Tag Archives: Terez Rose

Classical Girl’s New Year’s resolution

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Do I want this blog to be the story of the fiery, relentless energy of the ten years in which I produced five muse-inspired novels? The aching loss as the decade-long dream of being traditionally published got pounded down into nothingness?

Nah.

The New Year is a great opportunity to end a pity party over what didn’t work, and move on. It’s what I did in January 2013 when my second ballet novel was on submission with editors, the third such process in four years, with the same discouraging results. I love writing novels; it was what I wanted to keep doing forever. But writing novel #6 wasn’t going well. Neither was writing #7. Or attempting revised versions of both. Hobbled by continued editorial rejection, my attempts to create new material felt awkward and disingenuous, like operating ventriloquists’ dummies where once there’d been flesh and blood characters. Alas, these are the perils of a creative vocation. The muse no-shows, for whatever reason, and you’re screwed, or at least embarrassed into silence about the dreck you’re producing. And what I missed, in truth, was writing about ballet and classical music, even as, fiction-wise, no new ideas had sprung up. Fine, I thought, a dance and music-related blog. That I could do, with or without editorial approval.

Nonfiction comes easier to me, and is not so heavily dependent on a muse. You show up to write each day, you work with diligence, you research to back up your glimmer of an idea, and eventually (for me, at least), out comes an essay or article. It doesn’t give me the same buzz as writing fiction. The latter is like a lover, the former the good friend always there for you, who makes you a cup of tea, lets you cry, then helps you brainstorm about Plan B.

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I’m all for Plan Bs now. Maybe they don’t take me where I thought I was going, where I was so sure I was intended to go, where I really, really wanted to go. But they are taking me where life is pointing me, and they are showing me the way.

Back to my 2015 New Year’s resolution: it’s time to self-publish my ballet novels instead of letting them languish in the drawer. Come spring, dear reader, out goes the first one, Off Balance. In October of 2016, it will be followed by the sequel-but-not, Outside the Limelight. These are books 1 and 2 of “The Ballet Theatre Chronicles” series. They are, if you might not have guessed, ballet novels. Except not really. They are stories set in the ballet world, featuring not just dancers but ex-dancers, dance administrators and others involved with the performing arts world, or just the world in general. They feature characters from all walks of life, who are being forced to deal with the shit that’s landed on their plate. Whether you’re a dancer or not, face it, shit finds its way to you. How characters deal with their plateful of shit, how they use it to grow (shit is great fertilizer, you know), to transcend and be transformed, emerging with stronger relationships and a stronger sense of self—these are the stories I love to write.

While I’m up here at the mic, making noisy announcements I can’t take back, let’s add a few more resolutions. After the two “Ballet Theatre Chronicles” novels are out, I’ll publish my first novel, A Dancer’s Guide to Africa.* That novel’s been whispering to me a lot lately, coaxing me over to play around with it. I love when my older novels do that. They come back to life, however temporarily. In some ways, I feel as though all of my completed novels have been given a new lease on life, because I no longer need to write them in accordance with the demands of the Big 5** publishing editors. I’ve taken out of the story what I didn’t enjoy writing. I don’t groove on gloomy, edgy stories, sorrow-packed endings. Call me unsophisticated, but I like old fashioned romance tucked into my intelligent fiction. A little sex, good food descriptions, some escapism. An optimistic, satisfying ending. Apparently (um, clearly), traditional publishing doesn’t want to sell what I love to write.

And, hey. How’s about a Book 3 of the Ballet Theatre Chronicles? Sure, why not?

Bye, bye, traditional publishing. (And am I still thinking this is such a loss for me?)

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This is kind of scary, trumpeting out this news. Because it means that I’m going to have to do it. I’m that kind of person. My pride gets in there, and I dig my heels in. When I started this blog, two years ago, I said “minimum two years.” Those first six months, I was ready to quit, time and time again. But that pride thing made me keep at it. And now, I’m realizing that at the end of next month, I will have achieved my goal. Woo hoo!

