Prelude to a Dress A Day

My Studio is my palace. Measuring less than 350 square feet, it is classroom and bedroom and treatment room and living room and most of all a laboratory for my spirit. The antique Emerson cabinet grand stands where a bed might have rested up against the wall, and for a year now (we celebrate the anniversary of our independence in less than three weeks) I have spoken of ridding myself of it by any means necessary. Oh, I have tried! It is as heavy and awkward as the relationship that brought it into my life. I know not how to play it and it is merely a mediocre surface for my drifting papers and artifacts, yet it is a beautiful instrument and who am I to destroy a source of music for the sake of a mattress? I am not, not one of those.

Then love and a lover came into my life, filled it with music so sweet and a desire to sing and play. In a moment I knew the piano had to stay, and with the help of my love and my lover I would learn to play it, would love to play at learning it. The mattress could continue living in the closet, why not, but now that the imagination was not working so hard at erasing the presence of the piano, the need for proper shelves could no longer be denied. I need some good shelves, I announced to myself and a few dear ones. Days later Elizabeth arrived in the evening to borrow a costume and mentioned a bookshelf standing on the corner of my very own block. Shoes on and a short march and we two are in front of a beautiful sight to behold: a gorgeous wooden bookshelf measuring exactly the right size to fit in the left-most window alcove. Exactly is perhaps an understatement, this fit is a marvel best enjoyed with the naked eye.

And so began the second round of Spring cleaning for the season. Bookshelf organizing led to the creation of a jewelry display case, refrigerator scrubbing, dust bunny collecting, bathroom shelf mounting, and of course, closet cleaning. It is always a good idea to clean and clear my closet out, considering that half of it is occupied by said mattress. Just over a month ago I celebrated my closet clearing with a clothing swap, and this more recent sweep took with it a few more items. But not a single dress was thrown out. It is a marvel how many dresses I keep, and how I keep them all in the tiny space of my closet is a miracle, but as with the piano, I could not be convinced to throw a single one out.

Why? Whatfor? The practical one, the one who loves to throw shit out, spoke up: when will you wear all these dresses, Ophra? you would have to wear a dress a day for the entire season to get through them all. The wily one, increasingly adept at negotiating between the heart and the mind, smiled. Then that's what we'll do, darling, we'll wear a dress a day! And the lover chimed in: oh yes, but we'll not only wear them, we'll dance them! The practical one, recently softened by frequent smiles and multiple orgasms, agreed. But not without setting a few terms: let them be short dances, recorded on the flip camera and so easily uploaded, and better get the whiny one on board, because this is going to require some keyboard greasing and eye frying on the bright screen if we're going to share our pleasure with the world.

My keyboard is greasy now (I blame the popcorn), and my eyes are fried. The whiny one, relatively calm tonight after having had her fitful spotlight for the past two days, reminds us that we are all tired. Time to upload the videos.

Enjoy.