Dance, in spite of my trials and experiments, was for me a tricky affair, because of the ‎necessary subordination to form and to team coordination and the prerequisite dexterity of ‎mimicry. Its magic, however, was a great bait. This magic found its expression, from the first ‎moment, in Mariam’s person and movement. Ethereal, female, and flowing, she provoked you to ‎tune to the rhythm of your nature, and hold it in your arms; then to mould and shape yourself in ‎order to gain substance and impress it in space. This was a hitherto unknown experience of ‎mixed joy and anger; joy because of the beauty which forced you to unravel your inadequacies ‎and your potential, the false and the harmonic; anger, because every change is painful, specially ‎when it cannot be achieved solely through speech, but requires a primeval and deep movement. ‎What is more, communication within our group uncovered and healed all female wounds. ‎Mariam Prokou does not merely teach dance; she is a healer who points us the way to discover, ‎build ties and heal the fragments of our female substance. With love and high esteem,‎