Welcome to Suhaila Unveiled, the official e-newsletter for Suhaila Salimpour, the Suhaila Salimpour School of Dance, and Suhaila Productions.

Greetings!

This past month has been full of many personal and artistic moments.  Congratulations to all the amazing women who came, survived and even tested for their level II Certification after the Level II Weeklong Workshop.  Your focus, energy and understanding of the material was inspiring to watch unfold throughout the week.  Thank you for believing in the vision and working hard through all the challenges.  Congratulations!

Another high point was Bal Anat Tribal Karnivale which took place in Santa Cruz the last weekend of April.  All the elements of circus, theatre and dance made the night one to remember!  Playing the 1970's Documentary on my mother, her goals for the dance and vision behind Bal Anat made the night even more special.  The next day the workshop was full of energy from many hard working women.  Thank you to Vashti for sponsoring both Santa Cruz events, you added your own special touch on the weekend. 

On a personal note I had the pleasure of celebrating Isabella's 8th birthday (I can't believe what a big girl she is!) and mother's day in the same weekend.  It was a huge joy to watch her have such a blast partying for her birthday, and she's getting to be such a grown up that I'm already trying to plan out what we can do to celebrate next year!    

Now, I am preparing for my overseas teaching and performance tour.  Also, I will be the first belly dance instructor to teach at the Encore International Dance Festival June 8-11.  Maybe I'll see you there.........

Editorial by Suhaila®

I ended up at Raphael’s Café next to my studio after spending 2 hours working on a new drum solo choreography.  I am a regular at this cafe (my favorite being the tuna sandwich).  I stood at the counter waiting for Mary to take my order. Today I was only interested in a cup of tea, but I would have sat down if I had time.  The tables were full and Mary was working so hard to please everyone that my patience was very high.  I couldn’t help find Mary interesting to watch move.  The way she smiled at everyone, pat everyone on the shoulder, and took the time to listen to each and every personal story that was told.  She actually cared and looked alive and excited to be helping all of us.  She was very fair to who came first in the line up of needs, and I was the last one into the cafe so I had to wait the longest.  I didn’t mind since at this point I didn’t even care about my cup of tea, and watching her became much more important.  She moved slowly and at times I was worried she would drop the coffee or water.  Each time the plate of food made it to a table I was relieved that she could carry it.  Every step she took was a gift and I was happy just watching how alive and valuable Mary felt.

 Mary is 87 years old and a coffee shop employee.  I had known her for the past 5 years, but today I noticed her grace and posturing.  I saw how much the role she had in this coffee shop meant to her and that it kept her feeling alive and like she had a place in the world.  The entire restaurant was patient and didn’t mind that the food might take time to receive.  We were all just happy that we had taken a moment in this day to allow time to stop and for us all to come together as a community and appreciate what this 78 year old woman could contribute to our day.

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Gift of Youth

by Tiffany Bisconer

Last week I was teaching the kids belly dance class and decided it was time for another history lesson for the girls. I was in the middle of breaking down Arabic I and I looked over at Jamila who was perched on her chair in the corner of the lobby.  I asked the class if they knew who to thank for the movement I was teaching them and one of Isabella’s friends in class yelled “Isabella’s Nona”. I told her that was right and then asked the class what her name was. A few of the less shy of the bunch piped up and said “Jamila”. Then I told the class to gather around me and I brought them to the back of the studio to the wall of pictures that fills the studio with the history of belly dance not only in the school, but in the United States. I pointed to the first picture and asked the class who knew what this was a picture of. The picture was a sepia toned photo of one of the original waves of Bal Anat, with snake dancers, sword dancers and Jamila covered in Assuit in the front of the photo. One of the older kids in class was jumping up and down with her hand up to answer. I motioned for her to answer and she said “Bal Anat!” I said “That’s right, and do you know why Bal Anat is so special?” The girls shook their heads and looked up at me with big eyes. “Because not only was Bal Anat the first tribal belly dancing company in the United States” at this point they all gasped, “but Jamila was the director and founder of Bal Anat.” I pointed to Jamila in the picture and asked, “Guess who that is..?” Then the chorus of girls chimed in “Jamila!” I then went on to the next photo of Suhaila on an album cover and asked them who this was and they yelled “Isabella’s mom!” I laughed and said yes then told them that not only does Suhaila own this school (they were all impressed by the word “owned”), but Suhaila is one of the most famous belly dancers in the whole world. I then heard quite a few wow’s and a few more cool’s. I then went through all of the photo’s including a picture of Suhaila’s father who was a drummer, Andre’s mother who was a belly dancer during the same time frame Jamila was, and a picture of Andre’s father who was an Oud player. By the end of the wall of pictures they were telling me who was in each of the photos before I asked. The only ones they tripped over where the one’s of Suhaila when she was a little girl because they all assumed she was Isabella, or maybe it was because Isabella told them it was her!

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Rashid's Old School Corner

THE RENAISSANCE PLEASURE FAIRE the first interactive website

PART II

(Continued from Suhaila Unveiled April 1, 2006)

       Before the applause could die, the next group of courtesans came forward.  Again, three of them matched in dresses of the Ottoman Empire.  Silk pantaloons of bold stripes under bone white blouses.  Covering these were fitted jackets of raw silk in stripes of black, pink, blue and gold.  The collars were yoked, framing their busts, with many small buttons in a row down the front, pulling the fabric tight.  Their hips were wrapped in bright paisley scarves.  Each girls head was a cascade of braided hair, each braid ending with a small, gold coin.  On their heads they held baskets as their heavily lined eyes darted from side to side accentuating the swaying motion of their opening step.  Moving across the stage like dromedaries in slow motion, the lined themselves along the front of the stage and gently descended to their knees.  They stared hypnotically at the audience.  The dancers in the background hushed their voices amidst the medley of instruments.  Reaching down and removing the basket lids they placed a hand inside and together lifted their catch and revealed to the audience three large snakes, writhing and contorting.  Voices filled the air with shouts and cries and children who had gravitated to the edge of the stage now reversed their direction, as though a current had been shut off.  The women stood holding the serpents at arms length above their heads and swayed forward and back in a snaky fashion.  They placed the reptiles around their necks and joined at the elbow to prance around the stage cavorting with the troupe. To finish they held the snakes above their heads and looking up at them, began to spin.  Stopping in unison, they curtsied and backed away.  Children migrated back to the stage.

