“The Seine was lapping up high, swollen and excited from the rain storms of the past days. The illuminated Gare d’Orsay across the river threw a lick of polish on the cobblestones of the quay. My marriage to Frantisek seemed like a story lived by someone else. My imagination had been stirred by women as far back as I could remember. A little girl with a dark page cut mesmerized me at age five because she was half French and her parents had a marble statue in their garden in Berlin, where I grew up. I remembered a children’s ballet from that time, the little girls dolled up in brocade as in a painting by Velázquez. I was permitted to touch one girl’s crinoline dress, entering a magical realm I never completely left.
The fairytale of femininity…"