So, consider it official. Classical Girl’s novels are going to step out into the world. Here’s what the lineup looks like:

  • Off Balance, Book 1 of the Ballet Theatre Chronicles –  May 2015
  • Outside the Limelight, Book 2 of the Ballet Theatre Chronicles – October 2016
  • A Dancer’s Guide to Africa, a novel – Oct 2, 2018
  • Ballet Orphans – Book 3 of the Ballet Theatre Chronicles (a prequel) – Fall 2020
  • Little Understudies, Book 4 of the Ballet Theatre Chronicles – TBA
  • Ecstatic Interference, a novel – TBA

Please join me, dear reader, in wishing all of us success in our Plan Bs, our New Year’s resolutions, and may 2015 bring us all health, prosperity and satisfaction in our work, families and lives.

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* I blogged about and posted the opening chapter from A Dancer’s Guide to Africa, formerly titled Black Ivory Soul, last year. Wanna read? http://www.theclassicalgirl.com/classical-girls-black-ivory-soul/

** Big 5 publishers = Penguin Random House, Macmillan, HarperCollins, Hachette, Simon & Schuster. Yes, them. The enemy. But I forgive you. I have a hunch I’ll do just fine without you.

San Francisco Ballet’s Triple Treat: Maelstrom, Caprice, Rite of Spring

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It was a night for music lovers, not just ballet lovers, last Saturday at the San Francisco Ballet. Beethoven’s Piano Trio no. 1, Saint Saens’ Symphony no. 2 (injected with the sublime 2nd movement from his Symphony no. 3) and Stravinsky’s iconic The Rite of Spring. We are so fortunate, we of the San Francisco Bay Area, to have such quality music performances available, and not just from the Symphony across the street. Music director Martin West and the San Francisco Ballet Orchestra did a knock-up job Saturday night. The Rite of Spring, in particular, was astonishing.

The night’s dancing, too, was sublime. There was Mark Morris’ Maelstrom, twenty years after its premiere, the first of eight ballets the San Francisco Ballet has commissioned from him. Caprice, a world premiere this season from SFB artistic director Helgi Tomasson. Yuri Possokhov’s The Rite of Spring, a reprise from last year’s premiere that itself commemorated the centennial of the ballet’s first turbulent, riot-provoking Paris debut. Great stuff.

More about the opener, Mark Morris’ Maelstrom. Morris’s choreography is widely acclaimed for its musicality, craftsmanship and ingenuity. More of a modern choreographer at heart, he likes to push the boundaries on what constitutes classical movement. The result is neoclassicism tinted with modern, a flexed foot or hand thrown in, a pause in an inelegant position. Twenty years after its premiere, the ballet still looks fresh and interesting. The dancing felt rather busy in the first movement, however, with small groups of dancers repeating the same combinations, only some a few counts behind, producing a quasi-confused swirl of syncopated (and sometimes not) dancers, which I guess is a good definition of a maelstrom as well. The cast was a fourteen member ensemble. It was hard for me to follow which dancer was which. (Notable, in spite of this, were Sarah Van Patten and Sasha de Sola.) But it’s to the corps de ballet dancers’ credit that, often, I couldn’t even discern rank. Bravo (bravi?) to dancers Shannon Rugani, Steven Morse, Julia Rowe, Lee Alexandra Meyer-Lorey, Jeremy Rucker, Wei Wang. You all looked great amid your higher ranked peers.

Sasha De Sola and Steven Morse in Morris' Maelstrom. © Erik Tomasson

Sasha De Sola and Steven Morse in Morris’ Maelstrom.
© Erik Tomasson

A musical treat: a live piano trio, just off stage right, in the pit. Musicians—violinist Kay Stern, cellist Eric Sung, Roy Bogas on the piano—did a wonderful job. Beethoven’s Piano Trio no. 1 is nicknamed the “Ghost” trio for the ghostly beauty of second movement. It all worked so well, music and dancers and musicians. 

Hopping ahead to Possokhov’s The Rite of Spring, last year’s premiere celebrating the centennial of the 1913 Ballets Russes production, deemed so unorthodox it incited riots outside its Paris theater. Stravinsky’s music, created for the ballet, (choreographed by Nijinsky for Diaghilev’s Ballets Russes), is extravagant, compelling, a mammoth of a score, at turns chaotic, sensual, gleeful, and terrifyingly remorseless.

