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.
