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hints of flesh -- the ball
Oct. 17th, 2004 03:30 pmAt some point, during the ball last night, it occured to me that I wanted to write about this the way I used to write about nightclubs, which I loved for the weird sort of courtly behavior that was often a part of the ones I frequented (even if that's also been a recent subject of vague surlyness on my part). It was a strange emotion, one that nearly brought tears to my eyes at the memory of how hard I once cleaved to certain things merely because they were the best approximations I could find of the things I wanted.
My dress, which had been such an utter nightmare to me at every step of the way was actually, in the end, exactly what I wanted it to be. Early-Regency by intention, and French by accident of fabric (a source of perpetual amusement to many, especially when a conversation digressed onto the misery of dancing masters during the Napoleanic wars as they couldn't get new dances in from Paris). It was not the fanciest dress there (although it was nearly, and that honor very much belonged to the girl who had an 1820s piece made by a Broadway costumer), but when I looked around there wasn't a single other dress I'd rather have been wearing. It was exactly what I wanted.
I'm also eager to make another. I'm going to make a day dress to wear to classes -- people don't costume for classes, but dancing in the dress was a new and exciting challenge, and I'd rather practice in one too. So that's the next project, and far easier and less hurried than the one I just completed. This is after me vowing left, right and sideways that I didn't want to sew anything else for a very long time.
I must note that as easy and stupid as it is, I love the Sir Roger de Coverly more than any of the other dances. A whole bunch of local Scottish dancers also came -- big men mostly who were ridiculously light on their feet, with their wives in white dresses with tartans, and managed to do Qudrilles that have driven the rest of us insane perfectly. With their addition, there were over forty people at the ball, mostly costumed and nearly gender-balanced, and everyone danced, and despite my repeated sneaking down to the game room, no one else had a bit of interest in a break for cards.
I should note that the event was at a Lutheran church, in a very nice room upstairs, that opened up onto the balcony of the worship area. The room was light-colored, and the interior of the church was all dark woods, and many of us spoke about sneaking downstairs and staging some fake wedding, and other otherwise church related photos. No one did, but it was an interesting emotional impulse to see noted by such an odd variety of people.
The unused game room, was down a flight of narrow stairs behind the balcony -- and was filled with bookshelves, and card tables set up for backgamon and whist and the like. Perfectly perfect, but I already told you how that worked out.
The reenactor from an Italian reigment during the Napoleanic wars had cancelled at the last moment, so we did dance lessons for 5 hours (with breaks) then broke for dinner, changed and had the ball. It was often awkward and ridiculous, with people still learning the dances, and many struggling with how much of the manner of the time to assume (as this was a dance-focused event, it did not benefit from the heirarchical structures of the SCA or the military-based organizational structures you see with American Revolution and Civil War Reenactors).
While this is not secret to anyone, I discovered yet again that I really, absolutely, positively do completely have a thing about high collars and neckscarves (neckcloths? whatever, you all know what I mean). Like, really really really really. It's a tad funny.
I talked about riding and horses with people, dance, sewing and the like. I often felt distant from the world, like people didn't know what to do with me, the girl with the beautiful feet, or I them, but it's a joy of not wearing my glasses, of not being able to tell the candles were electric, of being able to dance while always peering over the man's shoulder, not to see who is going to walk into the room next, but to imagine it.
Lately, I've been thinking about how people simply don't have hobbies anymore. People at work found it so odd I was going to this event. They kept asking why. Because it gives me pleasure. Why do you go to a bar, or spend time with friends? No one pursues an activity anymore for its own sake, and I think that's a shame. Because I am so ambitious, I rarely have hobbies -- things become much more serious than that very quickly in my world. But, this apparently would be my hobby, and I think it's lovely, and I'm going to do what I can in my non-copious amounts of free time to lure more people into something that I find charming, good exercise, socially pleasant (and I might add, oddly familiar, but that relates to my upbringing among other things) and lovely.
