Margot Fonteyn's slippers
Talismans and the strawberry moon
Sometime ago I obtained a pair of Margot Fonteyn’s slippers. Very worn, faded flesh tone, containing remnants of the blood and sweat of the prima ballerina. I have photographed them many times. Whether the image was as I hoped for or not, the sense of her, a lithe though muscular and feminine force, seemed to emanate from them. Occasionally I would add some precious object to speak of aspects of my own nature. In this image I included a strand of pearls given to me by my husband. I cherish them and the memory of opening the black velvet case he presented to me on our anniversary. There is no particular reason why I am writing this; I sat down and this is what I wrote. Perhaps to remind myself, as I must, that this troubled world is not the only world. There are multiple worlds, and tonight this is one of mine. One containing beauty and mourning. A lost love, lost youth or one’s own dexterity.
Now I will take a night walk with hopes for a glance of the full strawberry moon. Perhaps it will have a faded pink hue, the color of a great dancer’s slippers.
Art to the fourth power. The shoemaker, the dancer, the photographer and the writer.
I met Margot Fonteyn when she came to Cincinnati with Suzanne Farrell Balanchines ingenue. She was the most gracious and gorgeously dressed women I had ever seen or met at 13. I didn’t know who she was I was there to get Farrells autograph. When I started to chat with her she said oh no I’m no one Suzanne is the star here. I later read her life story…she is amazing.