Sea & Sky
A workshop celebrating nature and the life cycle
Saturday February 28th, 2026
Hope on Union
Saturday February 28th, 2026
Hope on Union
Vocalists:
Soprano:
Katelyn Dietz
Hannah Rice
Abigail Whitman
Drew Corey
Aria Gittelson
Alto:
Rhiannon Lewis
Margaret McGlynn
Alex Siegers
Vera Lugo
Tenor:
Daniel Leese
TJ Sclafani
Jeff Greif
Will Reeder
Bass:
Robbie Jeffrey
Tanner Pfeiffer
Matthew Scherb
John Bergquist
Accompanist:
Wells Leng, piano/synthesizer
Soprano:
Katelyn Dietz
Hannah Rice
Abigail Whitman
Drew Corey
Aria Gittelson
Alto:
Rhiannon Lewis
Margaret McGlynn
Alex Siegers
Vera Lugo
Tenor:
Daniel Leese
TJ Sclafani
Jeff Greif
Will Reeder
Bass:
Robbie Jeffrey
Tanner Pfeiffer
Matthew Scherb
John Bergquist
Accompanist:
Wells Leng, piano/synthesizer
Special Thanks:
|
Hope on Union
Wells Leng David Rentz Ariana Stultz Rhiannon Lewis, Facilitator Melissa Lai, Secretary Vera Lugo, Production Chair |
Drew Corey, Repertoire Chair
John Bergquist, Conducting Chair Katelyn Dietz, Development Chair Anastasia Belleza Gastelum, DEI Chair Margaret McGlynn, Marketing Chair Aria Gittelson, Membership Chair Tanner Pfeiffer, Auditions Chair |
Bohemian highway
Composed by Jon Olmstead
Bohemian Highway is the composer’s first work for a capella choir. This piece takes its name from a stretch of road in Sonoma, California, known for its stunning natural beauty and great wineries. The initial repeated two note theme is meant to convey the movement of a road trip, and anticipation that one might feel when embarking on an exploration of the Bohemian Highway. Just as one’s anticipation turns to discovery and then is left as a memory, so the piece develops out of its initial theme to explore the musical landscape before returning back to an echo where it started.
- Jon Olmstead
- Jon Olmstead
O God, thy sea
Composed by Sarah Rimkus
Text from a Breton fisherman's prayer
Text from a Breton fisherman's prayer
“O God, thy sea is so great and my boat is so small” is the opening to an old Breton fisherman’s prayer. It was inscribed on a small plaque given to President John F. Kennedy by Admiral Hyman Rickover, who gave the quote to all new submarine captains entering Naval service under his command. It became a favorite quote of the President’s, and he kept this plaque on his Oval Office desk throughout his time in office. It now resides on display at the Kennedy Presidential Library. This piece sets this text in a way that hopefully communicates the vast beauty and terror of the world that humanity has to contend with, along with the importance of mindfulness and humility in our relationship with the world for all people, particularly our leaders.
- Sarah Rimkus
Text:
“O God, thy sea is so great and my boat is so small...”
- Sarah Rimkus
Text:
“O God, thy sea is so great and my boat is so small...”
in waves
Composed by Kion Heidari
Text by Sam Aldape
Text by Sam Aldape
In Waves delves into the cyclical sensations that come with depression, reappearing throughout milestones in a year. In the text, such feelings are analogized to depictions of nature. We, as humans, are at the mercy of the natural world, and struggling against it is often futile. Similarly, depressive states can be so dominating and consistent that they feel inevitable, like the seasons themselves.
Though the subject matter is on the heavier side, an intimate, heartbreaking beauty can be found between the words and lines. The music itself comes in waves, each verse different but at its core the same, representing the cycle that feels impossible to break.
Text:
Though the subject matter is on the heavier side, an intimate, heartbreaking beauty can be found between the words and lines. The music itself comes in waves, each verse different but at its core the same, representing the cycle that feels impossible to break.
Text:
|
It seems as though it was always like this.
Hollow vision- the old scripture passed along, a light to come to blind, birthing this song: Drifting Just drifting Nothing to do but wait For I know it comes in waves It comes in waves A boy of ice cracks In a dim, distant home With only shadows to watch as he loses control; snow falls, and the night waits to consume my soul. Floating Just floating Nothing to do but sway For I know it comes in waves It comes in waves |
The sun begins to gaze
and so Day starts its toll. My core rips and tears through pits of fleshy coal, boiling in my waters, heaving rotten, molten bone. The inferno burns my lungs and consumes my soul. Falling Just falling Nothing to do but pray For I know it comes in waves It comes in waves With each falling of the moon or rising of the tide, this cycle does not break. I simply stand aside, waiting for a day when I might feel alive, but- it seems as though it was always like this. |
the blue whale lifts up the tongue against the mustache that's inside the mouth
Composed by Abigail Whitman
In Memory of John Olguin
In Memory of John Olguin
Many of my earliest, hazy childhood memories are associated with the ocean and the marine creatures that dwell in its depths. My dad was, and still is, a docent for the Cabrillo Marine Aquarium’s Whale Watch program in San Pedro, and I recall days wandering the plastic, scratchy seats of the whale watch boat or hiding from the wind in the wheelhouse, eyes trained on the horizon, hoping to spot the heart-shaped blow of a gray whale.
I learned about whales at events like the “Whale of a Day”, where an older man named John Olguin had us all line up on a life-sized outline of a whale in the parking lot and move our bodies to recreate the way it eats and swims. The title of the piece is paraphrasing John’s description of whales as he guided us through moving like them: we would open our arms wide to create the huge, open mouth of the whale, fold our hands in so our fingers represented the coarse, comb-like keratin structure called “baleen” that some whales have instead of teeth (it looks like a mustache inside of the mouth), and then we would clasp our hands together, pressing our straightened arms in and scooping them upwards like a tongue.
