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Beaded thong, feathers, sparkly red chaps:
Must be Carnaval
At Austin's version of Brazil's revelry, you are what you wear – at least for an evening
By Ricardo GándaraAMERICAN-STATESMAN STAFF
Thursday, February 03, 2005
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Papier-mâché giraffes, people wearing next to nothing and a man dressed as a police officer ticketing people for being too cute — it must be that time again. Twenty-seven years in the running, Carnaval Brasileiro is Austin's excuse to turn it on (partygoers wearing creative, spectacular and exotic costumes) or take it off (when some believe bare skin is a costume). Saturday's event, one of the largest Brazilian celebrations outside that country, could attract as many as 5,000 to the Palmer Events Center. New York's Grupo Saveiro will perform a mix of rhythms, including the popular samba dance music of Rio de Janeiro's Carnaval parades. Some call it the festival of flesh. Some call it the best excuse to be naughty. Some adhere to the Vegas line: What happens at Carnaval stays at Carnaval. For Rebecca Hendrickson, it's the highlight of the year. A veteran of 20 consecutive years of Carnaval, she begins plotting her exotic costume the morning after the previous Carnaval. "It's the closest thing to Utopia that I've experienced," she says. "Carnaval is more than a place or even a statement. It's a social equalizer. It's about having a good time. Carnaval is about love, a love of music, dancing and colors." Carnaval in Brazil derives from the medieval Christian revelries in Europe held just before the 40 days of Lent. In Austin, the celebration was started in the early '70s in a small room at Unitarian Church by a group of Brazilian students attending the University of Texas. It became a public event in 1978, says organizer Mike Quinn. The celebration is adult entertainment. Revelers let their hair down. Alcohol is served. Yet, it can be a night to embrace Brazilian culture, especially the music. Many go just to dance, and they can do so for hours. The crowd is diverse, with people in their late teens to their late 70s. While many dress the part, others wear only a mask or a string of beads as a nod to the occasion. Some go just to people watch. "I love it," says Randy "Biscuit" Turner, who goes almost every year. "There is an energy there that you can't describe." Kelty Christman, who hosts a pre-Carnaval party to get her friends revved up for the celebration, delights in designing her costumes. "You see your inner freak," she says. |
If you go...
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Rebecca Hendrickson
Meet Madame Candi Valentine, the fantasy alter-ego of Hendrickson, 34. Hendrickson spent 80 hours planning, shopping and making her showgirl-style costume at a cost of $250. For her 21st consecutive Carnaval, she decided to bask in "the simplicity of my iridescent outfit." She accepts compliments with an ego that flourishes only at Carnaval. She revels in it. The Candi costume began evolving three years ago when she saw a bra with dangling beads at the Bazaar, an Austin store. She hated the fit, so she bought her own white satin bra for $5 at Ross Dress For Less and added $2-a-pack iridescent beads and sequins from Michael's that she and boyfriend Paul Ingle spent hours taking turns sewing to the the bra. The bottom portion is a $20 white satin thong. Goodwill stores and clearance racks anywhere are her friends. White fishnet hose and silver high heels with silver straps that wind up to her knees go perfectly. The feather boa around her waist makes her feel "pretty and feminine." She likes to stay with the same theme so people will recognize her from the year before. The latest addition is the headpiece, made of stiff felt and covered with sequins and pink and white feathers secured with hot glue. The top has a cascading bouquet of pink and white ostrich plumes and random sprays of iridescent beads. "I've let my imagination go wild," she says. "I feel very womanly. Candi is my childhood dream come to life." If you come her way, she hands out heart-shaped stickers along with a kiss on the cheek. Randy 'Biscuit' Turner
Turner's aim is to shock. "I like people to look at me and get that twisted look," he says. Turner, 56, has attended every Carnaval but three since 1978. He's won best of costume twice. This year's colorful tribute is to the Native American. He used yellow and black (the sacred colors of Comanches who once lived in Central Texas, he says) acrylic paint over a white base all over his blue jeans -- cheapies from Wal-Mart. Hopi suns and butterflies adorn the front. Orange horseshoes decorate the back. The back of the pants is covered with blue and yellow stars to signify the ghost dance of Plains Indians. The sparkly crimson red chaps are cheesy used-car lot pennants. His shoes are Carnaval veterans --15-year-old canvas slip-on tennis shoes with a bumble bee look. Bells tied to his ankles announce his approach, if the outfit's blinding colors don't. Bead rosettes accent the front of his red flannel vest. A garish Western shirt screams of turquoise, green, blue, yellow, red and black. Michael Jacksonesque glittery gloves contribute to Turner's Frank Zappa approach to his costume. The centerpiece is the headdress, which began as a construction worker hard-hat liner but was brought to life with pom-poms tipped with gold glitter, bead work glued on the brow and orange twisted aluminum foil attached to the crown. Clown white makeup, lightning bolts on the checks made with black mascara and bright red lipstick help bring out the face that is semi-hidden by the headdress. A hand-held rattle made of bottle caps and a 4-foot dance stick round out the costume. Turner spent 50 hours and $100 to create the costume, inspired by the magnificent costumes he saw at the annual Powwow and American Indian Heritage Festival. "I have a reputation to uphold that I'm a weird person. You have to learn to laugh at yourself," he says. Jeaneane McNulty