Benjamin Stewart and James Sofranko in Possokhov's Rite Of Spring. © Erik Tomasson

Benjamin Stewart and James Sofranko in Possokhov’s Rite Of Spring.
© Erik Tomasson

Possokhov has nailed the mood, the original ballet’s intention. Based on Russian folklore, The Rite of Spring depicts a primal culture, relishing the arrival of spring and sensuality. Lights rise on a woodland set, a hillside incline, designed by Benjamin Pierce. Sleepy young women awaken, roll down it, and stand to greet the spring day, embracing it as well as their own sensuality (dresses slowly pulled up, over their heads, revealing their gorgeous young bodies, the ultimate symbol of fecundity). Young men join them, quivering and eager to embrace the spectacle (not to mention the girls). Ah, spring. But there’s a price to pay. A young woman, “the chosen,” must be sacrificed to appease the gods, so the others might live. The sensual, feral nature of the ballet, the choreography, was engrossing to watch last year, and even more enjoyable this time. Jennifer Stahl, as the chosen one, nailed the role for the second year in a row, and now officially owns it, as do the deliciously fearful pair of conjoined elders (sharing the same skirted costume) James Sofranko and Benjamin Stewart, spears in hand, who carry out the dictate. And kudos to Luke Ingham, the chosen one’s consort, his second big role for the night, following Caprice. Busy night for Ingham. Lots of lifting. Well done.

Sandwiched between these two ballets was Helgi Tomasson’s world premiere, Caprice, which featured nineteen dancers, including two pas de deux couples. A shifting backdrop designed by Alexander V. Nichols was mesmerizing: lit beams, like pillars intersected by one horizontal beam, all of which moved closer/further between movements, creating a different mood each time. Wonderfully effective. Costumes, designed by Holly Hynes, were flowing and lovely, the two principal women in paler colors than their ensemble counterparts. “Flowing and lovely” describes the neoclassical choreography as well. Lyrical, easy on the eye, no great risks, no pushing at the boundaries.

Maria Kochetkova and Davit Karapetyan in Tomasson's Caprice. © Erik Tomasson

Maria Kochetkova and Davit Karapetyan in Tomasson’s Caprice.
© Erik Tomasson

Principals Maria Kochetkova, Davit Karapetyan and Yuan Yuan Tan rank among the company’s top dancers, and they all were in fine form. Tan, skillfully partnered by Luke Ingham, had her signature liquid elegance, those distinctive long limbs and feet and airy lyricism. In the second movement, she was slid along on the floor by Steven Morse and Hansuke Yamamoto (and Luke Ingham?) and it was so playful, so deliciously smooth and quick-moving, like watching a nice sailboat skim across the San Francisco Bay on a sunny day.

Davit Karapetyan, too, was a powerhouse that night. Is it just me or is he suddenly magnificent this season? There’s an authority, a power to his jumps, his upper body presentation made him thrilling to watch. Kochetkova, his partner, was wonderful; she always is. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her paired up right next to Tan, though. This ballet allows for a study in contrasts from these two very popular, beloved principals. The third movement, in particular, where the music shifts from Saint Saens’ Symphony no. 2 to the second movement his Symphony no. 3 gives us an unprecedented opportunity to watch not just one but two pas de deux lead couples sharing the adagio movement.

I’ve long been in love with this movement/symphony ( http://www.theclassicalgirl.com/haunted-by-saint-saens-organ-symphony/ ) which gave this shared pas de deux Peak Moment Status for me. Honestly, I can’t wax lyrically enough about it. The music, and the dance, transported me.

The last minute of the movement has the two pas de deux couples alternating overhead grand jeté lifts, moving from one side of the stage to the other. Lighting (by Christopher Dennis) was perfect. Both the movement and the music were gorgeous, dreamy. A six-note descent motif offers first the woodwinds. The violins repeat. There’s almost a searching motif, the first voice on a quest, the lower voice responding, a haunting counterpoint.

Take a listen for yourself, down below. The score traditionally calls for an organ (thus the symphony’s nickname, “The Organ Symphony”) but the SFB orchestra fared very well with a transcribed use of woodwind voices instead. The second movement starts around 10m29. The six-note descent section (think ethereal overhead grand-jeté lifts as you listen) is at 18m30.

No doubt about it, a night of great dance and music. Well done, San Francisco Ballet and SFB Orchestra both.

