It is many years later that she writes it down. The simplicity of the notes, tapped out on the piano, bring back the music of Nina’s waltz until she is standing there, fragile yet strong and graceful. Lit up against the dark exterior of the tent, with the mechanism of the trapeze behind.
‘My own words were not enough, only another’s could transform misery into inspiration.’ This encounter with another’s words and its capacity to change, to alter or steer one a certain way – the all important journey of the mind – is what I’m reaching for in my own work. And although I feel temporarily silenced by my admiration for Patti Smith’s essay, for its clarity and precision, by my wish to craft my own writing in a similar way, I know at least the flow of ideas begins by breaking the silence. Reading other’s words starts off the trail, the invisible connecting lines and the flow of thoughts; like walking.
The Street Walks In 