I Adore Ya, Isadora.

First of all, let’s give it up for the misters of MAN I FEEL LIKE A WOMAN: Dude Week at For Shame.  I don’t know about you guys, but PF, ED, and JE‘s posts touched me in all the right places.

This is a picture of me not having internet. OK fine, it’s actually Clipart probably used in corporate handbooks about company intranet access. But pretty much, this is what it was like.

I know what you’re probably thinking.  “LHB, how do you even know about Dude week?  You didn’t even write one of those hilarious intros.  Poor KAB and MRG had to do all of them.”  First of all, listen to yourself, you sound like a bitch.  Second, I have a great excuse this time.  And no, it’s not “finals are hard” or “I’m graduating.”  This time,  I moved.  States.  Coasts, actually.  And you know what happens when you move?  You ask your boyfriend to deal with Comcast and then he puts it off for three weeks and then you never have internet.  It’s really fun.  I’m being sarcastic.  It fucking sucks.  But it makes you really productive and good at, like, setting up your house.  I also started reading a book but then we got cable so I was like, “Fuck that.”

Now, you may have read the title of this post and been a little suspicious.  “Isadora?”  You thought to yourself, “They’ve already written about this slut.  I’m going to go read some other less funny blog.

You know what I say to that?  I’d say that you’re really sounding like a bitch today.  But you would also be correct if not a little bit of a bitch.  We have written about Isadora before.  Twice, actually.  Once in our first Lesbian post ever (we were so young!), and then once in KAB’s guest post before she came over to the dark side.

“Attractive man/woman over there, this way, I’m over here.”  Dance says so much without saying anything at all.

The thing is, Isadora’s so scandalous she deserves a post of her own.  She didn’t have two children out of wedlock, numerous lesbian and non-lesbian affairs, and a death that English teachers could use to teach ninth graders the concept of irony to merit peripheral sentences in posts about other people.  So today, Isadora Duncan, you’re going to get your own post.  People only dream about this kind of publicity.  You’re welcome.

Going into this post, I was trying to find a Californian in honor of my move.  (For Shame! loves relevance.)  I was shooting for sort of the Gold-Rush, frontier-era Californian, but I was having zero luck (if you have an idea, please suggest it.)  But then MRG did some research on the “internet” and was all, “Isadora Duncan is from San Francisco.”  And I was like, “REALLY? OK!”  And now here we all are.

Isadora Duncan left northern California pretty early to become a slut in Chicago.  I mean, a dancer.  She joined a company in Chicago that eventually brought her to  New York.  But, in the big city, she felt limited and repressed.  Americans just “didn’t get her.”*  Eventually, the dancer Loie Fuller, who also was “misunderstood”* by Yankee bumpkins showed up at Duncan’s studio and was all, “Girlfriend, let’s get your ass to Paris.”

I think this photo of Fuller is gorgeous. No snark. That is all.

Fuller was a famous American dancer and actress, known for the way she used flowing silk costumes when she danced.  But she spent most of her time in France because they didn’t hate fun as much as they did in the States.  (Side note for theatre nerds:  she was also a pioneer in stage lighting and held numerous patents for the “technology” and “science” behind making colored gels.)  No doubt her love of billowy costumes rubbed off on Isadora, who is known for her use of long scarves in her choreography. (We’ll come back to that.)

But more importantly, IsaDORA did a lot of EXPLORING ifyaknowwhatimsayin’.  She had a lot of sex with a lot of people is what I’m saying.  Let’s start with the two baby-daddies, shall we?  (DISCLAIMER: I should say that I don’t believe any of her affairs were particularly scandalous because she was in Paris and she was an artist and it was the early 20th century, so everyone was all, “Eh, whatever.”)

Edward Craig can father my illegitimate children any time. DAMN.

The father of Isadora’s first child, Dierdre, was famous English scenic designer Edward Gordon Craig.  What?  Never heard of him?  Yeah, me neither.  Anyway, fun fact:  Baby-daddy numero uno was an illegitimate child himself!  Runs in the family, I suppose.  I might do a post on him at a later date, so that’s all I’ll divulge for now…

Is Dora exploring Singer’s pants in this pic?

SO, they did it and had a kid.  And then four years later, she did it with Paris Singer (yes, son of sewing machine magnate Isaac Singer) and had a son named Patrick.  Three years later, when Pat was three and Dierdre was seven, the kiddos (along with their nanny) were on their way back from meeting Mommy for lunch at some swank-ass Parisian cafe, when their driver stalled the car.  (Driving was really hard then.)  The driver got out to hand-crank the engine, but forgot to put the parking break on and the car, along with the Duncan kids and the nanny, rolled into the Seine!  And they drowned!!

Shit just got real, didn’t it?

Story for another time, but Eleanora once ended an affair with her long-time lover for casting Sarah Bernhardt as lead instead of her.

Duncan was still with Mr. Singer at this point, but after the accident she left him in order to recuperate on the Italian coast with one of Europe’s most famous bisexuals, Eleonora Duse.  Isn’t that what you would do?  Eleonora had just come out of a two-year lesbian relationship with THE famousest lesbian this side of the Atlantic, feminist writer Lina Poletti.  So, when Eleonora and Isadora were sitting in a tree, everyone was like, “They must be K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

In 1922, a good long time after her post-drowning tryst with the Italian actress, Isadora met and married the Russian poet, Sergei Yessinin who was 18 years younger than her.  Get what’s yours, girl.  Unfortunately, she only got what was hers for like a year or so, before he was like, “I need to go write about my feelings,”* and went off to Moscow to commit suicide.

Isadora didn’t skip a beat before shacking up with our favorite Lesbian to the stars, the ex-lover of Greta Garbo, Mercedes de Acosta.  They wrote each other really nice and kind of explicit letters for a number of years.  Most of them involve nipples, but this one doesn’t:

Mercedes, lead me with your little strong hands and I will follow you—to the top of a mountain. To the end of the world. Wherever you wish.  (1926)

Falchetto’s progeny.

A year later, in 1927, Benoit Falchetto, a hot mechanic picked Isadora up in his Amilcar to go for a ride, in more ways than one.  The 50-year-old dancer turned to her friends before she left and said, “Je vais à l’amour,”  which translated into English means something like, “I’m going to go have sex with this hot mechanic now.”  On the drive, her scarf got tangled in the open spoke wheels of the early 20th century automobile and broke her neck!  And then she died!

Wanna know why she was wearing a scarf?  Probably you remember from earlier in the post when I was talking about flowy fabric but I’ll remind you:  It was her thing.  She practically trademarked scarves.  She danced with them, she played with them, she wore them on car-rides.  Bitch LOOOOVED scarves.  And then they fucking killed her.  Watch out, people.  Your favorite clothing items will turn on you when you least expect it. It’s only a matter of time.

These are the “Isadorables.” They were a group of young women who studied under Isadora for most of their lives, and even took her last name! They were kind of her surrogate children. Reminds me of this.

But here’s what’s really cool about Isadora Duncan.  Aside from the fact that the woman could not have cared less what people thought about her (she had illegitimate babies and affairs with lesbians, and was a known communist, and wore that ridiculous tunic around all the time), she was also kind of the undisputed founder of modern dance.  When she started dancing, dance was either ballet or, like, vaudeville showgirl type stuff.  When expressionist theatre and art and modern literature all started to take off in the early 20th century, dance was about to be left behind.  But her innovations in style and technique elevated dance to the status of art.

No small FEET. (Because in dancing you have to use your feet.)

LHB

*Indicates direct quote.



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