The dance of the time was strangely egalitarian, and its social aspects are a peculiar echo of a world any modern person would surely find stifling, and yet for all that, they are also demonstrative of how little all of what we overshare today is necessary in the evaluation of people on all the levels on which we claim to evaluate them. Perhaps that's a strange thing for a public journaler to say, but I like this world where people knew how to do things other than think and flirted based on the curve of their arm.
My dress, which had been such an utter nightmare to me at every step of the way was actually, in the end, exactly what I wanted it to be. Early-Regency by intention, and French by accident of fabric (a source of perpetual amusement to many, especially when a conversation digressed onto the misery of dancing masters during the Napoleanic wars as they couldn't get new dances in from Paris). It was not the fanciest dress there (although it was nearly, and that honor very much belonged to the girl who had an 1820s piece made by a Broadway costumer), but when I looked around there wasn't a single other dress I'd rather have been wearing. It was exactly what I wanted.
I'm also eager to make another. I'm going to make a day dress to wear to classes -- people don't costume for classes, but dancing in the dress was a new and exciting challenge, and I'd rather practice in one too. So that's the next project, and far easier and less hurried than the one I just completed. This is after me vowing left, right and sideways that I didn't want to sew anything else for a very long time.
I must note that as easy and stupid as it is, I love the Sir Roger de Coverly more than any of the other dances. A whole bunch of local Scottish dancers also came -- big men mostly who were ridiculously light on their feet, with their wives in white dresses with tartans, and managed to do Qudrilles that have driven the rest of us insane perfectly. With their addition, there were over forty people at the ball, mostly costumed and nearly gender-balanced, and everyone danced, and despite my repeated sneaking down to the game room, no one else had a bit of interest in a break for cards.
I should note that the event was at a Lutheran church, in a very nice room upstairs, that opened up onto the balcony of the worship area. The room was light-colored, and the interior of the church was all dark woods, and many of us spoke about sneaking downstairs and staging some fake wedding, and other otherwise church related photos. No one did, but it was an interesting emotional impulse to see noted by such an odd variety of people.
The unused game room, was down a flight of narrow stairs behind the balcony -- and was filled with bookshelves, and card tables set up for backgamon and whist and the like. Perfectly perfect, but I already told you how that worked out.
The reenactor from an Italian reigment during the Napoleanic wars had cancelled at the last moment, so we did dance lessons for 5 hours (with breaks) then broke for dinner, changed and had the ball. It was often awkward and ridiculous, with people still learning the dances, and many struggling with how much of the manner of the time to assume (as this was a dance-focused event, it did not benefit from the heirarchical structures of the SCA or the military-based organizational structures you see with American Revolution and Civil War Reenactors).
While this is not secret to anyone, I discovered yet again that I really, absolutely, positively do completely have a thing about high collars and neckscarves (neckcloths? whatever, you all know what I mean). Like, really really really really. It's a tad funny.
I talked about riding and horses with people, dance, sewing and the like. I often felt distant from the world, like people didn't know what to do with me, the girl with the beautiful feet, or I them, but it's a joy of not wearing my glasses, of not being able to tell the candles were electric, of being able to dance while always peering over the man's shoulder, not to see who is going to walk into the room next, but to imagine it.
Lately, I've been thinking about how people simply don't have hobbies anymore. People at work found it so odd I was going to this event. They kept asking why. Because it gives me pleasure. Why do you go to a bar, or spend time with friends? No one pursues an activity anymore for its own sake, and I think that's a shame. Because I am so ambitious, I rarely have hobbies -- things become much more serious than that very quickly in my world. But, this apparently would be my hobby, and I think it's lovely, and I'm going to do what I can in my non-copious amounts of free time to lure more people into something that I find charming, good exercise, socially pleasant (and I might add, oddly familiar, but that relates to my upbringing among other things) and lovely.
The dance of the time was strangely egalitarian, and its social aspects are a peculiar echo of a world any modern person would surely find stifling, and yet for all that, they are also demonstrative of how little all of what we overshare today is necessary in the evaluation of people on all the levels on which we claim to evaluate them. Perhaps that's a strange thing for a public journaler to say, but I like this world where people knew how to do things other than think and flirted based on the curve of their arm.