The beginnings of McNulty's "Fountain of Swans" costume started at brunch the day after last year's Carnaval. She and her friends discussed the best costume. Every year, the conversation turns to how they can challenge each other to come up with fabulous costumes for the next Carnaval. The search begins right away. Two months before Carnaval, McNulty shifts into planning mode. Scouting trips to Hancock Fabrics and Hobby Lobby begin. Sketches follow. This year, she started with the most difficult piece: the headdress. "No sewing; the best glue is Fabri-tac," she says. She took a $2 baseball cap, cut the brim off and added clear bra straps to make a chin guard. The two swans were cut from a heart-shaped foam floral form. The wings are shaped from thick foam padding, the kind used to pad chairs. The swan heads and beaks are also made from foam. She glued white silk rose petals on the swans and cap. Black buttons passed down to her from her seamstress great-grandmother serve as the swans' eyes. The fountain is two disposable silver plastic candy dishes (49 cents each at Hobby Lobby). Floral wire is attached to foam to form the structure for the water spouting from the fountain. (Are you following this at home?) McNulty used the same shimmery blue fabric to make a two-piece swimsuit, sleeves and thigh-high leg warmers. Making her own thong this year was a first. Her face is Cirque du Soleil-inspired. The key was to find highly pigmented makeup. The final touch is glitter hairspray from Party Pig ($3) all over her body. "This is Carnaval. I try to highlight parts of my body that I like the most. I love my collarbones," says the 32-year-old. In all, $60 and 58 hours went into the making of "Fountain of Swans." Joao Worcman, Ana Teixeira and Paula Worcman
Teixeira leaves the glitter, feathers and nudity to everyone else. Not that she's critical of the outrageous exhibition and unbridled misbehavior at Carnaval. "People have a lot of creativity. It's fun," says the 40-year-old native of Brazil who moved to Austin in 1998 and began attending Carnaval. Celebrations in her native country in February before Ash Wednesday vary from the elaborate costumes seen in parades and nightclubs to more casual attire on the streets. The emphasis is on dancing, and celebrations last four days in some parts of Brazil and up to 10 days in others. Competitions among samba dancing schools are the highlight. At Carnaval in Austin, it's all about how you're dressed or not dressed. Ana and her friends, 30-year-old Joao and wife Paula Worcman, 28, are wearing traditional matching T-shirts and white shorts or pants. The shirts promote "Ana Brasil," Teixeira's Brazilian market that she will open in March. The scoop on the T-shirts: In Brazil, "trio eletricos," or large flatbed trucks that are stages for live bands, meander through cities and towns. Partygoers must purchase a ticket to walk along or dance next to the truck as it makes its way through designated routes. People line the streets to watch the action. The ticket is actually the musical artist's collectible T-shirt, called the "abada." Teixeira and 30 of her friends are wearing her T-shirts to Carnaval to show the locals how it's done in Brazil. Traditionally, Brazilian women alter the shirts by cutting the sleeves or shortening the lengths by shredding to create a fringy look. "We want to make the T-shirts sensual," Teixeira says. "But our thing is to dance. We go to samba." she says. Vannessa Brown Rhoades and Kelty Christman
Friends Christman, 30, and Rhoades, 28, might as well have been born in Brazil. They love the culture. They went to the Internet this year: www.Beija-Flor.com.br, the site for Brazilian samba school Beija-Flor. With Brazilian music in the background to set the mood, they got together one night in January at Christman's home to plan their splash at Carnaval. They pored over images of women wearing skimpy and elaborate one-of-a-kind costumes. They settled on one they say transforms them into Amazonian bird girls. "I feel like a movie star wearing this," Rhoades says. "I feel alive," Christman says. They started with a brown bikini from Target and added trim from Hobby Lobby to the top portion of the suit. The loincloth is a natural-colored canvas that they cut into pieces for the front and back with a strap to connect the two. They used fabric paint on the front piece of the loincloth to create designs and tiny mirrors affixed with hot glue. They each got sweatpants at a Salvation Army store and used the lower leg portions for the arm and leg pieces of the costume. They glued rows of feather trim to the pieces. The headdress was the challenge. They went online again to find Lady Amherst pheasant feathers, 30 inches in length, at a cost of $75. The base is a baseball cap with the bill cut off, which they reinforced with strips of posterboard hot glued to the inside of the cap. They attached a circular piece of floral form and covered the cap and form with layers of feather trim. They cut out a sketch of a bird from brown posterboard and decorated with beads and trim. Carnaval is second nature to these friends, but their approach to the celebration is anything but serious. | |||
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