Making Magic: Costumes of the Silk Road Dance Company by Laurel Victoria Gray "Where do you get your costumes?" Without a doubt, this is the most frequently asked question from our audience members. At times it seems as if they expect a simple answer, that the secret of our costuming can be revealed by naming some fabulous theatrical supply company where they, too, could purchase such garments. But the answer is far from simple. Each costume for the Silk Road Dance Company is the result of a long, painstaking process. I create the designs and make all of the headdresses and many of the more unusual costume elements. Company members assist with the actual construction of the garments. Even those who cannot run a sewing machine contribute by doing handwork, such as sewing on delicate trims. In short, there is no "secret," only years of research and experience coupled with hours of labor. There is, however, a bit of magic involved. Part of the magic lies in the creative process through which I create new choreographies. Usually, a particular piece of music captivates me, stops me dead in my tracks. It obsesses me and I listen to this song over and over again, hundreds of times, while I begin to visualize the movements and gestures the music evokes. As I listen, I actually see the dance being performed -- and I see the costumes! The color of the garments, the texture of the fabric, the cut of the costumes all slowly reveal themselves. At first blurry, they come more clearly into focus as the choreography develops until, at last, I am able to create a costume sketch. At other times I must launch into exhaustive research when recreating historical costumes. For example, when creating the costumes for the Queen Esther choreography, I visited the Oriental Institute -- and its library -- in Chicago. Scholars usually date the Esther tale, set in Persia, back to around 500 BC. One must examine existing sculptures and bas-reliefs with great care to note the detail of the garments. Unfortunately, very little of the remaining art works from this period depict women. Other trips to museums in Berlin, Cairo, Samarkand, St. Petersburg, Moscow, Innsbruck and elsewhere, all greatly aided my understanding of ethnic and ancient clothing. Persian clothing of that period is of the "draped" rather than the "seamed" variety. And proper draping requires lots of fabric. One of the most common mistakes of amateurs trying to recreate Biblical garb is that they are stingy with the fabric, often using only half of the yardage that is required to make the flowing, draped robes. Then there is the ornamentation. Too often we assume that ancient garments were devoid of decoration. Quite the opposite is true. Even pre-historic textiles were often surprisingly colorful and highly embellished, covered with magical symbols intended to protect the wearer. For the garments of Esther’s seven handmaidens, I ornamented the lengths of fabric each in a different way, drawing from the decorative motifs of the region. Since the Book of Esther reminds us that the Persian empire of the time extended from Ethiopia to India, I thought it would be interesting for each of the handmaiden’s to have a distinct look, as if each girl had come from a different area. One robe has stylized cuneiform -- the writing system of ancient Persian-- worked into the design. I draped each fabric length upon the dancer in various ways. As members of a "seamed" society, we have never learned the infinite variety of draping methods known to other cultures. This proved extremely time consuming, especially since these were to be dance costumes; the wearer had to be able to move freely in the robe. Traditional costumes present a different sort of challenge. All too often we accept as "authentic" a diluted stage version of folk dress. This was especially true when I investigated Iranian dress. The costumes familiar from videos were simplified -- even shabby -- interpretations of the real thing. The original dresses had more yardage, more layers, more colors, more textures, more ornaments. The humble, monochromatic stage versions, often sewn from plain satin, were mere shadows of the opulent originals. Yes, it proved more expensive and time consuming to recreate the authentic costumes, but the effect of the color and movement on stage was well worth it. Oriental costuming is distinguished by the juxtaposition of contrasting patterns, colors and textures. This is the basic truth which I emphasize in my costuming workshops. As Westerners, our aesthetic training often makes us recoil from placing a paisley pattern next to a stripe, or using peach and red together. We also tend to gravitate toward plain, unembellished surfaces and may even use the same fabric for a skirt as we do for a veil. This look can be attractive, but it also tends to be "flat" in texture and is definitely Western in taste. The Middle East, North Africa, the Caucasus and Central Asia all have their favorite color palettes, usually bolder than those to which we are accustomed. It is crucial when creating replicas of traditional garments to understand this. (For example, the bright, hot colors of Uzbek and Tadjik costumes are inappropriate for the more sober taste of the Georgians.) Also, we have certain association with color combinations. To us, red and green remind us of Christmas but to Persia’s Qajar dynasty, these hues frequently appeared in dance costumes. For the Silk Road Dance Company, I also choose larger patterns since we frequently perform on the