Growing up in Algiers, I was captivated by the mystical whirling dervish dance. I kept a beautiful memory alive knowing that one day I would make a visual tribute. Years later, I found myself in the dancers' dressing room at Lincoln Center in New York. The small, dimly lit room had its own magic, with costumes and props spilling over every surface, and a grand mirror that had seen so many prima ballerinas that it had started to elegantly fade. Beside the mirror stood a vase of fresh flowers, carefully posed to delight the eye. But I realized what I missed was the sight of flowers swaying and resisting in the arms of a summer breeze. That's when I had my creative epiphany. The flowers, the dancers' vibrant costumes, the swirly breeze I felt when the dervishes danced in front of me--it all came together and knew then how to visualize the ethereal experience of my childhood.