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The Creative Life
I have another interesting memory of Havana. On a party night where all the cabarets were full of life, after our usual seaside walk, we arrived at a typical Havana cafe. It was about three in the morning (… ). We took a seat at a table in the downstairs room, poorly lit and with an atmosphere charged by tobacco smoke. I directed my gaze at a pale, hallucinated-looking man, with corpse-like cheeks, and fierce eyes. With his long, fine fingers, he played the piano keys. I was surprised to hear Chopin’s “Preludes” there, played with wonderful art. I gazed at him for a while and then I approached him, but I could utter no more than a few incoherent words…I got the fantastic desire to dance for that rare competition. I wrapped myself in the cape, gave the pianist some instructions and danced to some of the “Preludes.” The drinkers kept silent, and as I continued to dance, I was warned that not only had I gained their attention, but many of them were crying. The pianist himself woke up from his morphine intoxication and played with more inspiration.
I was dancing until the next morning, and when I left they hugged me. I felt prouder than in any theater, because I understood that this was an effective test of my talent, without any businessman’s contest, or advertisements that attracted the attention of the general public.
— Isadora Duncan
