Venus Uprising Bellydance New York City: MOTHER'S DAY

In honor of Mother's Day, I want to dedicate a blog to my beautiful Venus rising (Taurus rising, like Blanx) mama--Zarifa, who gave me my first bellydancing lesson at the age of 4 back in the 70's when bellydancing was still a truly underground scene. Back in the midwest, it was considered a great workout and way to revive bored suburban housewives' sex lives. My mother was a brazen pioneer and true artist who brought culture to an otherwise sleepy midwest town. Of course our suburban neighbors were horrified by the strange arabic sounds competing with their Billy Joel records, but my mother never let the judgments stop her from doing her thing. She taught lessons to women who would drive from miles away in the tiny basement of our duplex apartment with royal blue indoor/outdoor carpet--(sooo 70's! )Eventually she formed a troupe that would perform in hotels around the Detroit area with either my father or her Greek boyfriend, Neo as the MC. Greektown in downtown Detroit was the hub for the bellydance scene. I have wonderful memories of eating Saganaki and watching my mother perform in those nightclubs (think Lafayette grill but darker and fabulously more seedy) when I was just a wee bit of a gal. During my rebellious angst-ridden, punk rock adolescent years I swore off bellydancing in favor of gymnastics and slam dancing, but now I am eternally grateful for my roots. I tortured my poor mother with my displays of horror and typical teen embarrassment when I realized our Egyptian-inspired decor was nothing like the whales, polo horses and plaid wallpaper of the other suburban brats. I also owe her for all of the costumes I ruined when my friends and I would rollerskate around my basement to disco tunes and inadvertently ruin the sequin when our blades would get tear the hell out of the poor hems. But mostly I owe my beautiful mother the gift of inspiring and encouraging me to develop my own artistic longings. I was never inculcated with silly notions of trying to be something I'm not, or living by the norms or expectations of mainstream society. I praise my mother's true renegade spirit. And of course, I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for her.

My mother was often asked to perform in the local malls (in the 70's malls were still glamorous)--I love the look of judgment and envy from the woman on the far right.
Bellydancing was a scandalous enterprise to many God-fearing suburbanites.

The second picture shows my mom and me dancing.

Mombellydancing2_2