[Portrait] Hong Hei-kyung: beyond the Met

As if in a moment of prayer, soprano Hong Hei-kyung closes her eyes while speaking to The Korea Times at the New York Metropolitan Opera on Sept. 2.

/ Photography by Jesse Chun for The Korea Times

At 52, the soprano is ready to expand her horizons. “I lived for art, I lived for love — but there is so much more to life than that.”

By Lee Hyo-won

NEW YORK — Hong Hei-kyung could have walked out of a classic Hollywood film with her slim waistline and perfectly coifed hair — in fact the 52-year-old soprano effortlessly transformed into the teenage heroine of “Romeo and Juliet” earlier this year.

In this digital, post-Maria Callas age, lead stars must not only sing and act well but also look the part as operas are being viewed in movie theaters.

The Met’s longest-running female lead, Hong has paved an unprecedented path by appearing in every single season for some 30 years.

She has lived through times when, in her own words, “it was OK to be not just pleasantly plump, but large,” whereas now “you must deal with how the camera adds 10 pounds to your figure.”

But the seasoned singer kept in shape not so much to be in sync with today’s visual frenzy but because she had to “run up and down a three-storey house while raising three kids.” She said this in a matter of fact way as she glided up the red-carpeted stairs of the Met, not forgetting to point out how she wants to hang its chandelier in her living room.

The secret to her longevity was obvious: rich experience outside of the theater enables her to bring various characters to life onstage.

“Operas are basically life stories played onstage with beautiful music and beautiful costumes,” she said. “Every role gives you the opportunity to live a different life, to become a different person.”

But for this supermom, opera is “like escapism.” “I escape for a few hours. And when I return to everyday life I’m happy to be back. Being able to switch on and off is intoxicating.”

There is a liberating poeticism about her singing; T.S. Eliot once said that poetry is not a turning loose of emotions or personality but “an escape” from these things — Hong’s vocal leaps and runs are free of superficial embellishments, and the “heuinoaerak” (four emotional cornerstones of joy, anger, pleasure and grief) to which she gives flight stands on its own pure beauty.

In person she carried every bit of the glamour seen onstage but what was even more striking was her warm, down-to-earth demeanor.

“Singing opera is both superficial and realistic. It’s superficial because you’re pretending, you’re making it up. At the same time you have to be so real in your emotions to make that character come alive. You have to be kind of crazy,” she said, throwing her head back for a hearty laugh.

“But when you sing an aria from your soul it becomes full of life, and when it’s full of life it’s so powerful it just travels straight to the audience. That’s what music should be, that’s what art should be. It’s intoxicating,” said the bon vivant, with dreamy head-tilting and enthusiastic hand motions. But she never spoke without a deep note of sincerity, as she articulated ideas with purpose, repeating expressions to find the perfect wording.

It’s difficult to imagine a less expressive Hong, but her initial experience in New York was marked by silence. “My voice wasn’t being heard for the first time,” she recalled moving here at the tender age of 15.

Born into a Christian family in Gangwon Province in 1959, Hong grew up listening to hymnals and excelled in a children’s choir. But entering Juilliard on a scholarship meant overcoming language barriers, as she sang by day and studied by night “until my Korean-English dictionary became raggedy.” Nevertheless she became the first Korean to debut at the Met in 1984.

“I discovered at an early age that I could make others happy by singing during family gatherings, and I had enough confidence about my voice because my teachers encouraged me. This sense of conviction and validation created a strong foundation for who I am,” Hong said.

For a time she agreed to being called Susan for pronunciation’s sake, but in no time everybody said her Korean name without trouble. She was appearing in all the major opera houses in the world, from New York to Paris and Vienna, and was just beginning to make a reputation for herself.

The 25-year-old Hong, however, had also started the family she had longed for. Though she was able to sing the title role in “Manon” while she was seven months pregnant, she had to turn down Joan Sutherland’s offer to make her into a star.

“I had a newborn infant at home,” Hong said. “You can’t just pack up your bags and leave for a two-month tour. You look for opportunities at home and I was lucky I got to sing at the Met, and that they wanted me back every season.”

Yet she did not reject lucrative roles elsewhere just because of maternal duties.

She had seen the most promising young singers lose their voice because they exhausted it. Hong was able to sustain a long, successful life onstage because she carefully chose repertoires that suited her vocal range, even if it meant saying “no” to the great Maestro Sinopoli for a recording of “Madama Butterfly.”

“I planned my career so that I’m at a place where I’m singing my best,” she said. “The age period of 45 to 55 is the height of your career, your golden years. Your vocal cords are mature, that is if you took care of your voice, and personally you have experienced life a little bit more.”

There was a period when Hong stopped singing, when her husband died of cancer three years ago. However, she returned to the stage in 2010, singing, among others, a most moving rendition of “Vissi d’arte.”

“I lived for art, I lived for love — but there is so much more to life than that,” she said about the number from “Tosca,” and perhaps her own life. The aria had been her anthem through her darkest hours.

Next year, her youngest child will go off to college, and she plans to move on beyond the Met and embark on the globetrotting tours she had missed. She especially wishes to appear in an opera in her home country, which she has been able to do only once.

Moreover, she faces the never-ending challenges that the stage presents. “I’ve been in this business for over 30 years and I’m still perfecting it. Frankly if every performance is perfect I’d be bored; it’s the process of wanting to get better and challenging yourself that is interesting to me.”

Striving to deliver a single soulful aria to the audience thus keeps her going.

“It’s like communion. People all come there with their joys and problems, and for those few hours you are communicating as one. It’s so rewarding, it’s so wonderful — it’s so soulful. That’s what I do in my life, that is my life.”