There has never been a moment in my life when I didn’t sing. Of anything I have ever done it is the one activity that has been omnipresent and feels less like a hobby and more like part of my character. But there was definitely a moment when I shifted from singing to “being a singer”. Sometime while I was in college pursuing a voice degree, I unknowingly began constructing a box around what it meant for me to sing.

The walls were made out of my professor’s words and expectations, the plaster holding them together was every recording I tried to emulate and every career I coveted, and the roof over it all was my inability to see past what was ultimately a very narrow goal. Despite becoming “better” and “more accomplished”, the fearless musician I had grown up as suddenly began to doubt anything that was not “perfect”. Never mind that I couldn’t have told you then, and still cannot tell you now exactly what “perfect” is or means. I just knew that as the pressure to perform mounted, I doubted rather than trusted myself and stopped looking for the ways I was unique. Instead, I turned all that made me different into my enemy.

Something that is reiterated over and over again in Anúna is that we are all our most pure selves as children. While we grow up and take on new knowledge, which inevitably influences who we are, in our core there remains an untarnished and innocent version of ourselves that acts as the inspiration point for all that we do.

While it has taken me years to accept this, it is also very true for singing. There is a childhood curiosity that allows each of us to feel comfortable with exploration. Scary as it is to be vulnerable and present a new idea or technique to the world, that bravery is what is required of us to be artists. Will we be masters or even remotely good at every sound we try to produce? No. But is there value in that exploration and knowledge? Without a doubt.

It is that realignment and reminder of always having permission to do self-discovery that Anúna is so gifted at giving not just to the singers, but also to those we masterclass with and perform for. The blinders on, no other option, journey to perfection has no place in our performance practice. It is imperfection itself that makes Anúna such a powerful force.

When I talk to young minds about what it takes to be an artist, the answer is pretty simple: just be and never stop wondering what that means. (And maybe know how to do your taxes.) I have to relearn and reinforce this concept every day. But as creatives, that’s the whole point. Nothing is static and therefore being yourself and creating art is literally always changing. Just like Anúna.

There are few things in my life that I hold more dear than the fun I have had and the art I have made in Anúna. Each of us is on this earth for five minutes. To not live that time to its absolute fullest would be criminal. So if making art is living, then I’ve lived a very full life singing with this group of artists.