Sometime between the second and third lockdown, I joined the ranks of COVID hobbyists and decided to learn wig making. I have been working as a hair stylist and makeup artist on fashion and commercial sets for nearly 20 years, and wig making was the challenge I had been waiting to have the time to tackle.
I went to London’s West End theatre district to learn from its notoriously dedicated wig-making technicians. And in early 2023, I began working backstage at the English National Opera. This month, I took on the job of a lifetime as the makeup artist for performance artist Marina Abramovic in The 7 Deaths of Maria Callas. Marina conceived the production, in which she dies seven times as seven singers perform arias that were important to Callas, the legendary opera star who died in 1977 at age 53.
The whole experience has been a pinch-me moment. Marina Abramovic is iconic. I remember the piece of Marina’s performance work that I was introduced to in my first semester of art school: She and her former partner Ulay hold opposite ends of a bow, the arrow ready to pierce Marina’s heart if either of them move. In September, she became the first female artist in 255 years to have a retrospective at the Royal Academy of Arts.
Waiting for Marina on the first day of rehearsals was the only time in recent memory that I’ve felt intimidated before a job. I stood outside her change room making silly jokes with Taylor Rands, her hairstylist and hair and makeup show supervisor, and Claudia Gusella, her dresser, while we collectively refused to acknowledge Marina’s intimidating legacy as we awaited her arrival. I suspect she is used to putting people at ease: She told us shortly after meeting us, “with my work I am serious. But in life, I am hilarious.”
I called us “Marina’s girls.” Taylor, Claudia and I would meet in Marina’s dressing room two hours before the show for hair and makeup. Maria Callas’ eyeliner was legendary and so this makeup looks hinged on liner; Anastasia Beverly Hills gel liner to be exact. Marina’s skin is beautiful and required minimal prep but I began every day by applying Elemis Pro-Collagen Marine Cream followed with NARS Natural Radiant Longwear Foundation. While we worked on her, she worked on what’s next, planning meetings and calls through her right hand in London, Yasmine. At 76, Marina is still busy, with so much more on the horizon.
Once she was in her first look the three of us would follow her onstage and quite literally tuck her into bed. We’d wait, just out of view, for the entire performance, ready for touch-ups and set changes. During quick changes, we’d be in a booth at the side of the stage, helping her change her clothes, hair and makeup in a flash before she’d reappear. Side of stage, I faced the challenge of a lifetime: applying a perfect red lip—M.A.C’s Retro Matte Liquid Lip in Fashion Legacy—by small handheld light in under a minute.
Before curtain call, applause and her final bow, I’d hand her a mirror, shine a light on her and ask if everything was good with her makeup. “It’s not good,” she said one night and I felt my stomach flip in panic. “It’s great.”
For everything that happens on stage, there is an invisible, silently moving team of people behind the stage shifting the sets, lights, props and wardrobe. It is my favourite part of working at the English National Opera: Each of us is a tiny cog in a big machine, making art together.
But Marina sees everyone. On opening night, she brought the entire supporting crew on stage for a round of applause, a first for many of us. Taylor and I tried to express our appreciation for being seen. “I come from communism. Everyone matters,” she told us.
Working with Marina has confirmed the two commonalities of every impressive person I’ve met: hard work and graciousness. After the show, we would end where we began, with Elemis Pro-Collagen Cleansing Balm. But before her makeup was even removed there would be a lineup at the dressing room and the stage door. Friends and collaborators would come in to say hi and offer praise. One night, when asked who was out there, a production assistant said, “you don’t know her.” Marina asked for their name again, and again was told, “You don’t know her. It’s a fan that wants her book signed.”
“Well, I must know her name if I’m going to sign the book,” she said, as she welcomed the stranger in.
