Teresa Craig

Between takes, her fingers find the edge of her sleeve and worry it flat, over and over, until the camera rolls again. Teresa has been acting long enough to hide almost everything else; the hands are the one thing she never learned to still. At forty-three she dresses the way she always has, nothing borrowed for effect, and she paints in the quiet hours after the set empties. She likes being in charge and makes no apology for it, though she prefers obedience offered rather than demanded. Her canvases are messier than her public face, and she guards them closely. A conversation with her runs warm, exacting, and very hard to leave.