"Clytemnestra" was ambitious. "Clytemnestra" was grandiose. "Clytemnestra" was a smashing success, renounced by audiences and critiques alike. "Clytemnestra" was a Trojan horse. Hidden inside what seemed like the grand success of everything she aspired for in 30 years of hard work, were the seeds of destruction. Waiting for her to get used to this grand prize that was standing in the middle of her being, so that they can sneak out while she is not on the watch and burn her to the ground. Or was it just the coming 1960's? Oh yes, the 1960's. A decade of liberation. The time when, finally, it seemed like modernism might get the upper hand. By that time, she was already an American icon, revered as the women who turned artistic dancing from something designed for narcissistic women who at the age of four, fell in love with their tutu skirt wearing image in the mirror, and for men who due to unmentionable reasons liked to see themselves wearing tights, into a lively and exciting form of expression. Yet deep in her heart she knew that this recognition does not become her. She felt that as an artist, she must always look for new challenges for herself, and new ways to challenge the acceptable. So in 1961, Martha Graham was not happy, and there was only one person in the world, she knew she can talk to about that.

God gave me a pen and asked me what do I want to write. I am still writing the answer.
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