Being a professional dancer ain’t all pretty as you can see from the snapshot above. Some days things get pretty ugly, in fact. No matter. With every dream there’s going to come some good and some “bad” moments. You can take it all in stride. When frustration rears its ugly head, don’t let it get the best of you. It’s a temporary hiccup in the grand scheme of fulfilling your dream. Who knows? Some day the very debacle that vexed you may be your favorite story to chuckle about.
Enjoy this next excerpt from
by Kristi Lynn Davis
Many of the Celebration Magnifico costumes I’d found so enchanting were created by the same costume designer Miriam was using to outfit our Mirmdance production. Gareth, the master of material, was a gorgeous, gay, punk-blonde, British bodybuilder who always wore a skimpy tank top and spandex pants to highlight his flawless physique. His design studio was smack dab in the middle of the meat packing district over on 9th Avenue on the West side of Manhattan. Miriam sent me there for what was to become, unbeknownst to either of us, the most memorable costume fitting I would ever have.
Although previously unacquainted with this part of town, it became “udderly” obvious when I had stumbled upon the meat-packing district. A lump formed in my throat as I meandered past man after man in white butchers’ coats spattered with blood. They were hauling out slabs of animal carcasses to be turned into delectable steaks at some of New York’s finest restaurants, no doubt. I’m surprised I didn’t turn into a vegetarian that very day. This place made the Lower East Side/East Village neighborhood of Alphabet City (named for its A, B, C, and D Avenues) with its emaciated, toothless, drug addicts who hung out in doorways of dilapidated buildings and glared at me as I walked by, feel like home sweet home. I was the only woman in sight as well as the only person devoid of blood stains. Learning that come darkness the meat-packing district turned into an underground world of S&M made the place that much more eerie. Animals slaughtered by day, humans whipped by night.
Kristi & Jenny in “Lucy’s Future”
My heart pounded as I searched for the address on my notepaper, eager to extricate myself from the bovine body parts. Finally finding my destination, I ran up the stairs to the safety of the second-floor shop where I spotted Gareth surrounded by scraps of colorful fabric and fantastical costumes in various stages of completion. “I’m here for my fitting,” I announced shakily, still catching my breath from the shocking cow-corpse display. I ogled his bulging biceps as he placed the measuring tape around my body parts, which drooped in shame at their flabbiness in comparison to his rock-hardness. Spandex could have no greater friend than Gareth to show off its stretchy, shape-revealing properties, but I wasn’t so sure I wanted my every nook and cranny and bulge accentuated.
Nevertheless, that is what happened. For not only would I be covered in material so form-fitting that a pimple on my rump would have been detectable to the audience, but the “Lucy’s Future” sea monster costume was so hideous that I contemplated swimming as fast and far away from Mirmdance as my squid appendages could muster. The costume consisted of black and white speckled spandex that covered my entire body minus my left leg and my midriff, which were exposed. “I have to show my stomach?” The armpieces were long gloves with three- to four-foot long, spandex tentacles that hung off the fingertips. The headpiece was a spandex, squid ski mask of sorts topped with a tall pillow mimicking a squid body. “I could not look any uglier. Even another squid wouldn’t find me attractive. Why am I subjecting myself to this embarrassment?”
Kristi in red dress for “99 Reasons to Wear Condoms” and Jenny Dewar with fan
Fortunately, the other two costumes were more friendly: a pretty red dress for “99 Reasons to Wear Condoms” and a colorful, spandex (of course), short-sleeved, midriff-bearing (of course) top, leggings, and short, flouncy skirt for “Set Free.”
As the performance dates neared, the Mirmdance company gathered for a photo shoot to make a publicity poster. To my great dismay, Miriam chose to feature “Lucy’s Future,” so I had to wear the dreaded sea monster get-up. Thankfully, I was hidden in the back of the group photo. I felt a little better about my costume upon seeing Sharla, the star of the number, who was virtually naked, wearing only a tiny G-string and painted in silver body paint. I gasped. “Holy cow, she’s topless!” I whispered excitedly to Jenny, who was well aware of Sharla’s titillating presence.
All of us insidiously sensual squids strangled Sharla’s shimmering breasts in a tentacle entanglement and “Click!” the photo was snapped. The night after the posters returned from the printer, Jenny and I traipsed around Manhattan plastering them on walls next to posters of esteemed entertainers. I felt famous by proximity; in spite of looking absolutely grotesque in the picture, it was thrilling.
Mirmdance performed for three nights in October back at the Nikolais Louis Dancespace. The large room conveniently converted into a stage through the use of lights, temporary curtains, and folding chairs for the audience. Tickets were $8 each. People had to pay real money to see me perform. I was disappointed that I had no friends and family there to witness my debut as a professional modern dancer, but Jenny’s family attended and even Bart and Danny, our Celebration Magnifico bosses, kindly showed up to support Miriam and the rest of their employees.
My show should have been pretty easy with only three pieces to perform. “99 Reasons to Wear Condoms” came first and, for me, predominantly involved walking around and falling over in my red dress and black high heels. There was no music, only heart-wrenching narration about the spread of AIDS, coupled with images of people from various parts of the community hooking up and then keeling over from the dreaded disease. I successfully strutted and collapsed on cue. Dance numero uno: no problemo.
“Lucy’s Future,” however, was not even close to smooth sailing. My costume made me feel like a gargantuan goofball and turned the number into even more of an oceanic nightmare than it already was. Every time I did a backward somersault, and there were several, my stupid squid hat fell down over my eyes, and I had to keep pushing it back up so I could see. As if that weren’t aggravating enough, every blind attempt to get up off the floor was thwarted by my treading on my hand tentacles. The dance moved fast and furiously, and it was nearly impossible to keep up while fighting that darn squid costume. I wrestled with it the entire number. Perhaps Jacques Cousteau would have fared better under attack, but in my case, the sea creature won, tentacles down.
“Set Free” (Kristi is center)
At least my last number, the finale of the show, left me dancing in my element—jazzy, smiling, and having fun. How ironic that it was called, “Set Free,” which is precisely what I felt having finally and forever extracted myself from that wretched squid costume. This piece made it easier to let go of my crustacean frustration from the previous piece and genuinely feel joyfully liberated. I felt redeemed as I ended the night on good note.
The greatest thrill was being reviewed by the New York Times. It was a mixed critique, but “Set Free” was praised for having “gusto.” Another review in the New York Native, stated, “The ten dancers are affable, well rehearsed, and determined…” Only after reading our reviews in the paper did I have any inkling of what our dances were about. That’s the thing about modern dance; it always has a message, and it’s often a challenge to figure out just what that message is.
It’s okay to take the bad (and the ugly) with the good. Laugh. Learn. It’s all good. Thanks for reading.
Lunge on,
Kristi
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