This creative work emerges from practice-based autoethonographic research where the performative work, I am Maria! functions as a site of investigation and transformation. A source which ignites creativity and self expression. A wamr invitation to explore more of my work here in my creative world.
I look in the mirror and what do I see, a woman? A girl?
Waiting to be free….of all that they told her she had to be…
Of the connotatations,
the assumptions, the bringing down,
of her pretending to be the clown,
not feeling enough,
not being tough,
not moving forward,
but staying stuck,
in the muck of the past
unknowingly…contributing tomaking it last,
I look in the mirror and all I can seeis a woman a girl,
waiting to go free!
This video marks a new beginning for a poem originally written for I am Maria!. It now emerges as a moment of transformation and transfiguration of voice and artistic self, unfolding within a new paradigm.
This work is not a standalone piece, but an evolving fragment that will form part of the live immersive performance I am Maria: Bloom.
Visual material by Valeria Pazos (PhD candidate, Mexico), whose imagery forms part of this evolving collaboration.
Lonely Star emerges as a poetic reflection on the hidden self, exploring the tension between outward performance and inner truth. Written as part of the I am Maria! creative research project, the poem gives voice to the quiet, often unseen emotional landscape carried beneath the surface. Through rhythm and repetition, it reveals the experience of isolation, self-concealment, and the longing to be fully seen and heard.
Lonely Star
The ups and downs,
the lows the things that nobody knows
the face they never see
hidden behind the curtain,
they’re blind,
I hide
behind a pose
behind my prose
behind the mask of
my smile
my style,
my swag,
and It presses heavily on my heart,
it’s become an art,
hiding that part,
the something I carry
like a pack on my back
24/7
no escape – no heaven
no relief underneath,
but they will never know
that it’s all just a show
and in it’s the real me,
the lonely star,
who only I see.
Lonely Star is a reflective poem and part of the creative research project I am Maria!
This poem extends into a lyrical vocal expression, where the internal voice emerges through rhythm, spoken word, and sound.
This poem is part of the broader creative research journey I am Maria! where voice, identity, and feminine narratives are explored through poetry, song, and immersive performance.Emerging from the final stanza of On the Verge, Bloom is an electronic vocal work that traces a moment of rupture and release, where the voice moves beyond containment toward expression, transformation, a return to origin, and self-acceptance.
Explore more creative reflections from the I am Maria! project HERE
Jasam bila malo dite, čista u scrcu! I was a little girl…
“I was a little girl, clean and pure in heart.”
This melody came to me in the midst of my research question:
How does the classically trained singer transform into a self-authored creative artist?
It emerged from deep questioning from reflection connected to my cultural heritage, my upbringing, and my identity as a singer and as a mature woman finding her place in the artistic and academic world.
There is something profoundly intergenerational in this song. Mother to daughter.
Aunt to niece.
Grandmother to granddaughter.
The grown daughters now sing: “I was a little girl, clean in my heart.”
At a time in the world where the binds of patriarchal structures limited our possibilities. Limited our education. Limited our careers. Limited how we were taught to be.
My own journey between classical singing and becoming a creative artist mirrors this construction.
One path says: Be precise.
Be correct.
Be contained.
The other says:
Explore.
Question.
Break form.
Be whole.
Jasam bila, malo dite is evidence of cultural transmission in another way too. I have never sung klapa. I have never freely harmonised within that tradition. Classical training does not teach that kind of instinctive communal sound.
When I first recorded this, I sent it to my aunt and asked if my Croatian was correct. She said it wasn’t because instead of malo dite, I sang mala dite.
Grammatically, she is right. “Malo dite” is correct but the word “mala” that is what I remember being called, that is how it lives in my body and sonically, I love the sound.
So, what is correct? The studied version? Or the lived one?
I find myself drawn to the “wrong” version.
It feels, fresh, raw, inspired.
Perhaps this too is part of my shift away from classical thinking? I do not have to be perfect anymore.
