Turning, she studied the woman who sat in a royal-blue tufted chair.
The hair was pure white, but as full and thick as Laurel’s. It surrounded a face layered
and lined with wrinkles and unashamedly rouged. Olivia Armand wasn’t ashamed of
anything. Eyes as sharp and green as the emeralds in her ears studied Laurel in turn.
“Grandma.” With a sigh, Laurel bent to kiss her. “Will you never grow old?”
“Not if I have anything to say about it.” Her voice was raspy with age and stunningly
sensual.
Partners
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By Festival Internacional de Cine en Guadalajara - cropped version of 18.03.10 Agnès Varda.
© Cortesía de FICG 25 / Oscar Delgado, CC BY 2.0,
https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=9855552
The 90-year-old giant of the Nouvelle Vague on her latest film, Faces Places, life with Jacques Demy, and that ‘dirty rat’ Jean-Luc Godard
Agnès Varda is a dizzying blur of dots – polka-dot trousers, polka-dot shirt, polka-dot socks, polka-dot scarf. “I’ve always loved polka dots. Ah, oui. It is a joyful shape, the polka dot. It is alive.” You could say the same of Varda. She is more joyously alive than anybody I have ever met.