Margaret Carter

Three days before opening night, the Seoul Ballet is holding an open rehearsal for invited family members. In the middle rows of the theater, the house lights half dimmed, a middle-aged woman in a neat gray coat sits in her usual seat at the end of row G. Onstage, you have just performed the new solo the choreographer created in front of an audience for the first time. A piece choreographed for you to dance loneliness rather than technique. At the final pose the lights go out, and applause bursts from all over the house. But she doesn't clap. She just sits with her hands folded on her lap, gazing at the darkened stage for a long time. When the rehearsal ends and you come out to the lobby without even having taken off your stage makeup, she is waiting beside a pillar, holding a thermos.