It’s the eyes I see first. That clear, direct gaze. Come and get it , she seems to be saying. Or maybe, I dare you. Then the arms, bent at the elbows and wrists, with tapered fingers set on narrow hips. A defiant pose. Defy is a word I often associate with her. She defied convention, odds, an entire industry. She knew what she wanted and went after it. The photo is black-and-white, but I’m sure her blouse is blue, her favorite color. It’s buttoned to the neck, held fast by a brooch, with one breast pocket to store a pen or cigarette. Her lower half is out of frame; she might be wearing a skirt to attend rehearsal, or trousers for her daily fencing lesson. Low-heeled shoes would complete the ensemble, allowing her to move with elfin agility. She’s not quite 30 years old here, her skin as yet unscarred by the fire that would severely wound her three years later. Her short hair flips out at the edges, unruly and unfashionable, as it would remain. She kept it cropped, she said, because she wore so many wigs onstage. The style might have been a signal, too, to those in the know. Her name is Eva Le Gallienne. I’ve never met her, but I know her well. The work of the theatre is ephemeral, but sometimes its lost treasures can be revived. At the time she was photographed by Edward Steichen for Vanity Fair in December 1928, Le Gallienne had already become a West End sensation, a Broadway star, and the founding manager of New York’s first non-profit classical repertory theatre. In total, her career spanned most of the 20 th century, during which she worked continuously as an actor, director, producer, writer, and translator. But I’ve always been most captivated by the third decade of her life, when this audacious young lesbian took Manhattan by storm. The work of the theatre is ephemeral, but sometimes its lost treasures can be revived. This was my aim when I decided to dramatize Le Gallienne’s story. In the fall of […]
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