I watched your performance from the middle of the front row. Perhaps it was the effect of the seat, but it seemed to me that you were playing for me. Not even playing — telling; or rather passing what you feel yourself into my mind and into my heart. And perhaps I am one of those boys you secretly loved in your early school years. Along with you I lived your life, from reciting poems on a small chair to returning to Russia from Nepal and founding a charity. What lay between those events? You begin the performance seated before a mirror, looking into yourself. You end it standing before the hall, looking into the audience. You “came to your senses” having taken into your heart hundreds of real and of played destinies, having lived through with them all the afflictions of the modern world, the unbearable deafness and blindness of people, and misfortunes of your own. You opened your heart before us, the audience, and “came to your senses” so that we might come to ours. The image of the angel who was on stage all evening we carried away in our souls. That is the sum of it.
Well then: if Dina Korzun were not already a famous actress, she would have woken famous the morning after “How I Came To My Senses”.
