There are moments when the present folds itself into the past, and we find ourselves suspended somewhere between what we do and why we began doing it in the first place. Carolina Angulo, who has spent nearly two decades behind the curtain at LA Opera, recently watched her daughter step into the very spotlight she helped shape. And with that, the ordinary became luminous. 

Live theater is a peculiar thing—it vanishes even as it happens. A prop misplaced, a costume forgotten, a lighting cue missed—and yet, people return to it. Night after night, season after season. Carolina knows this. She’s one of the people who make it possible. Her fingerprints are on dozens of productions. She’s painted backdrops, rebuilt sets, and poured countless hours into perfecting every detail that helps bring a story to life on stage. 

And still, nothing quite prepared her for the feeling of seeing her daughter up there. 

But let’s go back. 

It was 2006. Carolina was finishing her MFA at CalArts when she applied for the props coordinator job. She didn’t get it. But her creativity was remembered, and another call came in the fall of that same year: freelance work for our production of Manon. Soon, a position opened under Senior Design Manager Lisa Stone to work on Noah’s Flood, LA Opera’s first Community Opera. 

Lisa went on maternity leave, so Carolina was brought on full time to carry the load. By the time Lisa returned, Carolina was offered to stay full time, and she found a home. Sometimes that’s how it happens. You look up, and you're no longer visiting—you live here. 

“It’s been a rollercoaster,” she explains. Her training had been in painting and props. But she kept getting pulled deeper into set design. The learning curve was steep, but she climbed it anyway with the help of our technical director Jeff Kleeman. “He was always kind enough to show me the ropes,” she says as Jeff walks on stage leading his team during the set load in for Ainadamar. 

In 2010, Carolina’s office sat in our music library. That’s how she met Daniel Catán, the composer of Il Postino. They connected—two Latin American artists in America putting everything they got into a marvelous show. She sat next to him during the first orchestra read for   Il Postino,   watching what would be his last complete opera presented 
on stage. He cried. A year later, he died but the memory of that magical moment still lives in Carolina.  

Fifteen years later, another magical moment would happen—this time, through her daughter. 

Carolina and her daughter at 2025's Community Opera

Her daughter had been immersed in her mother’s world since 2014, beginning with LA Opera’s Community Opera when she was nestled in Carolina’s womb. From the very start, she was part of it all. As she grew, she began attending various productions, witnessing the dedication, the long hours, and, more than that, seeing her mother as part of something bigger. Something meaningful. Something worthy of applause. 

“She always urged me to take a bow,” Carolina says. At first, she refused, but her daughter insisted, "Mom, you go. You should take a bow." 

This year, her daughter was finally old enough to perform—but she hesitated. So, Carolina extended the invitation to her daughter’s friends as well. That did the trick. Shyness gave way to excitement. And there it was: her child onstage. 

“It reminded me of my younger self,” she says. “Before I was a designer, I was a performer.” 

Her daughter learned what theater teaches best: how to listen, how to share space, how to see the person in front of you. One day during rehearsal, she met an ensemble member who had once experienced homelessness. He spoke honestly with her about his past. It was just a conversation, but it left a mark. Like many children, she’d heard things, absorbed the stereotypes people carry around. But there, in that room, was someone real. Someone kind. Someone who always greeted her with a smile. 

And just like that, the narrative cracked. Her perception shifted. 

In that shared space—full of music and movement—the boundaries we think matter start to fall away. The theater didn’t preach to her. It didn’t correct her. It simply introduced her to someone she might not have met otherwise. And in doing so, opened a door. 

Carolina’s daughter performed on March 14th and 15th. Carolina was once again backstage. But this time, the script had a new layer. It was hers too. 

“As a parent,” she says, “you think about what you leave behind. And how you educate your kids is probably the biggest part of that. Music has always been in my life. So, it was lovely to see her immersed in that world. And to know she was proud of what I had to do with it.” 

We don’t always know when we’re living a full-circle moment. But when we do, it glows. 

And whether her daughter returns to the stage or finds a different calling, we will always remember this moment. Carolina now carries that memory with her into every show she helps bring to life. And this time, she’ll remember to take a bow.