Singer and Dancer in the Studio
In my studio, I am surrounded by items that I love. This is the Singer sewing machine, originally a treadle machine, that belonged to my mother and upon which I learned to sew fifty years ago. (My, has it been that long?) I dreaded summer sewing lessons but my mother insisted that every proper young lady should know how to sew. Therefore, I would go each week to Mrs. Lazzara who would comment constantly about the selvage edge of the fabric. I was not a good seamstress back then but learned enough that I could make dresses for my three daughters until they begged me to stop.
Hanging on my supply cabinet are these pointe shoes, a gift from my oldest daughter to indulge my fantasy of being a ballerina someday. My mother also made certain I had dance lessons and so, at the age of four, I began taking lessons at Ella May's School of the Dance. Can you tell how very old I am by these requirements of my youth? Dancing school was a constant frustration for me, though, because only the cute little blond girls could be ballerinas. I was a cute little Hispanic girl and so I was only allowed to tap dance. These pointe shoes are a reminder for me that I could have been a great little ballerina if I had been given the opportunity. And my art is frequently a mirror of the events and descrimination that still creep into the world of women and girls. I would love to hear your stories if you are willing to share.
In my studio, I am surrounded by items that I love. This is the Singer sewing machine, originally a treadle machine, that belonged to my mother and upon which I learned to sew fifty years ago. (My, has it been that long?) I dreaded summer sewing lessons but my mother insisted that every proper young lady should know how to sew. Therefore, I would go each week to Mrs. Lazzara who would comment constantly about the selvage edge of the fabric. I was not a good seamstress back then but learned enough that I could make dresses for my three daughters until they begged me to stop.
Hanging on my supply cabinet are these pointe shoes, a gift from my oldest daughter to indulge my fantasy of being a ballerina someday. My mother also made certain I had dance lessons and so, at the age of four, I began taking lessons at Ella May's School of the Dance. Can you tell how very old I am by these requirements of my youth? Dancing school was a constant frustration for me, though, because only the cute little blond girls could be ballerinas. I was a cute little Hispanic girl and so I was only allowed to tap dance. These pointe shoes are a reminder for me that I could have been a great little ballerina if I had been given the opportunity. And my art is frequently a mirror of the events and descrimination that still creep into the world of women and girls. I would love to hear your stories if you are willing to share.
2 comments:
Shirley I have a sewing machine like that. It belonged to my Grandmother Maria and she sewed on it constantly. I love it. I love your ballerina shoes too. Hey, you could do anything you want to do. I mean look at you now with all your artistic skills. I was raised to believe that the woman stayed at home and the man worked. She was supposed to have dinner ready, house clean, clothes washed and all that kind of stuff. Funny thing is I do that still, but not because I HAVE to, but because I WANT to. That's the difference. Have a great Memorial Day weekend. Take care.
I love the ballet slippers and what they represent... I wanted to be a ballerina as a little girl, but my mother sent me to piano lessons instead starting at age 5. By age 17 I was very good at it, but had no passion for it. I wanted to dance! My fantasy was flamenco, and in these my middle-age years, I got myself a pair of shoes and took flamenco classes for five years. It is my grand passion.... duende!
It's never too late!! I hope you'll put on the pointes and dance.
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