I love sunny Saturdays. Especially if there is a garage sale involved. Now, as a poor starving artist, I don’t have the capability to walk into a store and purchase all those special details a showgirl needs for her showgirl bag of tricks. I have to be creative. And that means I have to beg, borrow and barter. Garage sales are a great forum to showcase my slowly developing skills. Of course, none of these transactions are high finance by any means, but they save my precious shekels for those complex costume pieces that can’t be bought.
After a lazy morning spent snuggled up with my fur baby, Mr. Sun invited us outside to play. So, Hubby and I leashed our beloved Jilly Bean and stumbled out into the daylight and towards a neighbouring complex. As we turned the corner we saw, the grass was covered with tablecloths and the fences were strung with hangered goodies. In this big city it’s always strange to know your neighbours, especially by name, but recently our tiny universe of misfits has grown substantially. And one of Hubby’s oke regulars was one of the lovely ladies soaking up the sun and selling the bits and bobs that take up space in teeny TO condos. The pack rat in me loves sorting through the disorganized piles and finding a cracker jack prize. On this day I found a pair of elbow length white satin gloves. There they were, draped over the shoulder of the bust form decorated with jewels and topped off with a jaunty brown derby. Their iridescent gleam catching the sun. They wanted to come home with me, so I made it happen. What follows next may seem obsessive, but I’ll let you be the judge.
Those gloves became my best friend. They followed me through my day and all weekend long. I took them off. I put them back on. I posed and peeled. I caressed and caught them. I tossed, twirled and twisted those gloves. I would catch my reflection in all the shiny flat surfaces offering it. The stove-top, the sliding glass door, the hallway full length mirror. There were reflections of white gloved elegance everywhere. Now, if you’ve never worn satin gloves for a weekend, it changes you. It alters the way you hold your hands. The way you pick things up, only to put them down again somewhere new. The slightest flick of the wrist becomes a dramatic and enthralling gesture, if you do it right.
Now, if you’ve been following along, you know that last week was my premiere as a burlesque performer. It was great. By that I mean I had a lot of fun. But, I worked on that act for almost 2 months. I had to build the whole thing from scratch, which is great for a DIY diva like me. But now what do I do? I have 1 finished act…that hardly seems like enough. So, the next step is creating another act. Yay! That’s my favourite part. Ask any artist and they’ll tell you the beginning is the most exciting. And I am back at the beginning. This burlesque thing might be perfect for me. It plays into my OCD, ADD and dare I say it…Narcissism. What am I trying to say? Well, I am saying that I am now building act #2 (pronounced Numero deux). And this act is gonna feature my new best friends. Those gloves and I are going to be quite the pair.