Aimé

Somewhere in a filing cabinet, a yellowed rating sheet recorded the hours, the maneuvers, the instructor's cursive sign-off on a student pilot's progress. It was bureaucratic. It was ordinary. But the woman who flew those hours was anything but. Kathryn Cirincione reaches into that archive and pulls two women into the same electric moment: a goggled aviator rendered in cool cobalt blue, overlaid on the columns and checkboxes of a restricted commercial course rating sheet, and beside her, a glamorous figure in full red — coat, boots, hat — saluting in front of a Lemberger biplane diagram as if she has just stepped off the tarmac and onto a stage.