Margaret Barr, Dancer

I’ve been doing a bit of checking up. The dance instructor who gets a mention in my previous Stravinsky blog had a name. But we knew that. Just that I didn’t know what it was, or how significant it was. My brother has filled in the gap. So in honour of the name, here’s a bit more of the memory.

I mentioned her round shape in the blog because roundness wrapped in black tights was not what I expected of a dancer. Dancers are tall and slender. Even this sixteen year old knew that. But what I remember was how she moved. I can still remember my amazement when she moved. It was like watching the impossible. It was so fluid and light and natural that something clicked in my memory. What clicked was a little switch labelled, “Keep this one.”

And I have kept it. It doesn’t come out much, that memory, but it’s still there. The memory of a stereotype challenged. The memory of a person freed from my smallness of mind. The memory of a talent so obvious that it confronted me with my own ignorance. And my clumsiness.

And it was because of this person that I found myself with a spray gun amid nymphs.

Life is gift.

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