It’s as if she carries fire within her, seeking it in every place her gaze lands—unless, of course, it is she who ignites it. Sarah Makharine is one of the most compelling and promising photographers of her generation, and in recent years, her striking portraits have left no one indifferent. If Sarah had photographed Joséphine, it wouldn’t have been when she was already at the height of her fame. Instead, she would have captured her much earlier—the poor little girl from Saint Louis, Missouri, wandering the streets of New York, stepping out of a seedy cabaret, or just as she arrived in Europe, still unknown, yet melting the hearts of Parisian audiences with her gestures and playful grimaces. Those very expressions shattered prejudices—and, if only briefly, even racism. Making people laugh remains one of the most powerful ways to disarm, and it is with this in mind that Sarah Makharine set out across Europe to photograph women who, like Baker, had been uprooted—women on the run, refugees, often from Africa, who, for a fleeting moment, agreed to smile for her, to make a face in return. As if humor were the last wealth one possesses after losing everything. As if mischief could momentarily halt the tragic course of events—or, in cases like Joséphine’s, perhaps even reverse it. Crossed eyes instead of tearful ones. Eyes that laugh, and a photograph that remembers—offering, in that instant, a tangible reason to believe.