ARTICLE BY JEFF WING
LIGHTS, CAMERA, CRAWFORD
“There was a time when your teacher of classical dance and your teacher of classical piano were of a like taxonomy, so to speak. If you are a person of a certain age today, you may remember with a shiver the dour, cloaked figure with the untraceable Eastern-European accent who hovered like a metronomic reaper over the piano bench, her gnarled and insistent hand gesturing you through endless repetitions of Für Elise until your most exquisite pre-teen fantasy was that of waterboarding Beethoven. Ah, Miss Olga. Once upon a time your childhood teacher of classical dance was likewise an Iron Curtain forget-me-not with a severe expression, a dense gray bun held together with knitting needles, and a manner that suggested she would eat Bob Fosse for lunch, derby and all, and spit the sequins out like bones.”