Hidden Spaces

One of my favorite places in Champaign-Urbana is Krannert – specifically, the very top seats in Krannert’s Foellinger Great Hall. There’s a little section on the second-floor balcony (behind the little divider about two-thirds of the way up) that nobody in their right mind would sit in. From those seats, you can barely see what’s happening on stage, and the sound is just as good (if not better) in other areas. The Great Hall is also such a big auditorium (for the relatively small musical sub-community of Champaign-Urbana) that it rarely has a full house, and the seats at the back of the balcony are always the last to get filled. It’s only when there’s a really big concert that they’re occupied, and even then, it’s usually visiting/performing choirs and orchestras that reserve those seats.

              Performance was why I first went up there. One of my choirs was called to sing a small ensemble part in a contemporary opera piece (which was very wacky, by the way). This particular piece required that we, the “sky”, went mostly unseen, so the conductor had us sit at the very back of the balcony, turned off all the lights around us, and barred the balcony seats to the audience. To be honest, it was a little bit creepy at first – there were only about two dozen other people on the second floor, and it was so dark we could barely see the music. We even missed our entrance opening night because we took too long getting up the many, many flights of stairs.

              But after spending two evening rehearsals stuck in the back seats, I had to admit there was a certain charm to it all. We were seated so high that I felt like I could see the world (or all of the Great Hall, at least), but it was so dark that the world wouldn’t be able to see me. All the rows of chairs and the wooden stage were laid out before me in miniature perfection. Sitting up there was like peering through a very large peephole, in a way, or watching from a very dark and private opera box. The seclusion of the balcony made it feel secret, which was kind of exhilarating in the midst of such a public place.

              Being only thirteen at the time, I didn’t really appreciate the privacy for long. Neither did the other thirteen-year-olds in my choir – we spent all the concerts playing discreet games of hangman, charades, and Telephone, desperately trying to stifle our laughter so we wouldn’t be caught by our scary conductor. (This is probably a bad thing to say, but that was the most fun I’ve ever had at a concert.) As I grew older and started to perform more, however, I came to cherish the quietness for what it was. I guess the reason that I like this space so much now is because it feels so concealed. In a place as urbanized and planned-out as Champaign, these sorts of secluded, hidden places are rare. The back of the balcony feels like a secret, an accident, an invisible little alcove at the top of all the public hullabaloo. I’d highly recommend sitting up there next time you’re at a concert, especially if you’re looking for a seat far away from all the commotion on the first floor (or just a place to play your next game of hangman).