Playford Ball report.
Oct. 19th, 2003 03:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rivkaLast night was the Baltimore Folk Music Society's annual Playford Ball - my third since I've been doing English Country Dancing. It was a lovely, lovely evening. I think there were around 100 people there, which meant plenty of room to dance - last year the sets were so squashed together that movement was unpleasantly constricted. This year we still had three longways sets across the hall, but the individual dancers were able to spread widely enough apart that, for example, if the dance called for backing up you could back up through the line behind you, instead of coming up short against a wall of backs.
I love watching an entire hall full of people who know how to dance well, all moving in precisely the same patterns at precisely the same time. Each individual dancer has their own flourishes and puts their own stamp of personality on the patterns, but at the same time you have a hundred people dodging and weaving in such perfect synchrony that everyone is in exactly the right place and no one even bumps elbows. It's gorgeous.
I got to dance with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
curiousangel and wcg (who rose from his sickbed, brave man, although you couldn't tell it from watching him dance), and - yay! - with helygen, who came down for the weekend to attend the ball. She made quite an impression on the men present, in a simple and elegant dress wcg made for her.
The band - a group from Philadelphia and New Jersey called "Hold the Mustard" - was excellent at building and sustaining the energy of the crowd. Their bluesy interpretation of Smithy Hill (link is to an mp3, but not of "Hold the Mustard") sounded like it came right out of an after-hours lounge, and led to some pretty ridiculous, and yet fun, strutting and sauntering in the set I was in.
The food was excellent - little morsels of potato and herb-filled puff pastry, mini quiches, savory little meatballs, seven or eight kinds of gourmet cheeses, cold asparagus spears, zucchini, and bell pepper strips with two different dips, fancy breads cut into ornate shapes, mini cheesecakes topped with glazed fruit, rich little chocolate desserts. It was almost enough to make me forgive the woman in charge of the kitchen for being snippy about letting anyone in during afternoon ball practice. (This was a vast, uncramped kitchen, capable of handling eight or ten kitchen workers without anyone being tripped over, and there were only two people preparing food in it. But she was still mortally offended when I entered to get some water, because I was allergic to the only drink being served, and then again whencuriousangel entered to get an ice pack for my injured ankle.)
The only thing that marred the evening for me was that someone criticized my dress. She was wearing a gorgeous concoction of embroidered white silk, and as I was asking about it she turned up her nose at mine because I wasn't wearing a bum roll or paniers beneath it. I explained that my dress was a copy of a specific 18th century gown that hadn't been worn with figure enhancers, and she treated me to a condescending little lecture about how wrong I was to think that 18th century dresses were ever worn without them, and how I had probably relied on an ignorant, inaccurate source for my pattern.
Probably everyone who's ever been in the SCA is laughing and rolling their eyes right now, but my feelings were genuinely hurt. In the first place, she was just wrong about the style of my gown - but even if she hadn't been, it's not like the Playford Ball is supposed to be about historical accuracy in dress. People were wearing anything from modern formalwear to sweeping gypsy/hippie dresses to African robes to, yes, reproductions of 18th and early 19th century clothing. People wear whatever they think is festive. It's supposed to be about dancing and fellowship. I have no idea why she thought it was appropriate to go out of her way to put me down.
curiousangel suggested that I accidentally spill my glass of cranberry punch over her white silk gown, but I restrained myself. Later on, when we were in the same set, she kept trying to make eye contact and smiling broadly at me. I don't know whether she thought our conversation had been friendly, or what.
I love watching an entire hall full of people who know how to dance well, all moving in precisely the same patterns at precisely the same time. Each individual dancer has their own flourishes and puts their own stamp of personality on the patterns, but at the same time you have a hundred people dodging and weaving in such perfect synchrony that everyone is in exactly the right place and no one even bumps elbows. It's gorgeous.
