My sister was a ballet dancer until about age 12, when she lost interest and went over to cheer-leading. As her older brother, I never had any reason to go into her room…except to gaze at this poster on her wall. I don’t know what his name was, where he lived, even if he was still alive, but at that point in my young adult life it was the most captivating image I’ve ever seen.
It’s erotic, stimulating even, but it’s almost too sacred to sully by masturbating to it. The subject’s lack of body fat combined with the lighting reveals every curve and line of the male body. His legs are engorged from exercise, his arms mere branches of sinew, tendons, and bone. He’s posed himself impossibly on his toes. I always thought he looked more like a fairy in mid-landing than an actual mortal person striking a pose. I later learned that men rarely ever go on pointe, which only heightened my fascination with this photograph.

I came home from community college one day to find my mother and sister cleaning out her room. She was almost a teenager and done with pink, kittens, and polka dots. I checked in on them and nearly screamed when I saw the poster was gone. I was too chicken to ask where it went. I dreaded they had balled it up, folded and creased it beyond rescue, then shoved it into a garbage bag.

I waited impatiently until everyone had gone to bed that night before I snuck outside to the trash waiting on the curb. I lifted the lid on the can and nearly melted in relief. There it was. Rolled, sitting on top of plastic trash bags. The corner was torn and there were pushpin holes through the others. Thank god! I plucked it out, then stole back up into the house and up the stairs with my prize.

Years later, I ended up meeting and marrying a male ballet dancer. When he was gone on a tour of Europe, I found this poster in the back of a closet. I had it framed and hung in our living room. When my husband came home he saw the picture and smiled, “How did you know I was a fan of Stein?”
“Stein?” I asked, “Is he the dancer?”
“No, love, he’s the photographer. He’s one of my favorites.” He kissed me, “Thank you for the welcome home gift.”
I just went along with it. That was my poster and it always would be.

fafranca:

Dance by Vadim Stein