Carnival season is nearly upon us; and before you get your hopes up, no – I will not be parading down the road in sparkly unmentionables.
I completely admire those who participate, as it is no small feat. Their route is a good few miles, and as they are dancing – stepping backwards; stepping forwards; side-to-side – for most of the way, they’ve about tripled the distance by the time they get to the end point. It’s hot outside, and unless you are wearing hardy shoes, your tootsies might be screaming after a few hours.
That being said, I’ve sat out by the road many a time, and if paraders are uncomfortable, they aren’t showing it. In fact, they look like they are having a ball. From those wearing the smaller backline costumes, adorned with some rhinestones and feathers, to the mas band leaders in massive creations that are as unwieldy as they are beautiful, they all seem to have boundless energy. Forget about helping with the bride’s gown when she needs to visit the facilities – you’d need a loo entourage if you’re wearing one of the headliner designs.
Director of Batabano, Donna Myrie, has never shied away from making a statement ‘pon de road’. That lady has worn outfits that make the Met Gala look like a backyard barbecue, effortlessly sashaying along as a one-woman float – I don’t know how she does it.
Speaking of which, I’ve gained a whole new appreciation for the many hours that go into those wearable works of art. For years and years, I didn’t have the first clue about the behind-the-scenes process – I would just see the flashes of colour and bouncing feathers and clap my hands together like a five-year-old. It’s only been recently that I learned more about the designers; that themes for the costumes are important; and that no one in the carnival world would be caught dead without a glue gun.
Did you know that there are usually frontline, midline and backline sections to each mas band? There is a different costume for every section – each following the overall theme – with them getting more elaborate, the closer you get to the front of the group (hence: ‘frontline’).
The huge feathers and rhinestones – often arranged in amazing patterns and detail – are attached to a backpack that usually hooks on the shoulders. I own quite a few of these for entertainers to wear (or when I feel like just dancing around my bedroom like a goddess/loon), and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that no matter how you store them – sure as eggs is eggs – the old glue will deteriorate and past magnificence will transform into a tattered boa.
I had to use three of them last week, so I got them out of my closet a few days prior to assess their state. One was absolutely fine; another had a couple of stones hanging loose; but the third one really needed some work. Believe it or not, I only picked up a glue gun for the first time about a year ago. It’s what comes from never having children, and therefore no school projects to assist with. You know – creating galaxies from Styrofoam balls (is that material still politically correct?) and paint, then gluing stars and moons to it all. (Running late to school the next day: “But Dad… you forgot to add the black hole!”)
Anyway, this backpack definitely needed my trusty glue gun, so I heated it up and started squirting with abandon, pressing floppy things into place. Not only did I burn the fingerprints off myself to anonymous-life-of-crime-level, but every time I lifted it up to check that I’d got everything, something else would droop. The idea that these things are made by hand… patience of Job. I was just fixing a few items, and my lower back was already yelling in protest. As if that wasn’t enough, our kitten Doobie got let out of a bedroom by some unsuspecting resident in the house. He clearly could not believe his good fortune when he saw what appeared to be a giant bird on the dining table, jerking through death throes. He pounced with gusto. Claws grabbed at the feathers, as he began to gnaw on a particularly challenging sequin.
“Get this cat out of here!” I yelled, attempting to extricate him while causing minimum damage.
My bestie, Lynne, gently got him, and scuttled away to a place of safety.
Two hours later, my work was finally done. I lifted, inspected, jostled and twisted the piece – nothing gave way. It looked fantastic once again. I thought of all the artists who started with a blank canvas and designed these beautiful costumes; and the committed folk who methodically glued every element to the frame until it came to brilliant, beautiful life. I began to wonder if maybe I could make one of these from scratch. I’d get all the materials, come up with my own design, and do the big reveal at the next carnival. People would cheer; they would marvel at my creation; they would beg me to get into the carnival couture game…
Just as I envisioned being handed an international award, another cat knocked the glue gun off the table, sending a long ribbon of searing hot adhesive across my leg as it fell towards the floor.
“I’d like to thank my family and friends who supported me; all those who inspired my work; and… &^%$#@!!”
On second thought, I’ll leave it to the experts.
Related Videos