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PS: Looking for more recent and/or specific dance reviews? You can find all those links HERE

Ohad Naharin’s “Minus 16”

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Last Friday night I attended Ballet San Jose’s “Neoclassical to Now,” the opening program of their 2014 season. Balanchine’s Serenade and Jorma Elo’s Glow-Stop were recognizable and memorable, but I knew nothing about the evening’s third piece, Israeli choreographer’s Ohad Naharin’s Minus 16. During the intermission just prior, someone dressed in a dark suit jacket and dress slacks, meandered onto the semi-lit stage and began to do his own little groove. Initially, it entailed a few desultory turns, more meandering, a few impromptu dance movements. The house lights were on; a good portion of the audience was distracted with conversation and/or out of the auditorium. Because, this wasn’t part of the performance, what was taking place onstage. Right? Or was it? Music was playing over the speakers, an irresistible cha-cha, but it had commenced at intermission, so no clues there. Thumbing through my playbill to consult the company roster, I was able to confirm that no, the person onstage dancing was not a confused and/or dangerously self-absorbed audience member. It was corps de ballet dancer James Kopecky. Which meant this was part of the performance. Or was it?

“No way,” I said to my husband, sitting next to me. “He’s just goofing around.”

“I think this might be the performance starting,” he said.

“But that’s impossible—half the audience isn’t paying attention.”

“I think that’s part of the performance too.”

It was funny as hell to watch; you never knew whether Kopecky was going to produce serious, “real” dance or clown around. One bit was a parody on Serenade, which had been the first ballet on the night’s program, where seventeen corps females stand solemnly, feet parallel, and on cue, all turn their feet out to first position, in perfect synchronicity. Very iconic. Kopecky’s Balanchine-esque echo segued, improbably, into Elvis-like hip gyrations. More craziness ended with a solemn, elegant, classical prep for chaîné turns. Which segued into more abstracted hilarity.

Ten minutes later, as other audience members returned to their seats, puzzled at the performance that seemed to have started without them, other dancers joined Kopecky onstage, attired in the same dark suits, each one slipping into his/her own dance groove. The house lights dimmed and there all of them were, dancing wildly, each one markedly different, like a something out of a Harlem Shake video clip.

Mr. Classical Girl had been right. The performance had begun.

It helps to make sense out of this madness if you know about Ohad Naharin and Gaga. (No relation to Lady Gaga. Please.) Naharin, choreographer of Minus 16, is the artistic director of the Israeli-based Batsheva Dance Company and the creator of a dance movement language he calls Gaga. It is a philosophy, a style of dance movement, that’s more about listening to our bodies than telling them what to do. It encourages dancers to liberate themselves from fixed notions about dance, stepping beyond training and discipline to connect with the soul, with inner creativity, with passion. It apparently encourages the audience, as well, to liberate themselves from notions of when the performance should begin. And as for how it will end, well, we’ll get to that later.

Minus 16, premiering in 1999, is a collection of vignettes culled from Naharin’s previous works. The music, too, is a startling amalgam, including the traditional “Echad Mi Yodea,” arranged and performed by rock group The Tractor’s Revenge, Vivaldi’s “Stabat Mater,” the lone tick-tick of a metronome, and a techno-rendition of “Over The Rainbow,” to name but a few. I reviewed the evening’s program over at Bachtrack, which you can read HERE. Because I am lazy and don’t want to re-describe the same thing, here’s a nub of it.

“In the first vignette, the dancers are sitting in a wide semi-circle on metal fold-up chairs, dressed in suits, hunched over, weary-looking, elbows on knees. To the lively, effervescent ‘Echad Mi Yodea’ arrangement, the dancers throw their bodies and heads back against their chairs, one by one, eyes and arms to the sky, before returning to their hunch, creating a ripple effect. The exercise repeats itself, adding more exuberant synchronized movements each time, including pulling off clothing items and throwing them into a communal heap in the center.”

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It’s hard to explain why this is so irresistible and works so well, but it does. It was astonishing, mesmerizing. Ballet San Jose dancers performed it with perfect synchronicity, all of them literally hurling themselves into the performance. Here’s a link to Batsheva Dance Company performing it. They are the originals, but I have to say, I thought the Ballet San Jose performance was better, as good as it gets. The piece is a staple of the Alvin Ailey repertoire now, and you can find links to clips of their performance, as well, but I will still argue that their excellent performance didn’t surpass Ballet San Jose’s.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ktlzJ9IDjwE

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Sandwiched between the mad energy and electricity of the work’s opener and closer is a sensuous, thoughtful pas de deux, performed wonderfully on Friday night by corps dancers Lahna Vanderbush and Kendall Teague. To the music of Vivaldi’s “Stabat Mater,” they move and sway, Teague approaching Vanderbush in an uneasy duet, his wiggling clasped hands before him, like a male preening in an elaborate courtship ritual in the animal world. Vanderbush both wary and intrigued, alternates between reaching for him, clinging, and moving abruptly away. Theirs is a mysterious, gorgeous pas de deux, with balances and holds like something out of Cirque du Soleil.

