I met her for the first time yesterday. She asked if I was a dancer. I smiled, not because I am, but because I think she saw my friend Loie. 

Loie was a professional dancer in Chicago. We went to visit her in California this year. And seeing her move with such grace between rooms, or simply standing in front of the garage door, I think, I hope, I took a bit of it on — like a French accent, or the joy of my grandma Elsie. 

People have always asked me how I started as an artist. It may sound unusual, but I can honestly say that the two most important things in my career (probably just life) have been to surround myself with the best people, and to pay attention. And what a pleasure to know, as I’m standing in my ballet flats in the south of France, it’s still working. 

I wrote a poem for my grandma at the end of her life. Telling her how much she meant to my mother, to me. Promising her that when people see me, really see me, on my very best of days, they will see her. I don’t always succeed, but on the days when you say, that this painting brought you joy, or these words touched your heart, I think, I hope, I know, that you saw her too!

And in all this joy, this friendship, this love, there’s nothing to do, I suppose, but dance.