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Voicing: SATB choir divisi, soprano & baritone soloists, string quartet
duration: c.a. 22 mins
Click here to view the perusal score.
$1.95
*This is a digital score (PDF)
About
"Body" is a reflection on self-image and body dysmorphia. I wrote this during my senior year of college, right before the pandemic hit. It's essentially an autobiographical progression of my own struggle with body image and eating disorders. At the same time, I was very intentional about not wanting this piece to be graphic or triggering to someone suffering with the same issues. My sincere hope is that "Body" is able to be cathartic for not only the audience but particularly the performers. ALL bodies are beautiful and worthy of love and admiration.
Because COVID caused my senior composition recital to be canceled, only the fourth movement of the piece, "Prayer," has been (virtually) premiered. Please contact me if you are interested in premiering the whole work.
Text
I. Simplicity
by Claire Chenoweth
I miss before I felt decided,
blank slate,
easy vagueness
the feeling of ambiguity, easy flux.
Shirt against skin with full simplicity.
Now I clatter, I stumble.
There is time and self built up on bones
I am hesitant to carry.
II. Skittish
by Claire Chenoweth
My sister is upset with me
for shying away from her hug
I don’t know how to tell her
That I can’t bare to be reminded
I exist right now.
To have even kind arms feel
the space I consume
is currently too frightening for words.
To be more than see-through
cannot be faced.
III. Ecosystems
by B Irwin
Our bodies are not temples,
I will not be invaded as such.
We are ecosystems.
Made of grit, blood, and change.
Packed with multitudes of intricacy,
We love like gushing streams.
Wound like thorned bush.
Hurt by humanity like hunted prey.
As we burn, as we are cut down,
As we are wounded, crippled, abused,
We still grow.
IV. Prayer
by Claire Chenoweth
I pledge to hold myself until
I warm my own bones.
To breathe greedily.
To reach with wanting.
To touch with joy.
I swear to miss myself until
I come back home again.
To lend an artist’s eye
to my own form.
To look only with blessings.
V. Home
by Claire Chenoweth
My body is a home I am trying to live in.
Some mornings, the water damage is
overwhelming,
the dust all-encompassing.
I inhale neglect
and end the day in a pile of wallpaper.
But on the good days
there’s a pot on the stove,
window boxes,
dirt under unbitten nails.
Dust motes in the sun
as I begin to scrub the floor.