![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwln0AR_D0ZJvC8K2C0T1NdUeddR51L5j1qh1SeQBMlOIC3sKJu0MMnapq91HS2QX2tTjCmXFwLsy3zsn7u8peDn_M-qVoj1UkN7EEVN3vrlcCGYRTv17WLiMHzGF-z1YPRcArcUYeIFo/s400/Edgar-Degas-Dancer-with-a-Fan-1-Oil-Painting.jpg)
I walked into the classroom, which wasn't lit and had some cloudy window light so I could see the poster. I sort of remember hearing the grown-ups exclaiming "damnit, where'd the kid go?" and just not caring. Someone eventually had to come find me. I told my mom I was looking at that painting and she said, "well, it's ok but not really my thing." It was SO my thing. She looked like a princess and I wanted to be a princess because, duh. But it was inexplicably so much cooler than "pretty." I thought it was cool how none of the whites were white and the composition (I didn't know that word) was weird. It seemed utterly mysterious.
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