My relationship with the ocean became such a deep, integral part of my human existence because of the interactive way I was taught about these whales. The whales weren’t just some species out of sight, beneath the waves; I was them and they were me. It wasn’t until I moved away from LA for college that I realized how many people in this country have only ever seen whales in photographs or drawings. It’s easy to forget how our actions affect an ecosystem or a species that seems just as real as a mythical creature.
This piece is my imperfect attempt to create a similar experience for the audience. It begins and ends with the ensemble recreating the soundscape of the ocean, starting with an expanse that is untouched by human presence and ending in the sound of our current ocean, marked with the drones and jaggedness of nautical machines like sonar and motorboats. A small group of singers, representing three different species of Pacific Coast whales (grays, humpbacks and blues), emerge from the ocean to play and sing to each other, returning to the ocean as their song is slowly drowned out by the more mechanical sounds of current oceanic life.
This piece isn’t a definitive timeline of the ocean and its whales; it’s a moment showing us the direct correlation between our presence and its effect on the marine ecosystem. This piece is a reminder that despite our failings, both as individuals and as a species, the ocean will still be there and life will cycle again.
- Abigail Whitman
I learned about whales at events like the “Whale of a Day”, where an older man named John Olguin had us all line up on a life-sized outline of a whale in the parking lot and move our bodies to recreate the way it eats and swims. The title of the piece is paraphrasing John’s description of whales as he guided us through moving like them: we would open our arms wide to create the huge, open mouth of the whale, fold our hands in so our fingers represented the coarse, comb-like keratin structure called “baleen” that some whales have instead of teeth (it looks like a mustache inside of the mouth), and then we would clasp our hands together, pressing our straightened arms in and scooping them upwards like a tongue.
My relationship with the ocean became such a deep, integral part of my human existence because of the interactive way I was taught about these whales. The whales weren’t just some species out of sight, beneath the waves; I was them and they were me. It wasn’t until I moved away from LA for college that I realized how many people in this country have only ever seen whales in photographs or drawings. It’s easy to forget how our actions affect an ecosystem or a species that seems just as real as a mythical creature.
This piece is my imperfect attempt to create a similar experience for the audience. It begins and ends with the ensemble recreating the soundscape of the ocean, starting with an expanse that is untouched by human presence and ending in the sound of our current ocean, marked with the drones and jaggedness of nautical machines like sonar and motorboats. A small group of singers, representing three different species of Pacific Coast whales (grays, humpbacks and blues), emerge from the ocean to play and sing to each other, returning to the ocean as their song is slowly drowned out by the more mechanical sounds of current oceanic life.
This piece isn’t a definitive timeline of the ocean and its whales; it’s a moment showing us the direct correlation between our presence and its effect on the marine ecosystem. This piece is a reminder that despite our failings, both as individuals and as a species, the ocean will still be there and life will cycle again.
- Abigail Whitman
a hot shower
Composed by Daniel Leese
I wrote “A Hot Shower” in response to a simple prompt: “life cycle.” I wanted to describe an out-of-body experience: what if I left my body, and when I looked back, I saw my past lives flashing by? I thought of a time when it felt like a part of me died — when I came out to my mom, it felt like getting yanked out of the closet by the scruff of my neck. I was painfully unprepared. But since then, I have been honest about my sexuality and our relationship has flourished.
The universe expresses itself largely in cycles and waves, and our linear perception of time often causes us to ignore our own historical patterns. The world can feel like an evil place ... it grounds me to think that every intense emotion I feel has been felt by people for thousands of years. These cycles of grief are so much bigger than me and my mom; they span over centuries, over millennia. I encourage you to take a step back from your own life for a moment, from whatever it is you’re going through, to imagine all the people who had to fight so that you could live, all past versions of yourself that had to die so that you could grow, and all the future versions of yourself that are thanking you for your resilience.
– Daniel Leese
Text:
The universe expresses itself largely in cycles and waves, and our linear perception of time often causes us to ignore our own historical patterns. The world can feel like an evil place ... it grounds me to think that every intense emotion I feel has been felt by people for thousands of years. These cycles of grief are so much bigger than me and my mom; they span over centuries, over millennia. I encourage you to take a step back from your own life for a moment, from whatever it is you’re going through, to imagine all the people who had to fight so that you could live, all past versions of yourself that had to die so that you could grow, and all the future versions of yourself that are thanking you for your resilience.
– Daniel Leese
Text:
|
A part of me died when I came out to my mom.
I couldn’t look at her. I locked myself in the bathroom, got in the shower... My clothes got heavy and I just cried. Then, my body exploded, and when I looked back, I saw myself giving birth over hundreds of lifetimes: |
I was an elephant in a rainstorm;
I was in the bathtub, holding someone’s hand; I was a wildfire, making summer warm; I was the waves, making love to the shore; I was my own mother, crying on the floor; I was a universe, in my time of dying, Surrounded by a few others. |
nothing gold can stay
Composed by David García Saldaña
Text by Robert Frost
Text by Robert Frost
This setting of Robert Frost’s Nothing Gold Can Stay was composed as a lab work for the Contemporary Choral Collective of Los Angeles's (C3LA) Winter 2026 workshop cycle, exploring practical electrochoral composition. A secondary focus was developing an ethical, composer-authored integration of AI, using Suno app to iterate on original musical material. Live electronics are performed by a single keyboardist via MainStage patch, sans click track or fixed media, keeping tempo and phrasing conductor-led.
Text:
Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
- Robert Frost
Text:
Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
- Robert Frost
