I seem to do everything just a bit out of step with the rest of the world. I want to believe that this makes me creative and unique. In actuality, it probably makes me delusional and provides proof that I have no sense of timing.
Case in point: most girls have their first pointe class in the 12-13 year range (if they have been taking ballet class through childhood). In keeping with this tradition, I took my first pointe class at 27 after having one preliminary ballet class (I was a modern dancer in college and beyond). Naturally, this meant that I was taking class almost exclusively made up of young girls, all of whom were taller than I was. And no, that isn’t awkward at all. Why do you ask?
I bring this up because I feel you won’t really know me until you’ve seen me in a canary yellow tutu (and I expect you all to start mailing me your tutu photos). Sadly, I don’t have a full-length photo of what would surely be held up as a symbol of dance as we know it. Seems like a tease, right? Do not despair. I have this photoshopped (because that poor man doesn’t deserve to be blogged) half image for you. While you don’t get the full effect of the tulle, you do get to enjoy the gold lamé crossing my bodice in a delightfully dreadful way.
I think it is clear here that:
a) I was dancing in Big Bird: The Early Years,
b) Dance recital costumes are never pretty, or
I got through the performances that year and then I immediately quit taking pointe class. It was as though I had something to prove and once I did it, I was done (or at least satisfied watching other people make their toes bleed). I feel like this impulse to prove something is shooting through me a lot these days (and then fading into a pool of lethargy somewhere around my knees). While I really doubt you’ll see a repeat of that yellow number, you never can tell where that particular impulse could take me this time (hope it’s somewhere green).