In the turbulent decades of his intense political engagement,
Milton wrote prose–or, as he put it, with his “left hand.”

In the relaxed weeks of her long-awaited artistic holiday,
Rebecca has literally been sketching with her left hand.

Both exercises in restraint, it turns out, are marvels to behold.

I’m left wondering about transferences between the two brains.

We cannot make any claims for the provenance of this print.
We simply say it commands our attention more than this pixel dust:

Every amazing one of the ninety-nine winning contestants:

And we could have watched even more compete all week:

If only they had opened up Il Teatro Nuovo for us. (Maybe we were too old. Forgot our tights? Failed to put up our hair in buns?)

But the night of the gala, there were no questions asked.
It lent atmosphere, though, if you came dressed to the nines.