From the Rehearsal Room to the Spotlight
The Lithuanian soprano Ausrine Stundyte is no stranger to demanding roles that demand more than vocal virtuosity. In a recent conversation, she pulled back the curtain on the physical and emotional grind behind a performance that requires not just singing, but survival—pain turned into art, adrenaline harnessed into storytelling.
Not a Feminist, but Fully Committed
Early in the discussion, Stundyte makes a provocative statement: “I am totally not a feminist.” The remark isn’t a political stance but a candid admission about the limits she places on labels when she approaches a role. For her, the work is about truth in motion—how a body and voice can inhabit another era, another psyche, without letting ideology distort the human core of a character.
Trauma as Technique
The conversation turns to the bedrock of her approach: trauma. Not the sensational kind, but the quiet, often invisible scars that shape a performer’s choices. Stundyte describes trauma as a source of intensity that can sharpen listening, heighten sensitivity, and deepen the emotional arc. In the rehearsal room, she translates memory and pain into precise physicality—breath control, weight shifts, and micro-expressions that reveal a life beyond the music.
Adrenaline as a Driving Force
Adrenaline isn’t a nuisance to be managed; for Stundyte it’s a resource. She speaks about adrenaline as the fuel that powers a long performance, the spark that makes a long aria feel both dangerous and inevitable. The singer explains that the best moments on stage arrive when nerves become focus, converting volatile energy into a sense of living propulsion that audiences feel as urgency and immediacy.
Becoming a 300-Year-Old Woman
Perhaps the most striking element of her talk is her role as a 300-year-old woman. In Janáček’s repertoire, time can stretch, contract, and fracture, forcing a performer to inhabit centuries with honesty. Stundyte describes how aging in reverse—yet aging in essence—asks for a unique blend of vocal mastery and acting restraint. She emphasizes how the voice can carry centuries of memory while the body remains present, vulnerable, and human. The challenge, she notes, is to make the age feel earned, not performed, as if the character has survived the passage of time through choice, need, and will.
Technique Meets Sensibility
Technique is not an end in itself for Stundyte. She frames her craft as a dialogue—between memory and the moment, between sound and silence, between distress and release. The soprano’s method blends rigorous vocal discipline with an attuned sense of physical storytelling, ensuring that every note resonates with intention. Her process is a reminder that opera remains a living art form where historical gravitas and contemporary humanity meet.
What Audiences Take From Her Work
When performers reveal their vulnerabilities, audiences often feel invited into the rehearsal room. Stundyte’s openness about trauma and adrenaline invites listeners to see beyond the stagecraft—to perceive the courage it takes to present a character who bears the weight of centuries. The result is a performance that isn’t merely sung; it’s endured, witnessed, and understood in real time.
Looking Ahead
As Stundyte continues to explore roles that demand both vocal brilliance and deep psychological immersion, the conversation around her work underscores a broader truth: in opera, the most memorable performances arise when art and life illuminate each other. The 300-year-old woman isn’t just a clever construct; she’s a conduit for the audience to examine endurance, memory, and the moments when a single breath can carry a lifetime.
Why This Matters
Stundyte’s reflections on trauma and adrenaline offer a framework for understanding how performers transform pain into beauty. Her work challenges conventional notions of technique, reminding us that opera is as much about the body’s truth as it is about singing’s precision. In that balance—between endurance and expressivity—she finds the power to move audiences deeply.