I got to dance with
curiousangel and wcg (who rose from his sickbed, brave man, although you couldn't tell it from watching him dance), and - yay! - with helygen, who came down for the weekend to attend the ball. She made quite an impression on the men present, in a simple and elegant dress wcg made for her. The band - a group from Philadelphia and New Jersey called "Hold the Mustard" - was excellent at building and sustaining the energy of the crowd. Their bluesy interpretation of Smithy Hill (link is to an mp3, but not of "Hold the Mustard") sounded like it came right out of an after-hours lounge, and led to some pretty ridiculous, and yet fun, strutting and sauntering in the set I was in.
The food was excellent - little morsels of potato and herb-filled puff pastry, mini quiches, savory little meatballs, seven or eight kinds of gourmet cheeses, cold asparagus spears, zucchini, and bell pepper strips with two different dips, fancy breads cut into ornate shapes, mini cheesecakes topped with glazed fruit, rich little chocolate desserts. It was almost enough to make me forgive the woman in charge of the kitchen for being snippy about letting anyone in during afternoon ball practice. (This was a vast, uncramped kitchen, capable of handling eight or ten kitchen workers without anyone being tripped over, and there were only two people preparing food in it. But she was still mortally offended when I entered to get some water, because I was allergic to the only drink being served, and then again when
curiousangel entered to get an ice pack for my injured ankle.)The only thing that marred the evening for me was that someone criticized my dress. She was wearing a gorgeous concoction of embroidered white silk, and as I was asking about it she turned up her nose at mine because I wasn't wearing a bum roll or paniers beneath it. I explained that my dress was a copy of a specific 18th century gown that hadn't been worn with figure enhancers, and she treated me to a condescending little lecture about how wrong I was to think that 18th century dresses were ever worn without them, and how I had probably relied on an ignorant, inaccurate source for my pattern.
Probably everyone who's ever been in the SCA is laughing and rolling their eyes right now, but my feelings were genuinely hurt. In the first place, she was just wrong about the style of my gown - but even if she hadn't been, it's not like the Playford Ball is supposed to be about historical accuracy in dress. People were wearing anything from modern formalwear to sweeping gypsy/hippie dresses to African robes to, yes, reproductions of 18th and early 19th century clothing. People wear whatever they think is festive. It's supposed to be about dancing and fellowship. I have no idea why she thought it was appropriate to go out of her way to put me down.
curiousangel suggested that I accidentally spill my glass of cranberry punch over her white silk gown, but I restrained myself. Later on, when we were in the same set, she kept trying to make eye contact and smiling broadly at me. I don't know whether she thought our conversation had been friendly, or what.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2003-10-19 01:24 pm (UTC)I like the way he thinks. Jeez.
no subject
Date: 2003-10-19 02:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-19 02:22 pm (UTC)That kind of positive example sounds lovely... and intimidating, to an ECD novice such as myself. Who routinely has to be frog-marched back to the right place... but probably only the good dancers go to balls.
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2003-10-19 02:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-19 03:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-19 03:32 pm (UTC)I took a look at your dress and it looks authentic to me - and I _have_ done some research about clothing of that period.
So, piffle to the embroidered white satin!
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2003-10-19 05:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-19 06:47 pm (UTC)Yay!
who came down for the weekend to attend the ball.
And to see some wonderful people, of course. It had been far too long. *smile*
She made quite an impression on the men present, in a simple and elegant dress
It is lovely. Wow.
no subject
Date: 2003-10-19 07:01 pm (UTC)And I wanted to share this - when I was 14-15 I was in the SCA. My parents didn't understand my interest, so I made my costumes by myself - two simple scoop neck dresses with a-line skirts, made out of subduded colored linen like material (as I had no idea what to use); and a black wool-mix hooded cape with burgundy poplin lining (that my mom still uses for NSSA shoots). These were the first sewing projects I'd ever attempted, all my myself. And yes, I had some period snobs turn their noses up at me, a kid, who was trying her best with no help. I finally learned to tell the snobs (when they criticized my attempts); "Well, I did not have any help with the project. Since you know so much, I assume you are volunteering to help me with my garb?". Shut them up pretty damn fast.
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2003-10-19 08:21 pm (UTC)