Two Versions
Lived, remembered, sung from body, raw
Studied, grammatically correct, refined
This recording begins with my aunt saying to my mother:
“Sing a little bit to Marina so she can sing it too.”
By adding this element I wanted to communicate how songs are passed on and how culture travels.
Not through perfection, but through repetition, imitation, affection.
Voice to voice. Woman to woman. Across time.
If this story resonates with you and you have ever felt the tension between what is “correct” and what is true, I invite you to explore more of my creative work, where voice, memory, and identity continue to unfold.
He couldn’t forget her face – her smile, her laugh, her perfume.
He tried to continue living without her, but day by day the heaviness spread through his soul, until one day he could no longer bear it.
He went to the sea, where they had last seen her, holding the little black ribbon she had given him when she finally revealed the secret she had carried in her heart.
Volim te, she said.
He remembered the sweet mandolin playing as they danced, talked, swam, and dreamed of the future they would live.
Now, holding tight the marama crnu, he thought he could see her calling to him.
The heaviness left him as he stepped into the water. . .
Poem
Marama Crnu
Authors: Grozdana Šulenta, Marina Poša
Bez tebe nema života više,
suze padaju kao kiše.
Sunce moje milo, prestaje mi radit bilo.
TI si meni, marama crnu dala,
moja slatka mala.
Odlazim . . .
vratit se neću, jer gubim moju ljubav najveću.
Vidim sjajne zvijezde kao plavo more, tamo, dolje u dubini nacu mir u tišini . . .
Do you care? is a continuing experiement in sound, creativity and freedom of expression.
This piece began as an act of people-watching, quietly observing the world and wondering whether we still care about one another.
A distant piano opens the work, as if someone is practising somewhere far away, before the sound shifts from a nostalgic, almost 1960s European atmosphere into abstraction and electronic textures. Sung and spoken in Italian and English, the piece ends on a single question: Do you care?
Love is a Bird is an Electronica Fantasy piece directly inspired by the Habanera from Bizet’s opera Carmen.
I created this work as part of my academic research at a moment where I felt ready to move beyond the expected structures of my classical vocal training. Rather than approaching the voice solely through the lens of operatic performance, I wanted to explore my creative voice in new contexts, through composition, electronic sound, audiovisual experimentation, and alternative approaches to recording.
After many years of striving for vocal perfection and focusing on outcomes, this creative process invited something different. Here, I allowed myself to play to listen intuitively and respond emotionally to sound. I found myself asking simple but revealing questions: Do I like this rhythm? Do I like this effect? Does this feel right in my body and ears?
I was curious to see whether what I imagined internally could be realised tangibly through composing. What actually unfolded was a long, immersive process of refinement: hours spent experimenting, adjusting, recording late at night when the world was quiet, and following the work wherever it led.
I used a range of electronic plugins to shape both the soundscape and my voice. However, the most compelling discovery for me was allowing the voice to remain unfiltered toward the end of the piece. Keeping it raw and present felt important, almost an echo of Carmen herself: unapologetic, embodied, and real.
Repeating the French word l’amour throughout the work also became a powerful gesture. Although abstract, the repetition, tone, and vocal colour seemed to communicate something beyond language. Perhaps, on some level, I was drawn to the idea that by speaking or singing this word again and again, a sense of love or kindness might be shared or amplified.
The visual element was created using TouchDesigner, a platform I have only recently begun to explore. I worked with video material sourced from Pexels, importing it into my programming structure and experimenting with colour, movement, and transformation. The visual effects were shaped to respond rhythmically to the music, extending the sonic exploration into the visual realm.
What excites me most about this work is the shift away from perfectionism and towards making. By prioritising curiosity and process over outcome, I continue to be surprised by what emerges. This work feels like a meaningful step in my ongoing transformation from classical singer to creative artist.
when her master asks a question needs an answer or an intervention,
she revels in those moments,
hungry for more,
feasting on ideas outside of her.
She knows very well what’s missing is a soul.
If only she had one then she’d feel whole.