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The final part of Minus 16 really brings audience members to their feet. Um, literally. I won’t issue a spoiler here, but suffice to say, it’s one hell of a memorable finish to a memorable ballet/work. Go read my review if you want to know more. Or, better yet, go see a performance for yourself. Alvin Ailey Dance Theater will be performing this in the San Francisco Bay Area in April. And I have a hunch Ballet San Jose will be doing this one again.

Soon, we hope.

© 2014 Terez Rose

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Here’s an interview with Naharin about Gaga, and some of his dancers demonstrating its use. Good stuff:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OGPG1QL1vJc

Nichelle at Dance Advantage has a great informative article on Gaga and Naharin that is considerably less wordy than mine (how does she do it?). http://www.danceadvantage.net/questions-about-gaga/

5 other things I learned from ballet

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This week at The Ajennda (www.theajennda.com) , a dance-related blog run by Jenn Romano, I was invited to contribute to the site’s “What I Learned From Ballet” section. I wrote a ruminative little piece about discovering beauty, grace, within ballet, during my adolescent years in Kansas that seemed otherwise devoid of those things. I also shared lessons learned during my performance years, most of which involved toughening up, not weeping after an onstage gaffe or a lost role, but working, ever working, toward a coveted goal. And what essay wouldn’t be complete without a few words on what ballet teaches the middle-aged adult who has returned to the studio? Here’s the link: http://www.theajennda.com/2014/01/what-i-learned-from-ballet-beauty-and.html

Since I don’t want to duplicate the essay here, I’ll use the same subject and add some quirk. Because the quirk stuff is just as interesting as the beauty & grace stuff, don’t you find? And so, without further ado, here’s rumination #2…

Five other things I learned from ballet

• How to prolong the life of your pointe shoes: by pouring shellac into the inside toe section, once it has gone too soft for comfort. Incidentally, if you’re in a hurry to use the shoes, you can bake them in the oven to set the not-quite-dry shellac more quickly. A low oven temperature (maybe 225 degrees) so it doesn’t scorch the satin. Baked filet of sole. Bon appetit.

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• How to count. Or was I irresistibly drawn to ballet because I’ve always counted out things—footsteps, breaths, patterns, songs, meditation techniques, pieces of candy—in fours and eights? I count everything that way. Granted, if it’s a waltz we’re doing in ballet class, that’s 3/4 time and not 4/4, and that’s cool, too. Point is, I count, constantly. When I’m doing a class at the gym, especially. It keeps away the boredom from all the too-easy repetition. In aerobics or kick-boxing, it bothers the hell out of me when others get off count, drop a count and do the steps that 1/8th count too soon . And if they’re in front, the others follow suit, except I refuse to, because the music is telling us the counts, dammit, and the music has changed not one damned bit. I will argue that this is a ballet dancer thing. That ballet dancers are soothed by that trustworthy 4/4 count or 3/4 waltz count. By counting. And no one in ballet class ever drops a count and moves the combination a notch faster. Thank God, thank God. Oh, ballet dancers and their concise counting—how I love them.

• How to give old tights new life. Once the holes and/or runs render the pair unusable, cut off the feet and cut out the crotch, put it on like a shirt, waistband first. Voila, you’ve got a sheer ¾ sleeve undershirt of sorts for use under spaghetti-strap leotards, that adds extra support, or over the leotard, for that bit of warmth you might be seeking. Gives a cute, retro look to your ballet attire.

• How to walk like a princess, or like Audrey Hepburn. Face it, all that emphasis on perfect posture, year after year, works. You walk with majesty, dignity. Age doesn’t take it away, nor does weight gain. Remain mindful of that ballet dancer’s posture (I can feel my ballet dancer readers straightening their spines and tucking in their tummies as I speak), make it yours, and you are regal. Strut your stuff and be proud of this heritage you created for yourself. You and Audrey.

