I love costume parties and masquerade balls, and even hosted a few back when all my local friends actually had free time, so when I heard about AmandaBeth's Masquerade blog event, how could I resist? At my last party, my costume was quite frou frou, composed in part by a tattered lace bridal gown (any guesses?), so I was ready to try something different. I've actually had this costume sitting around since before Jack, but as you can imagine it wasn't really ideal for either pregnancy or postpartum. Hm, perhaps it's time for another party....
The mask is from Venice, or rather, if I recall correctly, from Burano.
I was seventeen, painfully shy, and madly in love with the musical The Phantom of the Opera (yes, I did peek into box 5 at the Paris Opera and sing "Masquerade" under my breath while tromping down the grand staircase). I had to have a mask. Even back then I would gravitate toward a dramatic one, a mask with the curly mane of shimmering feathers.
My costume is Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. You see, I wasn't just an Andrew Lloyd Webber devotee. I was just a little bit of a Mozart fangirl. Yes, I'm serious. I put two posters of him on my wall. Or was it three? From Italy we went on to Salzburg, and while my mom and brother went on a tour of the Sound of Music places, I dragged my poor grandmother all over town to visit baby Mozart's toddling grounds.
I know it seems unlikely, but my parents rarely listened to classical music aside from a random record (remember those things?) of adrenaline pumping Russian masterpieces to which my brother and I used to dance as kids. When I accidentally checked out the soundtrack to Amadeus, thinking it was a musical (don't laugh!), I was at first bored and then hooked. I jumped headfirst into classical music from there, but Mozart's music is my first love. It has a heartbeat pulsing through even the most playful of moments.
(Who are you calling a girl, says fisticuffs Mozart)
And for all that the snobbiest of all musical snobs criticize the lightheartedness of his common tone, his ability to capture and express alternately utter terror, bliss, and peace in the Requiem is stunning. I still have difficulty with the concept of listening to it recreationally. It conveys its meaning right across languages so clearly that it cuts right through me. Which is a mark of greatness, right?
Historians please forgive my liberties with the authenticity of the costume. It was inspired more by the poster in my room than by tomes on the attire of the period. I was excited to find small accents to complete the effect. I actually did have a suitcoat with tails, but somehow in the move it ended up in a different box and is floating around who knows where in my overcrowded sewing room. Perhaps I'll find it in time to wear it to a costume ball here....