I had planned a concept for a costume early in December. I had done some shopping for it, had design ideas etc etc etc. However, January was scheduled for the costume and the mask sucked January up nearly in its entirety. So I was getting very stressed about the costume. So much so, that I actually at one point made a pact with myself that I didn’t have to do Columbine at the Mardi Gras if I didn’t feel ready.
Interestingly, the more I tried to write as Columbine, in character, the more the lack of costume seemed to be a non-issue. I was stressing out as the artistic designer - whose vision couldn’t be fulfilled. I realized that I had to step out of the workshop and into rehearsal as a performer. The actor can act in the merest shred of a costume if need be. It is the designer who bemoans the lack of budget and time; the actor makes it work. In fact, to Columbine, the thought of missing a party just because she has nothing new to wear is a pretty silly idea. I had been able to “let go” of the costume issue by a few weeks before the event, and had a sort of plan. I basted up to shorten a long ballet petticoat I scavenged, gathered up some sparkly organza to fake a skirt, and had a plum colored bodice. It was something to wear. I was going to drape the original perfect “Columbine in Mardi Gras Colors” fabric I had found in some interesting way to create a look.
As of Friday the day before I had no shoes and wasn’t concerned. Popped into the only department store that closes later on the way home after all those extra hours of interior decorating and in the space of 15 minutes I found - harlequin diamond stockings, gold shoes, and purple and fuschia glitter encrusted flowers to match the fabric at home -on sale to boot. It was a sign. I was begining to feel in rhythm with the universe again.
The outfit I wore was literally put together in 90 minutes on Saturday afternoon. I took a Halloween mask and sprayglued mask lame scraps and leftovers to make a miniature facscimle of the big mask to put on my face. Complete with Plan B feathers. The workmanship is crude - but to Columbine - it was perfectly fine. I scissored off two strips of the flowered chiffon and tacked them to the top of the bodice. I put on the clothes, after the trauma of discovering that I no longer fit into a size Medium pantygirdle. Then I literally draped the remaning chiffon around myself and literally sewed myself in.
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