I had the great privilege of directing Judith-Marie Bergan in four productions (Long Day’s Journey into Night; August: Osage County; The Very Merry Wives of Windsor, Iowa and A Midsummer Night’s Dream) at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. According to Merriam-Webster, a muse is defined as “a source of artistic inspiration, especially a guiding genius.” Judith-Marie was my muse. Now I know that I am, undoubtedly, not the only director to have perceived her in this magical way, but she was. She really was my muse. We had a ritual: After we opened a show, we would have a lunch date, and I would ask her, “What’s next? What will be our next project?” She was that kind of artist. She was a guiding genius for me and for so many of us.

According to Merriam-Webster, the definition of alchemy is “the transmutation of base metals into gold.” Another definition is “an inexplicable or mysterious transmuting.” There is no way to describe the particular alchemy of a Judith-Marie Bergan performance.

I had the great pleasure of witnessing her create, assemble, excavate and construct many of her roles up close. Really close—like 10 feet away. I spent many hours and weeks with her in rehearsal rooms, and I have no idea how she did it. I would watch her rehearse a scene, and my mouth would literally hang open. I would just sit there, stunned, thunderstruck by her shimmering genius. After the scene was finished, I knew that it was my job to respond to what she had done, to give her notes, to help shape the scene. More times than I can count, I would simply walk over to her and whisper, “I don’t know how you do it. You are simply brilliant.” She would laugh, her eyes would twinkle, and she would always turn the praise right back to me or her fellow actors.

Lighting designers always loved to light Judith-Marie, because she glowed. She had that indescribable, lit-from-within quality. It didn’t matter if she was standing in a bright spotlight or in the middle of a textured, shadowy moonlight effect, she just glowed. She shimmered. I think it’s because she was busy turning base metals into gold.

From the drug-addled rage and desperation of Violet Weston to the pink-hued and pig-obsessed daffiness of the Manager of the Come On Inn to the simple grace and faith of Sister Hippolyta to the haunted and heart-shattered grace of Mary Tyrone, Judith-Marie had an inexplicable and mysterious ability to transmute her voluminous, meticulous research into stunning truth. She had no equal.

I promise this is the last one, but, according to Merriam-Webster, the definition of a sprite is “a small creature that has magical powers, an elf or fairy.” To me, Judith-Marie was a sprite: a small creature with unlimited magical powers and a spectacular, elfin sense of fashion. Every time I got to collaborate with her, I couldn’t wait to get to rehearsal. I couldn’t wait to see what she would do next. I couldn’t believe I would get to just sit in the room and watch this exquisite artist, in all her magic, at work.

If I may paraphrase Lin-Manuel Miranda in Hamilton, how lucky we are to have been alive right now to have known and been inspired by this guiding genius. How lucky we are to have worked alongside her gentle spirit. How lucky we are to have witnessed her astonishing fashion sense. How lucky we are to have seen this sprite glowing in performance after performance in the Allen Elizabethan Theatre, the Thomas Theatre, the Angus Bowmer Theatre. How lucky we all are to have shared this planet with Judith-Marie Bergan.

Click here for a slideshow of Judith-Marie Bergan's many roles at OSF.