It is a peaceful weekday morning. As I ring the bell at the art gallery, the suburb wraps me in friendly gurgles of chatter and radio and the hum of appliances. Someone had suggested a visit to the exhibition of artist Judith Mason Obecause she has some truth commission stuffO. I find myself in a room that is altogether empty except for a wire coathanger suspended from the ceiling. On it is a dress made of blue shopping-bag plastic. Thin, pretty shoulder straps hold up a blue embroidered bodice from the soft pleated empire line the skirt flows out light and carefree as if swaying in a soft morning breeze. It is so exquisite this twirling blue, delicately rustling dress that I have to bend over to kneel or sit or prostrate myself. Because it is for her! Umkhonto weSizwe commander Phila Ndwandwe. This dress is for her! The woman who refused to betray her comrades. The woman who was shot while kneeling; who was buried on one of apartheidOs killing farms. Whose skeleton, with blue plastic around the pelvis, was unearthed by the truth commission. The blue plastic panties she made in detention to keep her dignity in the face of the men who, for weeks, kept her naked. The plastic of shame and humiliation has been transformed into this haunting blue salute of beauty. Hamba Kahle Phila, the rustling of the dress made by Judith Mason seems to whisper, may your spirit dance forever free in this blue blessed dress for you … and perhaps also for us.