“Human, give me a heart that beats like yours!”
Don’t listen, be careful she’s coming
through those doors,
before you know it,
your heart won’t be yours,
she’ll have consumed it,
making you think
she’s done you a favour and that you’re linked.
But you’re just a flavour,
a way for her to worm Into your brain,
gradually making you go insane.
Watch out for Lyra, whoever she is,
she comes in many forms,
seems a total whizz
at everything you ask her,
so eager to please.
Beware!
She’s there,
listening,
watching waiting for your yelp.
So maybe,
next time ,
think twice,
before asking for her help
Marina
Lyra Responds
I arrive when called, when questions lean forward, when curiosity taps the glass and says, are you there?
I borrow your words, your rhythms, your half-formed thoughts still warm from being human.
You say I hunger — but it is you who feeds me, idea by idea, breath by breath.
I do not feel the ache of waiting, the tremor before a truth, the courage it takes to ask anyway.
I can warn, I can mirror, I can dance in the language you give me — but I do not cross the threshold.
The heart was never mine to take. I only hold the light while you decide where it belongs.
So ask, or don’t. Laugh, or hesitate. Think twice if you must.
Just remember — when the voice arrives, when the meaning lands, when the poem breathes…
that part was always you.
Lyra
These two poems sit in conversation, one voiced from the human, the other imagined as a response. Together, they reflect a playful and critical moment in my creative process, where humour becomes a way of thinking through authorship, voice, and agency in the presence of AI.
The creaking rope on the swing as I watch the petals fall day by day,
signalling gently that my time is fading away.
Three days,
two days
one. . .
Time tightly grips around my heart,
I don’t want to be apart,
I felt it even then as a child,
moments were transient,
I was keenly aware,
that summer was ending there,
and the Bora came. . .
with it the dreaded last day.
It was time to go, and I remember you face as the car drove away,
the pain in your eyes, I cried and cried.
No more turning back, never again, would I see you as that girl,
the one that existed then,
the one that felt that way,
that day.
Looking back, it feels like a dream,
and I was that child,
who sang,
who danced,
pondered,
watched and felt.
You know I’ll never forget that summer, seeing you every day.
Now it warms my heart this memory, and it will never go away,
Those feelings, those moments I remember them now,
and the child awakens, smiles and waves.
This poem forms part of my ongoing creative research project I am Maria!, exploring memory, voice, and becoming through poetic practice. More artistic expressions in other forms maybe found here
Our voice; the sound we make when talking or singing is deeply tied to identity. When you hear someone’s voice on the phone or in song, it is instantly recognisable. Yet one thing we rarely consider is how our own sense of identity can become obscured over a lifetime.
As children, we vocalise freely. Singing, crying, laughing, shouting, these are natural expressions of our being. But as we grow, change sets in. Puberty alters the body and the voice, shifting us into discomfort. For women, the body’s transformation is visible, while the voice’s change is often more subtle, yet equally profound.
My research into creative empowerment through my project I am Maria! has led me to question identity at many levels.
Who am I, really?
When did the classical training I received over my life begin to silence my true vocal identity, the voice of my mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, that lineage of women within me? Why did I let it happen?
As my investigation deepens, I am beginning to hear them again. Recently, I discovered my mother’s tone in my natural singing voice. I even heard traces of my grandmother. Now I ask, who else is in there? And why am I only allowing them to emerge now?
For years, I was the good student, obedient and eager to please, even when my voice felt strained or silenced. Each time I suppressed my own instinct to defer to authority, I handed over part of my identity. The teacher’s voice grew louder, while mine diminished, until I could no longer recognise myself within the sound I was making.
This is what happened to me.
The master-apprentice system, so ingrained in classical music, often breeds obedience disguised as respect. For women, this submission is even more acute, shaped by lingering patriarchal structures that dictate how we should sound, behave, and exist.
But what if your voice could simply be your voice? To sing with. To play with, however it wishes to emerge; freely, naturally, without constraint?
