Photo-Illustration: The Cut; Photograph by Michael Thomas

Isabel Leonard knows the glamorous version of opera is only part of the story. Yes, there are costumes, curtain calls, historic houses, and the kind of roles that require an artist to disappear into someone else’s emotional life. But there is also chicken, rice, steamed vegetables, silence, mobility work, and the very unsexy math of preserving a voice that has to fill the Metropolitan Opera.

This month, Leonard takes on Frida Kahlo in El Último Sueño de Frida y Diego, a role that asks her to step into one of the most recognizable artists in the world without reducing her to a flat image. For Leonard, the work is less about imitation than emotional translation: How do you sing a woman who turned pain, politics, love, and longing into art? And how do you keep your own body and mind intact while doing it?

For “How I Get It Done,” Leonard talked about performance-day discipline, protecting her voice, the 15-year juggle of motherhood and opera, and why Frida Kahlo feels especially suited to a medium where every feeling is already exposed.

You’re playing Frida Kahlo, who is such a known figure. What is the first thing you do when you’re trying to understand a role like that from the inside out?
This role is particular because Frida was a real person. All the other roles, in a way, are real people to me because you’re always portraying the story of a human being. But this has an extra layer because she is so known as an entity, an artist, a woman, a political being — everything she was known for.

What I try to do is keep all my senses open throughout rehearsal so I can filter through what works and what doesn’t in telling the story. With historical figures, we can get overwhelmed by wanting to portray their truth in every single way. We want to replicate them.

But this opera is more about her emotional journey. That doesn’t make it easier, but it allows you, as an actor, to ask: How are we portraying these feelings, regardless of who they’re coming from? Then you add the layers because it is Frida. There are visual elements that may be reminiscent of a painting or something recognizable from her history. But it’s not solely on my shoulders to make sure everybody knows we’re following the rule book of Frida.

What surprised you about the role once you got into the room?
We’ve only been in rehearsal for five days, so it’s still very new. But Deborah, our director, is a choreographer, and her method of communication is really through the physical. There’s quite a lot of movement, dance, and physicality. We have a lot of dancers onstage as well, and they’re instrumental to the storytelling, the mood, the color, and the atmosphere.

For the time being, I’m required to do some pretty physical things, which is lovely and I enjoy it. But that was probably something I didn’t expect when I signed the contract a couple of years ago.

What are you most excited about as the production comes together?
It’s about Frida and Diego, but it’s also about life and death.

You don’t have to believe what they believed in. We can all come together and be empathetic to two humans. In this case, Diego wants Frida to come back to the world to visit him because he is unwell, getting old, and will probably pass away soon. And Frida, having died three years prior, is for the first time no longer in pain.

We talk about that so much in life with our loved ones, especially those who were sick or in agony before they died. People say, “At least they’re no longer in pain.” I think that’s something we all understand. We can feel the beauty of that, and the pain and longing of those who are still living for the people who have left us. That’s really where the beauty lies in this piece.

What have you learned about Frida that will stay with you?
One of the wonderful things I knew about her, but now know more deeply as I get into the piece and revisit books and movies, is that she paints her life. She paints what she knows. She paints her feelings. Her paintings are the manifestation of her experience in the world.

As humans, we filter ourselves a lot. That’s okay, and there’s a time for it. I’m not talking about being blunt or mean to people. But at the time she was painting, society was not encouraging people, let alone women, to feel everything. We have told humans for a very long time to suppress their feelings.

What’s so wonderful about her paintings is that the feelings are all expressed. And what’s so wonderful about making an opera about her is that opera is already heart-on-the-sleeve, heart-exposed: big feelings, big emotions. It’s the perfect medium to continue expressing her pain and her feelings.

How do you move between Isabel and Frida, especially with a role that is so emotionally heavy?
With any role, there is the technical side first. When I did Nico Muhly’s Marnie a few years ago, that took quite a toll on me because of the depth of her pain. Modern pieces can also be very difficult intellectually. Memorizing this kind of music is not always intuitive, so you have to work very hard to make it automatic in your system.

You can’t even tap into the deep emotions until your brain is free from the mechanics of the singing. That’s what rehearsal is for. Rehearsals tend to be most effective for me when I take it step by step. I don’t ask myself to feel or physicalize some deep emotion immediately, especially if I’m still mechanically in my head. I think of it like oil and water. It sits at the top for a while, but the heavier the drop gets, it starts to go down. When it goes down, it settles into the body. That’s how things work for me in rehearsal.