concert stage. Finely detailed designs which look lovely up close often go "muddy" at a distance. At times, smaller prints -- say something in blue and red -- will blend together and from a distance turn to purple or lavender. But even magical revelation or careful historical research brings many challenges in its wake. The costume designs may have been revealed or documented, but not the location of the special fabrics from which I need to create these garments. Fortunately, the Washington, DC, area is replete with numerous fabric stores. It is not necessarily the well-known chains that carry the treasures we need, but smaller family businesses, especially those which serve the areas numerous emigre communities. Chinese, Indian, South-East Asian, Korean, Hispanic store owners carry the vivid colors and elegant fabrics we need for our Silk Road dances. Also, when I travel, I do not buy the usual tourist souvenirs. Instead I search for unusual fabric and trim, storing them away for future use. In the bazaars of Tashkent and Cairo I purchased fabric which proved ideal for our Kurdish costumes. In Australia, I came upon the distinctive rhinestone buckle with two crescent moons -- quite reminiscent of the designs of the Caucasus -- which was ideal for my "Dancer of Shamakha" costume. Sometimes magic enters the scene once again. Often, out of the blue, a friend or fan of the Silk Road Dance Company will offer up a gift of fabric, jewelry, trim or perhaps even a item ideal for a prop. While an immediate use may not be evident, the donation finds a home in our costume storage where, inevitably, the perfect use manifests itself. Who would have guessed that a generous gift would have ended up on a costume destined for the Kennedy Center stage? The other magical element is a place which I call the "Karmic Bank." Actually, it is a large thrift store to which we regularly donate those items which we no longer need or use. The proceeds from the sale of donated items go to help a children’s charity. It seems like the more good karma we create through our donations, the more the odd but needed items for our costuming projects magically appear. For example, I followed the research of renowned archeologist Jeanine Davis- Kimball while creating the costumes for the Amazon sword dance. Professor Davis-Kimball has excavated the burial mounds of warrior women in the Eurasian steppes. (The garments they wore were quite different, and more practical than the skimpy little chitons in which Greek artists depicted them.) Among the ornaments found were depictions of snow leopards, rendered in gold. So could it be anything less than magic that prompted me to visit the Karmic Bank on a day when they happened to have a brand new belt for sale, ornamented with a golden leopard clasp? Needless to say, the jewelry ended up on the headdress of the Alpha Amazon warrior. On another day, a dance company member and I stumbled upon a used sari at the Karmic Bank. While stunning, it was stained, which is no doubt why the owner gave it away. I purchased it, cleaned it, and discovered that much of the unusual, sparkling yardage was quite usable. The soft, glittering pink proved a perfect compliment for the muted blue of the coat for Roxanne, the future bride of Alexander the Great. Then there is the magic of the Great Silk Road itself. Certain items, such as the unique Uzbek silk ikat fabric, cannot be easily replicated. Neither can the exquisite Central Asian crown called a "tilya-kosh" (golden eyebrows), essential to classical dances. I acquired many of these items, along with fabulous gold thread embroidered costume pieces, during my travels along the Silk Road. Other pieces were brought to us by dear friends. Even in their land of origin, some of these pieces have become rare because of the great political unrest and economic chaos. When members of the Silk Road Dance Company wear these costume pieces, they say they can feel the magic of them. This is even truer when they don the antique dresses of my costume collection; it is almost as if the original owner of the dress steps out onto the stage with them. But most important is the magic which the costumes create for the audience. Sometimes they admit to feeling a reaction, much like a physical reaction, when the dancers appear. The unusual colors and rich fabrics, as well as the delayed lines created by the flow of silk, swing wide the doors of their imaginations, welcoming them into a different world. The impact is so intense that it seems that these costumes could not be crafted by mere mortal hands. To tell the truth about their creation would be to break the enchantment of the moment. The audience does not want to hear about my tedious hours spent in museums and libraries. The do not care about the endless treks to countless fabric stores. Nor are they interested in how many days it took me to create the prototype for an Amazon headdress, usually only traditional materials and construction methods. They want instead to hear instead a tale of wonder. They long for a story about a remote village, somewhere in the Caucasus Mountains, where a hidden sect of goddess worshipping priestesses, sewing only by the light of a waxing moon, sewing with golden needles and thread spun their own hair, following secrets passed on from their fore-mothers, craft our priceless gowns, which are then smuggled out of the country by kalashnikov toting camel drivers. So when they ask, "where did you get your costumes?" there is only one possible answer: "Magic!"