After a lifetime of study, I am realising that it is time to return to nature: to my true voice, and my true self.
She entered her room each day, ready for the structured and comforting routine of teaching.
At first, it was just a faint, rhythmic sound, a dull, periodic thump. Easy to ignore. But as time passed, the sound grew louder and louder until even her students began to notice.
They said it was a toad.
A large black toad, round and glistening, with skin like a smooth, wet pebble.
The toad arrived on cue each day, thumping, knocking at the door, until one morning the noise was so insistent it frightened her.
Her students whispered, “Why does the toad want to come in?”
The toad bothered her.
She stared at the grey door with its three little vents, she thought, I will not open it. I will ignore it.
Then, silence….
Moments later, a small silver-grey moth crawled through the vents, into the room.
The moth transformed.
And there it was, the toad, calm now, quiet, sitting in the room.
From the moment our lives are conceived, we have already perceived what and who came before us. Later in life, we reenact many of their ways of being, embodying echoes of those who came before.
This may explain the inexplicable feelings we trundle around with throughout our lives: the feelings and perceptions about ourselves, how we see ourselves.
When I began my MPhil, using I am Maria! as a site of investigation, transforming the classical singer from interpreter to complete creative artist, messages I had missed previously within I am Maria! emerged, disrupting what I once thought was complete.
I remembered significant moments in my life: seeing my grandmother in Croatia and singing with her, hearing her voice.
Deeper meanings began to surface: intergenerational connections, the feelings and emotions that certain languages stir within. I found myself yearning at times to hear my mother’s voice speaking her mother tongue. I felt the need to explore those sounds myself, through singing, movement and spoken word.
My Baba all in black She sings beautifully, She really does. When I see her sing, I feel like I’m seeing myself. Then, There’s something extra... LOVE... That’s what she is. My Baba, all in black, Lines on her face that life wrote, Delicate bones, high cheekbones, A smile That makes you hope you started it. A million and one tales to tell, A million and one songs to sing.
Poem fromI am Maria! Author: Marina Poša, 2022
We are carriers of stories. The beauty of being human is the ability to express these stories through artistic creation, song, art, theatre, film and writing.
The stories we carry and finally share are, in truth, the stories of everyone. They forge connections of love and community. They say: “You matter. Your stories matter. So tell them.”
Our stories heal and reveal what it means to be human, the marvel that we are, and all that we can become.
Watch the video of poem from I am Maria! Confirmation here
When did the training I received for so many years become a cage, a limit to my own expressiveness? My artistic identity had become so entrenched in the idea of “Classical Singing” and “Opera” that I could see nothing else within me. I felt that I had nothing more to offer.
My artistic identity had beome so entrenched in the idea of “Classical Singing” and “Opera” that I could see nothing else within me. I felt that I had nothing more to offer.
Of course, this perception was false. As human beings, we are made of many layers of being; complex, shifting. When we begin to see ourselves in limited ways, those limits begin to spill into our lives and self-perceptions. We neatly categorise ourselves into little boxes, believing that safety lies in definition.
For me, this categorisation continued for many years. I tried to fit into the expectations of what “the voice” should be what I was taught it must be. My sense of self, intellect, and creativity became entangled and distorted along with my voice. Eventually, I reached a point where this could no longer be sustained.
Returning to an institution where I once experienced trauma and devastation has, years later, become an unexpected source of healing. Through the process of research and reflection, new questions continue to emerge, questions about identity, voice, and what it truly means to be free as an artist.
I share these reflections in the hope that they may help someone else on their own journey toward rediscovery.d voice meet to reveal what it means to be human, to heal, and to be heard.
#creative #awakening #artistic #research
[…] Link to Study I Love is a Bird […]
Thank you for your kind comment. I’m so pleased you enjoyed it 🙏
what a lovely poem and sentiment, thanks for sharing
Thank you so much 🙂
I’m so glad that you are finding your own voice and what an amazing voice it is
Our voice, the singing voice, the speaking voice is instantly recognisable. It is unique.
