she wore black and sat, impassively, waiting for the questions. Her face has been accurately described as “an early Picasso” long, white, chiselled. Her slender fingers were never without a cigarette. Questions on her work were met with a disconcerting silence. A very long silence.
At last came the right question and the sun came out. The change was as unexpected as it was a relief. The transformation from an anguished 59-year-old into a blithe young woman arrived when I asked how she felt when she went to dance class for the first time, as a child.
“I loved to dance because I was scared to speak. When I was moving, I could feel.”
“Nobody wanted your dance,
Nobody wanted your strange glitter, your floundering
Drowning life and your effort to save yourself,
Treading water, dancing the dark turmoil,
Looking for something to give.”
~Ted Hughes (Birthday Letters: Poems)