dances

I wanted to be a ballerina when I was little, because I loved The Nutcracker, and then I realized that I was too clumsy and awkward and undisciplined to really do that kind of thing. That kind of otherworldliness meant a short stint in community theatre, which was disappointing to me, in part because everything was so cutesy and not nearly so wondrous as the pictures that informed my imagination.

One of my friends is a dance teacher and it's fascinating to watch her choreograph and work movement through music in a way that I can't even comprehend. She also had catalogs full of costumes that we'd go through looking for things that would work for the kids she teaches, and most of them were hideously ugly and extremely disturbing when seen on tweenage girls that made them look like tiny hookers (for what it's worth, one can't obtain such catalogs unless one is a dance instructor probably due to its being pedophile fodder). Another once danced in Europe and told me that the world is brutal, and not as beautiful as it looks onstage.

But what gets me is not necessarily the flaunting of bodily form but the lack of beauty in its exhibition. It seems like so many of them are stuck in some kind of quasi-1980s MTV netherworld of flourescence and fishnets, and while I like some of what I've seen in modern dance, I don't understand the sartorial choices either, especially in comparison with these...

backstory here...

pirouette

Like most girls who grew up with fairy tales and and geeky love of beauty, I wanted to be a ballerina when I was seven, before I realized that one needed a small build and more innate athleticism than what I was born with. My mom took me to see The Nutcracker which left me enthralled but after realizing that I looked goofy when I dance, I've reserved movement for times when I've been home alone or undulating with the flow of bodies in the mosh pit in my early twenties, a few awkward moments of social dance notwithstanding. It's one of those things I still appreciate but know better than to attempt.

Some of my friends in this world tell me tales of drama and unchecked egos, of waiting tables and lack of pay, and all kinds of duress that make the world seem much less romantic than it did when the other side was kept hidden.