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dancerjodiI had a great dance class last night - since I skipped class last week I had a bit of confusion catching up to things (not learning one step, and not doing the others for two weeks) but overall I had a lot of fun. The costume orders have gone in and I actually really like them this year. The ballet is a pink knee length skirt with a shorter burgandy velvet overskirt, burgandy velvet bodice w/ silver beading and little burgandy velvet 'armband-like' things. Our tap costume is a yellow dress with silver detailing - a 1930's swing style design (or, think Judy Garland). I'm really looking forward to the show this year, I'm not going to get caught up in my teacher's perfection - I'll just enjoy it for me.
After dancing I spent some time with B at our respective computers and after making tea for the both of us we sat down to read for a while. I've been reading some stories from Charles de Lint's "Moonlight & Vines" to him since he's been sick. I just love this man's writing - I wish I had more time to read through the piles of bookes I've collected over the years. In particular last night I enjoyed a poem in one of the stories:
"The artist closed her book,
returning it to the shelf
that stored the other
stories of her life.
When she looked up,
there were no riddles
in here gaze;
only knowing.
Don't make of us
more than we are
she said.
We hold no great secret
except this:
We know that
all endeavor is art
when rendered with conviction.
The simple beauty
of the everyday
strikes chords
as stirring as
oil on canvas,
finger on string,
the bour'ee in
perfect demi-pointe.
The difference is
we consider it art.
The difference is
we consider
art.
When it consumes us,
what consumes us,
is art:
an invisible city
we visit with our dreams
Returning,
we are laden down with
the baggage of
our journeys,
and somewhere,
in a steamer trunk
or a carry-on,
we carry souvenirs:
signposts,
guidebooks,
messages from beyond.
Some are merely
more opaque
than others."
........................................
I'm hoping to be able to spend more time relaxing, more time reading and hanging out with B, the pets and my friends. I want to experience things again like I did when I allowed myself the time to do it . . . why is it that we make things so crazy for ourselves?
After dancing I spent some time with B at our respective computers and after making tea for the both of us we sat down to read for a while. I've been reading some stories from Charles de Lint's "Moonlight & Vines" to him since he's been sick. I just love this man's writing - I wish I had more time to read through the piles of bookes I've collected over the years. In particular last night I enjoyed a poem in one of the stories:
"The artist closed her book,
returning it to the shelf
that stored the other
stories of her life.
When she looked up,
there were no riddles
in here gaze;
only knowing.
Don't make of us
more than we are
she said.
We hold no great secret
except this:
We know that
all endeavor is art
when rendered with conviction.
The simple beauty
of the everyday
strikes chords
as stirring as
oil on canvas,
finger on string,
the bour'ee in
perfect demi-pointe.
The difference is
we consider it art.
The difference is
we consider
art.
When it consumes us,
what consumes us,
is art:
an invisible city
we visit with our dreams
Returning,
we are laden down with
the baggage of
our journeys,
and somewhere,
in a steamer trunk
or a carry-on,
we carry souvenirs:
signposts,
guidebooks,
messages from beyond.
Some are merely
more opaque
than others."
........................................
I'm hoping to be able to spend more time relaxing, more time reading and hanging out with B, the pets and my friends. I want to experience things again like I did when I allowed myself the time to do it . . . why is it that we make things so crazy for ourselves?
