Mom enrolled my sister and me in ballet classes when we were ages 7 and 5. Both of us vowed we'd practice after we saw the skirt we'd be wearing for our first recital. It actually looked like something an elementary school child would design with more yardage than our combined height and over-sized polka dots of aqua, green, red, and orange. Our interest waned quickly and practice soon became drudgery. It also became apparent that there would be frequent recitals, which meant purchasing outfits at regular intervals. Mom reconsidered and thought the investment more than she could afford for two little ones that found riding bikes more appealing than practice.
We were enrolled in tap and jazz classes in our early teen years. After three months of lessons my sister firmly announced she had no interest in dance and bowed out -- so to speak. I agreed to persevere, but later regretted my decision when it came time for me to present "our" dance routine at the upcoming recital. Terrified when I stepped out onto the stage alone, I exerted too much pressure on the cane I was swinging about and then watched in horror as my prop broke in half and rolled across the stage. At that dreadful moment every step was completely wiped from my memory and my only desire was to retrieve the damaged prop and exit the stage. The music played on to an empty stage. The teacher and I both agreed after my performance that dance wasn't quite my calling.
I'd like to say drawing ballerinas is easier than my brief encounters with dance, but then only slightly. Each pose was to last no more than 15 minutes then the ballerinas changed positions. The last few minutes of the drawing session the class requested a more relaxed moment with the ballerinas in conversation at the barre. It's a bit more comfortable to be on the other side of the ballet barre with a pencil in hand, but it's still all about practice. And looking over my sketches, it's obvious you can't escape practice, practice, and ...
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