As a conductor, my hands are the tools of my trade. And as much as players (and audiences) watch my waving baton, they are really looking at my hands.
Sparkly nails have been my thing for nearly a decade, and to have them performance-ready, I’m a regular at the nail salon. Some might call it vanity, but I’ve always seen it as a part of my work, and more to the point as part of my brand. I’ve not been without nail polish since…the early aughts, maybe?
For the last (nearly) 7 weeks I’ve watched my manicure fade and peel, my nails going back to their natural state. And to be honest, I don’t mind them like this, shorter, unadorned. They look fine to me, because my sparkly nails belong to a performer perched on a podium, under hot stage lights, and that’s just not me right now.
I don’t know when I’ll be that version of me again, and so it seems somehow fitting that for the moment I’m trying to make peace with this one, the version of me with trim, utilitarian nails, perched on a stool, peering at a screen for hours a day. My nails are fine. It’s the rest of me that’s really struggling today.
Have you noticed any small physical changes in yourself during lockdown?
My task today: first, you’ll be happy to know that I finally finished that email late last night! So I moved on to another task today, to wash Pinkerton, who smelled distinctly of pee. Now he smells like lavender conditioner (done!)