When she was sixteen she bought a record called Horses. The girl on the album cover wore a white shirt and a black ribbon. Within her poems and songs she reached for her own kind—the purveyors of anarchy and transformation. The girl of Flanders felt her words and somehow knew her. There was an alchemical sense of kinship, of paths converging.
Because it's her birthday and you probably don't know enough about this fascinatingly elusive woman.