What does a performance day require from you before you even get to the theater?
Performance days are very different from rehearsal days. Most of the time, I don’t schedule anything else unless it’s an emergency. I try to sleep as much as I can. That’s really the biggest thing. Then I start getting all my calories in throughout the day because I don’t love to eat a huge meal before a show. You feel tired, sluggish, and full. I’ll usually eat things that are easy to digest: oatmeal, eggs and toast, fruit, a protein shake, and then some variation of chicken, potatoes or rice, and steamed vegetables. It’s really boring, but it works.

I also spend time stretching and doing mobility work. Not really a workout, but enough to get my body ready. If the show starts at eight, I’m usually at the theater by 5:30 or six, depending on how long hair and makeup take. I like to give myself a solid hour to warm up my voice and body, and then I work backward from there.

What does that final hour before curtain look like?
I call it “me time.” If the show starts at eight, I like to have seven to eight for myself, though usually it’s more like 6:45 to 7:45 because the last 15 minutes before going onstage become transition time. That’s when people need you, or you’re moving toward the stage. It also depends on the costume. If the costume for the first scene is comfortable, I’ll get into it as soon as possible after hair and makeup. If it’s not comfortable, I’ll wait until that last transition period. It varies depending on the show.

What does taking care of your voice actually look like?
Most of the time, it’s being quiet. When it’s time to do shows, I live a little bit like a nun. I don’t go to loud restaurants. I would never go out the night before a show to a loud restaurant. If people want to hang out, that’s great, but they can come over here, or I’ll go to their house for a relaxed evening. I just live gently when I have to do a big job.

You’re also doing press, events, and appearances. How do you protect your energy across all of that?
That’s a big thing. As artists, we always want to do as much as we can to promote the work we’re doing. Especially in opera, we often feel like we’re battling uphill, so we’re happy to participate and tell the story and encourage people to come.

But there are days when you have to feel confident enough to say, “I just can’t. I have to go home. I need to rest. I need a day off. I need to be quiet. No, I cannot sing for that event. No, I cannot do another interview.”

For us, the thing is the voice. If you want me to show up physically but not speak and not sing, I’m happy to do it. But if I have a show the next day, I’d probably still say no because I also need to rest my body. Anybody who uses their body for a living has to advocate for themselves. That can be hard in opera because even the best-intentioned companies can forget how important it is to build in time, space, and rest.

What is your nonnegotiable when it comes to preparation?
For performances, my big thing is not scheduling anything during the day and having silence. If I can, the day before as well, I try to be vocally quiet. That’s a big deal. If I’m working on other projects or learning music, I usually won’t practice the day before a performance, and certainly not the day of. Maybe the day after if I really have to. Being quiet is the only way to give yourself a break.

How do you keep a role feeling alive when you have rehearsed or performed it many times?
I think of it a little bit like Groundhog Day, except it can’t really change very much. With every performance, I try to allow myself to feel like it’s new, even though I’m doing the same things. I’m not playing the end of the story at the start just because I know it so well. I try to stay in the moment, even in character, so the character doesn’t necessarily know what’s happening next. If I can keep it fresh in my mind, hopefully that transmits to the audience.

How has motherhood shaped the way you work?
It’s been a lot. My son is 15 now, so our life has changed in a new way. It’s wonderful because he’s independent and he’s a really good kid. I feel confident in what he’s doing. There’s less I have to do now for the first time in 15 years. Before high school, it was very challenging. I’d get up at six in the morning to get him to school, then come home and try to nap, eat, and do a show. I was really sleep-deprived for 15 years in many ways.

Travel was complicated too. Sometimes, if I was in Europe, I could sleep in, but then I wanted to stay up late to talk to him. I’d be jet-lagged, getting up early for rehearsal, and waiting to speak to my son. There were times when I couldn’t speak to him because I was working during the 20 minutes he was walking to school with whoever was taking him.

It’s been well over a decade of scheduling and being as diligent as possible to keep communication alive and present, making sure everybody knows what’s going on and keeping tabs on everything. Now it’s different. I don’t have tabs on everything anymore, and it’s uncomfortable, but it’s also lovely to have a new phase of my life and a new phase of my relationship with my kid.

What does this season of motherhood feel like now?
Now that I’m no longer taking care of my son in the same way, I’m also helping take care of my mother, who is 84. Everybody goes through these phases. One part of care shifts, and another part of care arrives. There’s discomfort in not having tabs on everything anymore, but there’s also a lot of beauty in watching a child become more independent and in experiencing a new kind of relationship with him.

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