Movement and weight
I came across a posting on Instagram of a photograph taken of the costumes for a Russian theater production from 1908 of Konstantin Stanislavski’s, The Blue Bird. The image of a woman stooped over herself in a shroud makes me think of the sometimes unbearable weight we carry, whether generational trauma, memory, or responsibility to the family. The costume reminds me of the Greek nuns in the town where my great grandfather came from on the Peleponnesus, old-world and draped all in black, the color of mourning. But I’m also reminded of the belly dancer, with a celebretory belt filled with tassels that vibrate with the movement of the body.