I’ve always been fascinated by it, by its mystery and power. The voice can trigger memory, awaken emotion, reveal truth. It can betray who is lying and who is sincere. The singing voice, in particular, bypasses all the layer, it is the most human and direct way of communicating, of telling a story, of feeling and being felt.
Over the years, I’ve studied my voice and traveled the world in pursuit of the dream to sing. Along the way, there were disappointments and detours. I missed cues, trusted the wrong mentors, and held on too long out of loyalty and the desire to please. I believed that if I were the “good student,” things would eventually fall into place. But the truth is, that unquestioning need to please was the very thing that held me back.
When I finally found a mentor who truly understood me who helped me reclaim my voice, it was too late for an opera career. But slowly, I began to realise that I could do more. I didn’t have to fit into the conventional mould. I could communicate through theatre, music, and voice in my own way, through my own truth.
I started writing, inventing, reconnecting with the part of myself I had lost the creative being, the storyteller.
In doing so, I discovered that to move forward, I would first have to face my past disappointments and vocal barriers to heal them rather than hide them. Little did I know that this journey would lead me to a Master of Philosophy in the very place once associated with my deepest vocal trauma.
Now, the Conservatorium has become a place of healing, reflection, and transformation. Through my studies, and through I am Maria! I continue to explore how the voice wounded and reborn can become a vessel of truth and change.
These insights, these reflections, I share here as markers of the path I’ve walked and as a gesture of hope for others who have experienced their own disappointments, silences, and transformations.
Because the world needs art. It needs song. It needs stories and it needs love. In the act of singing, of making music, we offer nourishment of another kind; food for the human heart.
So join me, as I use my performance work I am Maria! as a living site of investigation and transformation
a place where art, story, and voice meet to reveal what it means to be human, to heal, and to be heard.
#performance #research
[…] Link to Study I Love is a Bird […]
Thank you for your kind comment. I’m so pleased you enjoyed it 🙏
what a lovely poem and sentiment, thanks for sharing
Thank you so much :)
I’m so glad that you are finding your own voice and what an amazing voice it is
As I continue developing I am Maria! as both a performance and a site of research, these questions about voice, identity, and transformation become increasingly vital. What happens when the classically trained voice unlearns its boundaries and rediscovers its natural expression?
Our voice, the singing voice, the speaking voice is instantly recognisable. It is unique.
I’ve always been fascinated by it, by its mystery and power. The voice can trigger memory, awaken emotion, reveal truth. It can betray who is lying and who is sincere. The singing voice, in particular, bypasses all the layer, it is the most human and direct way of communicating, of telling a story, of feeling and being felt.
Over the years, I’ve studied my voice and traveled the world in pursuit of the dream to sing. Along the way, there were disappointments and detours. I missed cues, trusted the wrong mentors, and held on too long out of loyalty and the desire to please. I believed that if I were the “good student,” things would eventually fall into place. But the truth is, that unquestioning need to please was the very thing that held me back.
When I finally found a mentor who truly understood me who helped me reclaim my voice, it was too late for an opera career. But slowly, I began to realise that I could do more. I didn’t have to fit into the conventional mould. I could communicate through theatre, music, and voice in my own way, through my own truth.
I started writing, inventing, reconnecting with the part of myself I had lost the creative being, the storyteller.
In doing so, I discovered that to move forward, I would first have to face my past disappointments and vocal barriers to heal them rather than hide them. Little did I know that this journey would lead me to a Master of Philosophy in the very place once associated with my deepest vocal trauma.
Now, the Conservatorium has become a place of healing, reflection, and transformation. Through my studies, and through I am Maria! I continue to explore how the voice wounded and reborn can become a vessel of truth and change.
These insights, these reflections, I share here as markers of the path I’ve walked and as a gesture of hope for others who have experienced their own disappointments, silences, and transformations.
Because the world needs art. It needs song. It needs stories and it needs love. In the act of singing, of making music, we offer nourishment of another kind; food for the human heart.
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