Cellista, the performer who regularly turns her cello upside down, offers a vivid glimpse into a day that blends rigorous physical training, creative writing, and the mundane challenges of freelance life. Based in Las Vegas but currently travelling through Germany, she reveals how she balances a demanding artistic schedule with the pressures of billing clients and preparing for Grammy consideration – all while sipping coffee, reading Nabokov, and reflecting on Nietzsche’s tragic breakdown.
A Morning That Begins at 7.10am
Cellista’s day starts early. “I woke up at 7.10am and beat my alarm clock, which was set for 8.01am. I felt triumphant. The feeling lasted until 11am and then I was back to my usual self,” she recalls. She is not a morning eater; “I fast. I really dislike eating in the morning and never have much of an appetite when I wake up. Although, technically I cheat because I have a nice big cup of coffee with ample milk and sugar,” she explains. After her coffee, she immerses herself in literature. “I’ve been reading Nabokov’s love letters to his wife, Véra. He’s one of my favourite writers, but I now suspect from his letters that he was a neurotic love‑bomber,” she muses. This reading is followed by journaling and, more importantly, writing. “I’m currently writing a book to accompany my aerial theater piece, Mémoire. It interlaces my writing, old journal entries, a film I direct and aerial cello into one stage poem or one‑woman show,” she says.
The morning’s routine is a blend of creative fuel and personal reflection, setting the tone for the physical and administrative tasks ahead.
Crafting Art While Managing Business
Work for Cellista today involves both artistic ambition and financial negotiation. “I began the process of submitting the album that accompanies Mémoire for Grammy consideration,” she notes, highlighting the prestige she seeks for her multidisciplinary project. Yet the day is not solely about art. She also “had to follow up with a client about their very overdue payments. It felt weirdly emotional for me. It’s the freelancer life: you feel guilty asking for what you’re worth, or requesting what is due to you, and you’re tempted to default to being nice because it feels easier in the moment,” she confides. The tension between professionalism and personal kindness is a recurring theme in her freelance existence.
Breaks are another battleground. “I suck at breaks. I know that rest is better for my body and mind. But my mind just chatters away, and it feels incredibly difficult to take enough time off from training,” she admits. The pressure to constantly perform and create leaves little room for the rest that any athlete or artist needs.
A Philosophical Dinner and Nightcap
When evening arrives, Cellista finds herself in Bayreuth for the Wagner Fest, where culinary delights mirror the depth of her intellectual pursuits. “Since I’m in Bayreuth for the Wagner Fest, I got to eat schäufele, which is roast pork shoulder with crispy yummy skin. It came with a potato dumpling the size of the moon, and cabbage,” she describes with glee. Food becomes a conversation starter. “I got to chat with my dad. He was a professor of philosophy for 42 years at the University of Denver and I was sharing my experience visiting Nietzsche’s house in Naumburg,” she says. Their discussion drifts to one of philosophy’s most famous collapses. “We talked about Nietzsche’s breakdown in Turin when he tried to shield a horse from being beaten by its owner and became inconsolable at the horse’s suffering. Nietzsche never recovered; it was the onset of the neurosyphilis that would kill him,” she recounts, linking the philosopher’s empathy to the raw emotional labour she experiences as a performer and freelancer.
After dinner, Cellista unwinds with a ritual that blends pop culture and comfort. “I try my best to sleep by midnight. Every single night, I watch old episodes of The X‑Files, but nothing after season seven because that is when it gets intolerable. I usually have a cup of cocoa and three Voortman Vanilla Wafers while I watch. By the time Scully utters her last exasperated “Mulder!!!!”, I pass out,” she says, illustrating how even a high‑octane performer finds solace in familiar television.
The Unique Challenge of Aerial Cello
