Last night we saw the incomparable Juliette Greco! She is 81 and wonderful to see. She performed in a black velvet floor length dress with an open v- neck, full length dolman sleeves. No adornments, no jewelry, her skin shone out like pearls against her thick black hair, she didn’t need any other jewelry. I have her vinyl records at home because of the beautiful covers with the photos of her face, and at different times have tried to copy her style of makeup, the dark deep eyes and pale serious mouth. Her voice was still a great deep growl, and yet her smile and her spirit wonderfully coquettish. She could have been any age, she contained all the ages of woman, from the girlish flirt to the fierce matron; the sensual woman in love, the woman scorned, the woman angry because of injustice. Her hands were lovely and expressive, from the song about the accordion where she fingered her slender body, up and down her tiny belly, dancing over her breasts, to the song about the little bird, where her fingers flew like wings. At other times she would ball them up by her hips, or thrust them at the audience in a fighting gesture. Every movement was full of vitality, grace, or humor. Or she would caress and cup the microphone. In “Je t’aime” she caressed a face that came up before hers until her own face was covered. Very French, very female. An original. Endlessly inventive with her hands, her shoulders, her face, her mouth, her eyes. Simple beautiful production of accordion and piano.  If I had roses, I would have thrown them all over the stage at her feet. Perhaps I should have said hello backstage, but I want to remember her always standing in the light of the stage, luminescent, radiant.