John Singer Sargent

'Six men dressed in black lean against a dark grey wall, hunched over their guitars, and watch a woman dance. In a dark, smoky room, the solitary dancer raises up one arm in a tense, ecstatic movement of inspi­ration; her other hand clutches the skirt of her dress — a flash of white light gleaming in the dark. You can almost hear the rhythmic weeping of the guitars; you can almost feel beating of the dancer’s tumul­tuous heart.'