My mom was a dancer until her late teens. There are several pictures of her en pointe, tulle tutu sticking stiffly out around her. I too was enrolled in ballet; mom took me to buy the shoes and she patiently worked with gauzy chiffon to sew me my first dance skirt. I remember wearing these to grandpa’s house because I was insistent in showing him my steps. He was so proud, but maybe some of that pride was remembering another little dancer – my mom – when she was young.
I ended my ballet early on though; I told my mom the change room was stuffy and stunk and I didn’t want to go back. So we focused on ice skating and swimming. But every once in a while I think about trying an adult ballet class to improve elements common in dancers of the genre: Poise and Grace.Even the word Ballet contains a certain degree of beauty in the height and rhythm of the letters: up for b, down for a, then two stilts in the middle like dancer’s legs for the l’s, down again for e and finally up for the t. Up, down, up-up, down, up. Sort of like skipping along.
Now say it with me….”Ballet…I’m going to the ballet.” You drew out the second syllable and gave it a slight French air at the end, didn’t you?This week I found some lovely ballerina fabric in two colours: yellow and purple. It also comes in pink, but it wasn’t in stock (not surprised). And so I’m working on designing a dress that showcases both the fabric and those three hallmark elements: Beauty. Poise. Grace; while still being functional enough for every day wear.
Because if I were still a little girl, I’d want to feel like a ballerina as often as possible.