No one rejoices more in revenge than women, wrote Juvenal. Women do most delight in revenge, wrote Sir Thomas Browne. Sweet is revenge, especially to women, wrote Lord Byron. And I say, I wonder why, boys. I wonder why.
An overlooked woman artist married to an art dealer who did not help her career exhibits a series of her works after his death through male artists whom she uses as masks although, of course, they are neither husks nor silent, and all their voices put together reconstruct her life posthumously. The woman's own voice is energetic and erudite often verging on the frenetic as she rages against gender discrimination, and the experience of engaging with her life is like looking through a kaleidoscope while listening to polyphony that sometimes descends into cacophony simply because that is what life often is: messy, disjointed, unrelenting, and utterly exhausting.