Limited Edition Bronze Dance Sculptures
I remember the first time I did this lift... It was even money whether I was going to start giggling uncontrollably or pass out from sheer terror. You ride up on a wave of pure force that feels like a mountain rising underneath you. The only thing that anchors you is the feel of your partner's hand in the small of your back. You arch up, and all you see is a vast upside-down space. Somebody yells at you to reach for the ceiling with one leg, and the floor (or your partner's chest) with the other. You have no idea where your feet are, but they're probably pointed, if only out of habit. Amazingly, it feels exactly the way it looks.
Some dancers work in the center of the studio, others wait their turn. At the barre one can steal a bite of an apple, take a slow stretch to cajole a strained hamtring back into health, rest the body and brain before the next onslaught.
In a quiet corner of the studio, an intimate moment in a young dancer's day: the ritual of the new pointe shoe which must have its ribbons and elastic sewn on, its stiffness softened and shaped to suit the dancer's foot, a dozen minute adjustments made to its fit and feel. She has the dancer's unconscious loveliness of line, even when alone and unobserved, a fallen shoulder strap and one bare foot, dressed in dancer chic (one leg warmer, oversized warm-up pants, and a dance bag stocked to meet any need). She is hand-mounted on a replica of a hardwood dance floor crafted from strips of cherrywood
