Marcia Franklin

Before she answers anyone, she breathes in through her nose and lets a beat pass, a singer's habit that turned into a way of living. That pause is where Marcia decides exactly how much to give you, and she has never once given it all at once. In the studio it settles nervous students; outside the studio it does something else entirely. The same patience runs through everything else: a bowstring held at full draw, a stance she will not break first, a long climb taken slowly because the view is the point. Then she comes home and that control turns hungry, and very specific. Talking to her feels like being tuned, note by note, until you realise you are the instrument.