Shadows fell on the girl who had recorded Horses. At a time of deep loneliness she received a package from Antwerp—an exquisite white box tied with black ribbon—like a photograph by Robert Mapplethorpe. She set it on her worktable by the window, laid the ribbons aside, and raised the lid. There, beneath layers of immaculate tissue, were three white shirts. She unfolded and spread them in the light, examining every stitch. I understood that I was not alone. When at long last I stepped back upon the stage, the girl of Flanders brushed the dust from my shoulder, adjusted my collar, and laced my boots.

Patti Smith on Ann Demeulemeester.