Profashtination.

Some of my earliest and most striking memories involve an idealisation of dressing the body, mine mostly. One that sticks is of me trying to knowingly cajole a younger and I fear less smart neighbour into swapping a ballet tutu for a nasty synthetic turquiose housecoat . It almost worked. There was a sense of wrong doing on my part but it did not hinder my actions. I sensed that ultimately her innocent doubts would prompt parental intervention and that I would be found out to be exploitative and a ‘no sale’ would see me tutuless. This was the case. I could not have been much above four years of age when this took place. No recall of the telling off for bad business remains and I am hopeful that lessons were learnt all round.  What  does however, is the campaign I launched on my Advertising Executive Dad. As he customarily brought home treats and gifts for us I presumed that any order could be fulfilled without effort or cost on his part. I badgered him for quite some time for a baby yellow tutu but it did not materialise.  I eventually gave up on that dream. But the dream to create something from my most prevailing passion is still kicking.

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