You know you’re in the presence of duende when you see a dancer just going in. They’ve transcended something. They’re no longer doing choreographed steps—something else has taken over. Or a singer, where beyond the words, they’re doing these runs and they’re in that moment--they’re screaming, they’re howling, and you feel it in your bones. You need an exact present; you need a body to interpret it, which to me says something also, about pathos. I’m not sure whether it’s sympathy or empathy, but this idea of identifying with this other… There’s something human that’s happened. But now, for the writers—where does that leave us?