The two dancers, each older and dressed in seemingly causal fawn and grey, riveted my attention. I was a stranger to the art kind, and I did not know the language of the dance and could not recognize its phases or its allusions. My coronary heart and soul responded to something pressing, unusually oppressive, but indefinable which may have a fear of what those who understand flamenco name duende. If I was more Art & Media literate within the art type, I would little doubt have understood a lot more, but the art, performed by those who did know and had mastered its intricacies, communicated an expertise of their world to me despite my lack of coaching. In that evening, I learned more about the expertise of life in southern Spain than I had in my earlier pursuit of library books and websites.
