Here's to the bellydancers and singers and artists everywhere

Last night, we went to Fourth Friday, a local performance event in a small venue in the back of Ruggero's piano store. My friend, Eric, is the master of ceremonies, and he also sings a number at the start of the show. The one he sang this time, "The Gasman Cometh," was fun, and he did his usual good job with it. Sarah and her friend Lucy were also playing, Lucy two long violin pieces, and Sarah the piano accompaniment for one of those songs.

Tonight, several of us went to see a local bellydance performance, or hafla, that took place in a community center. Jennie's teacher was organizing and hosting the event, and Jennie was one of the dancers, so we went primarily to support her. She danced in both a group number and a solo, and she did a very good job and was lovely to watch in both.

As I sat in the audience on these two nights, I was struck again by the need that so many of us have to do some kind of art, create something, be it singing or playing music or dancing or writing or painting or carving or sewing or whatever. Most of us will never be very good, much less world-class, at the art we love, but we persist. The world is, I truly believe, a much better place for our efforts.

I was also struck by the bravery of it all. In a world with professional music available all around us, the singers and pianists and violinists at Fourth Friday all took the stage in front of strangers to do their art. In a culture obsessed with perfect female bodies and flawless performances, women of all shapes and sizes walked in revealing costumes onto a stage in front of strangers and did their best.

I'm richer for their efforts. We all are. Here's to them, the bellydancers and singers and artists of all stripes, those in my extended family and those I've never met. Long may you practice your art.