         The next to come forward was a small figure.  She was attired in rich, dark satins of purple and blue.  Pantaloons were shiny black, the blouse deep royal blue.  The jacket, which fit snugly, was purple and teal, covered in gold embroidery.  At the hips was a richly embroidered belt to match toe jacket and from it hung a multitude of shiny metal sequins, which tinkled and sparkled with each movement.  Her head was covered with a black veil and held in place by more sequins.  Of her face all that showed were almond shaped eyes carefully lined and tattooed.  A large tattoo of dots and dashes connected her eyebrows.  In her hennaed hands she carried a large serving tray, upon which was a coffee service.  Standing still and first presenting in to the audience, she carefully lifted it over her head and brought it to rest on her turban.  Slowly each hand was removed, leaving the tray precariously in its place.  With one hip to start, she began to sway in a figure eight, building up tempo until breaking into a fast pelvic shimmy.  With this action, she reached up to her face and pulled away the veil, revealing a full beard of warm, auburn hair.  He smiled as people watching realized the sherade.

         Stopping his movement, he turned to the side and arched back slowly dropping to the ground.  Once on his back, his legs folded under, he rolled carefully toward the audience until prone on his belly.  Then with his bare feet, he reached up over his back and gingerly removed the tray from his head.  With it now balanced on his soles he continued to roll on the floor, once over and back to where he started.  He replaced the tray onto his head with his feet and righted himself to his feet.  Backing up to the line with the tray still on his head he stopped just in time to remove it and bow demurely.

         With that, the horns changed their melody and the drummers quickened the pace.  Out stepped the finale’ dancer.  An odalisque from Renoir, a spirit of ancient Egypt her hair was blue-black and her skin of alabaster.  She floated across the stage, as if without moving.  Her body from head to toe was encased in fabric of aqua marine, flecked throughout with silver spangles.  She moved her hips singularly, causing the fabric to bounce and ripple.  She executed her dance with an unnatural ease and a placid smile.  She moved about framing herself with arms covered from shoulder to wrist in large silver bracelets.  All the while her fingers were working brass cymbals in accompaniment to her song.  The melody finished at a cue from her glance and she spun to finish, center stage.  As the applause died down you could tell the rhythm had changed, along with her attitude, which now became concentrated and detached in accordance with the second part of her dance.  Lifting to the balls of her feet, she started to spin in place, her garments billowing out around her.  Like a giant top, she twirled, angling her body on a diagonal causing the spin to gyrate against gravity.  Stopping and loosening one side of her veil she spun in the other direction, creating an image like a conch shell with her inside.  Stopping again, she unfastened the other side of the wrap and moved forward on the stage. Holding the ends to the side the veil draped over her head and down her back, framing her torso like a peacock. 

Her torso was bare yet covered with an assemblage of silver coins covering her breasts and a multitude of ornate jewelry and talismans, which dripped from her body. Her head dress was of silver coins and diamond shaped pendants linked with delicate chains.  More chains draped themselves in tiers beneath her chin and down her throat, just touching her breast.  A collar of more silver coins festooned with red stones, covered her neck.  Below her bust were suspended chains supporting paisley shaped trinkets and baubles of silver filigree, which hung down her front almost touching the massive belt of yet more coins upon her hips.  Her skin was so white, as to be transparent.  She was alive with the tinkling sound of so much silver and the netting of jewelry across her abdomen fluttered and danced with her muscular control.  Her ribcage moved left, her pelvis to the right and everything in between rippled, bounced and pulsated to the music.  She smiled calmly. 

         Now removing her veil entirely, she cued the musicians, who brought back their driving tribal beat.  Arms upraised with cymbals clacking, she moved about the stage with renewed vigor.  Her pelvic area was the focus of movement now ant the agitation of her steps made her body seem totally disconnected.  The up and down movements of her hips could be seen inside her skin as she moved forward and back on the balls of her feet.  The syncopation could be seen between the undulations of her torso and the vibrations below. 

The horns urged her on and the tempo quickened.  The melody began a reprisal.  Again, she started to spin, but this time maintaining the pelvic vibrations.  Faster and faster she moved until it would seem she should fall, her arms out-stretched and cart-wheeling.  The woodwinds trilled once more and for the last time, as the drums rolled to a close and she stopped herself.  The audience roared with approval, sounding like the crashing surf.  The troupe bowed in unison and turned to depart the stage.  The band stood up and stretched to release the tension.  The crowd continued to applaud.  I stood in a trance and made my exit, as if at some unspoken command.  My heart was in my throat still pounding to the rhythms I had just become such a part of. 

         The sights and sounds of the Pleasure Faire are still fresh in my mind as they represent that first connection I made to real ethnic dance in the belly dance I had witnessed.  Even with the many interpretations, even back then, I wanted the real dance and here it was in its truest form within this culture.  I never wore an Elizabethan costume to the Faire, again.