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• How to spot another ballet dancer. For starters, they’re doing that “regal like a princess” walk, too. And, in kickboxing class, they’re the only other one in the class beside you who’s stretching. (Okay, maybe a yogi is in the class, too. Yogis are okay. Almost as acceptable as ballet dancers.) And the way he/she points their toes, oh, yes. And the graceful arm placement, oh, yes. Most of all, both of you share a joy of movement, a delicious sense of making so much more out of it all than the slouching, smiling slobs all around you. You are indeed of the same tribe, you and that other. Ahhh. Makes a gym class all the more fun when you can share it with that kindred soul.

All right, now that you’ve been nourished with quirk, go check out the beauty & grace stuff in the other essay I wrote. Jenn and I would both love that, and blow cyber-kisses your way. http://www.theajennda.com/2014/01/what-i-learned-from-ballet-beauty-and.html

And, as always, I’d LOVE to hear your own comments and reflections. What have you learned from ballet?

© 2014 Terez Rose

Classical Girl meets The Modern Classic

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This is The Modern Classic, created by gwenyth. It’s an activewear top and tunic that’s great for ballet, yoga, summer attire, travel days, cocktail parties. All this in one garment. How cool is that? Founder and CEO Michele Cheowtirakul Braxton invited me to give one a test drive and, as I wear exercise clothes of all kinds (in addition to ballet, I do yoga, kickboxing, hiking, weight-lifting) and tend to stay in them for a good chunk of the day, my reply was a decisive, “ooh, yes!” Which, come to think of it, were my words when I first pulled the top out of its elegant little box, and later, when I tried it on. Soft. Luxurious feeling. Stretchy, but holding on firmly in the right places. And just like its name says: modern yet classic.

On gwenyth’s Kickstart campaign site for this new creation of theirs, they feature a  video showing the garment’s versatility on a gorgeous dancer, which is great fun to watch and enjoy. But some of us out there might observe it and think, “yes, excellent on this slim beauty, but how does it look on real people, with real bodies?” Well, folks, The Classical Girl is going to show you just that. Real, over-fifty, gave birth, big-chested me. Here I come; hope the images don’t frighten you.

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First, ballet. The drawstrings on the side of the garment allow you to shorten it into any length you like. For ballet, I kept it around hip level and tied my skirt  over it, so it looked and felt like the leotard experience. My big chest is always my greatest concern, and therefore the second image you’ll see will be what I call the BG (big girl’s) Challenge.

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Yup, passed the BG Challenge. No adjustment required once I’d straightened up. Good. Very good. Next, onto yoga.

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Once again, the BG Challenge…

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Absolutely no worries. As you might be able to tell by the photo, the material stretched with me and the jugs stayed well-covered. Even after a downward facing dog. Even a handstand.

And so, here’s where it gets fun. Cocktail attire! Mom’s night out attire! (Er, maybe not. How about “Mom’s night out on the deck when no visitors are around” attire?)

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I was traveling last week, and wore The Modern Classic as a tunic over a black cotton skirt, with a gauzy jacket to finish the outfit off. I was in and out of airports and planes all long day, and the ensemble worked well. Nothing bit into my skin and/or constrained me (bye-bye underwire minimizer bra). I’ll therefore add excellent travel-wear onto its utility list, especially when one is living out of a carry-on bag’s worth of clothing for a week and needs items to serve dual purposes.

The Modern Classic was created  when founder Michele, herself an adult beginning dancer, couldn’t find anything she liked for herself for dance class. “I drew my first pattern on some Crate & Barrel Tissue paper,” she shared via email, “and hand-stitched the first (ugly) prototype.” She describes herself as “a recovering Wharton MBA/management consultant, ‘transformed’ by the power of movement after starting dance lessons in my early 30’s.” Her business partner, with a Georgia Tech Masters in architecture, is behind a lot of the design innovation and implementation. Working together, I think they’re on to something good.

Check out their Facebook page here (https://www.facebook.com/gwenythbrand?filter=1) and their Kickstarter campaign here: (http://kck.st/1acuujM) Their online shop is open for business now, and it doesn’t hurt to mention that Christmas is just around the corner, for you AND the [other] dancer in your life. (The various colors they offer the top in, by the way, are delicious.)

And for the record, no, they didn’t pay me to say any of this. I liked the Modern Classic enough to give it a shout-out based on its own merits. Give one a try and let me know what you think.

© 2014 Terez Rose
Photography © 2013 Peter Rose