello sections, and other times I’ve sat in female-dominated cello sections, and perhaps I just haven’t had to deal with the politics of the professional music world, but it’s never made a difference to anyone in the orchestra if I was a girl or boy. When I’m playing in an ensemble, I feel valued and respected for my musicianship, and my body, my femininity, my ethnicity don’t matter for a moment, when we’re all on the same page, making music together. That is empowering to me. I’m inspired now by the question: “How do we bring that feeling of dignity and value and this sense of self in the context of community that I find in music-making to all people?”
Reina Murooka — Social Chair & Violinist
I’ve always struggled with what music means to people. Our industry is one that has become overtly white, male-dominated, and simply a difficult place to be if you are a person of color, non-male identifying, and LGBTQ. I look left and right and yes, while I am represented in the “Asian-girl-who-plays-violin demographic”, my values, dreams, and voice aren’t being recognized and respected in my industry. It’s a hard realization to come to. As a musician, you spend so many hours practicing, hoping for that chance to play on stage, in studio class, anywhere, hoping that that one note will sound “better” if you practice it this way or imagine it another way. Playing music can become a very isolating endeavor because it is inherently cerebral. The very nature of our art causes us to nitpick on ourselves and whatever we do — we strive for perfection. But in reality, music is an imperfect practice. We do not know what will happen on stage. We can be in control of our minds and bodies, but only to a certain point. We are the very embodiment of a steady gamble of not only physical strength and mental fortitude, but also the essence of who we are and what we can convey in a single moment. It doesn’t matter who you are. It matters what you do, what you give, and if you can be vulnerable. I realize that I’ve now strayed off of the topic of women, but this affects us too. What women musicians wear, their makeup, their body type, their looks, everything is scrutinized on stage. Being a woman in music means that the blocks are stacked against us in so, many, ways.
Now while this all sounds so negative, not all of it is. There is so much beauty to be seen in an individualistic, entrepreneurial, and relentless career like ours. Vulnerability can become strength. Opening up about fears can tear down a wall. By embracing what we find, we are better musicians, better citizens, better human beings. Because our work is so self-involved, when we turn it inside out to help out communities, reach out with passion to other projects, or simply just be with each other, it creates a real sense of self-worth. Music has helped me see that building healthy relationships, soulful interactions with others, and having true empathy and understanding for one another is where it’s at. It can empower us by creating meaning in being together.
I myself am trying to create a community of strong, empowering women around me both in my musical and non-musical life. Our voices matter. And I will do all I can to work towards making sure we are equitably represented and finally closing the gap.
Mary O’Keefe — Personnel Manager & Oboist
Being a woman in classical music is waking up to a thousand expectations and unspoken qualifications. The horrible irony is that music is supposed to be a tool for self-expression, but it has unfortunately been quarantined into a limiting culture for women. There are rules about makeup, how to dress, how to present yourself, and the characteristics you’re allowed to emulate. Women are “allowed” to be musicians, but only as long as we play “feminine”-specific instruments and genres. We are presented through classical music as objects of beauty first, and talented musicians second. In high school I dreaded the idea of being an orchestral musician because I thought that I’d have to sell my soul and trade in my t-shirt and jeans for pencil skirts and makeup, just to win a job. The world of classical music seemed under-stimulating and incredibly limiting for me and other young women. However, as my career has progressed I’ve found female role models in music to look up to and learn from. Artists like Yuja Wang and Marin Alsop have proved that women can forge fulfilling and powerful careers while cultivating their individual identities. Being a woman in music to me means putting aside any fears and daring to be a trailblazer, merely by being myself.
