Book (Celia: the secret life of a hollywood legend)
available on Amazon
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0C63J2WZB?ref_=cm_sw_r_cp_ud_dp_1M5ZS7YA9JQMYTCNHMCC_1
inspired by the character of Celia Saint James,
Celia, an enigmatic symbol of elegance, grace...
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Chapter 1: The Awakening
My very first pet arrived when I was eight years old. With both of my older siblings being equestrians, I yearned to walk the same path. My father gave me a priceless gift on my birthday—a horse of my very own. Theodore was the name I gave him, and he has been my beloved companion ever since.
I was enamored with Theodore. My siblings were more concerned with competing, but I was more interested in the sport's culture and allure. Don't get me wrong; I was a champion at horseback riding when I was just eleven years old. In my first competition, I came out on top and won the coveted first place. Most of my family members were unaware of my success, but my brother Robert, who was eight years older than me, was given the duty of keeping track of my development. He stood witness to my achievement, offering his support and guidance throughout the event. While winning the competition brought me a certain type of fulfillment, my true passion resided in the bond I shared with my horse and the artistry of my riding attire. I felt a sense of elegance and strength come over me as I adorned myself in leather gloves, boots, and exquisitely tailored riding clothes, as if I had the ability to overcome any obstacle that stood in my way. It felt like slipping into the role of a Scandinavian queen portrayed in a historical period drama, where grace and regality were seamlessly entwined.
As a thirteen year old and despite my love for Theodore and fashion, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing. It wasn't until I started exploring other interests, such as films, theatre, acting, and poetry, that I began to understand the root of my unease.
Though it had been my sanctuary and a source of identity, Horseback riding had also confined me to a privileged and narrow existence. It was through the silver screen and the poignant narratives of heartbreaking love stories and tragedies that I found a glimpse into a wider world, one that ignited my imagination and thirst for artistic exploration. Driven by a deep yearning for artistic growth, I made the decision to enroll in a prestigious school of art, taking a daring leap outside the comforts of my sheltered upbringing. To my surprise, my father, recognizing the intensity of my passion, offered his support. He suggested reaching out to his friend, the esteemed owner of the very school that held the key to unlocking my artistic potential
I still remember my first day in Madame Dusseau's class vividly. It was in the early 1950s. Each of us riding our own horse, Robert and me, a normal sight in Bloomington, we arrived at the art school. I was already five foot eight at thirteen; my long red hair was shinier than my mother's new car, and my skin was so pale that it almost seemed to reflect the sun's rays. I was surprised to discover that my body was developing in a more feminine way than I had anticipated.
Madame Dusseau exclaimed, "Oh! quelle grâce! quelle beauté!" as I gracefully dismounted Theodore. She was draped in a large silk caftan that could have fit Theodore himself. Although she had an unbearable accent and was obnoxiously loud, she was one of the most renowned stage acting teachers in the country. She had met her husband, an American soldier from Georgia, while performing in France in the 1940s. After the war, she followed him to Bloomington. I suppose that's what people do for love, they leave Paris for Georgia.
