Studio visit, first meeting. A small, elfish brunette, short bob. She explains, militant, magic, that she need the room to shoot an erotic queer movie, not a porno, she insists. When she comes to pick up the keys, she brings her mother and aunt, two merry spanish ladies. I hope Aida will be back to play more magic tricks.
Her life seemed so funky, so funny, that it inspired me to slam the door on any lifestyle involving going to the "office". Freelance fashion photographer, sharp tongue, killer wit by the buttload, she has no pity for anyone. Beautiful, delicate, elegant, snob, she is a hard-edged “diva”. She wears Prada that she secretly buys on the cheap. Her rambling apartment in Budapest was a strange and beautiful affair, bits and bobs, photographic jumble, the lot straddled by two huge panting dogs.
He is a photographer, neo-Doisneau in black and white. French, hip, hippie, short hair, macho. He is tall, thin and slightly arched, phlegmatic - almost limp. Kindly, he entrusted me with the realisation of a cover for some nondescript photo magazine, which I did, limply. He signs show after show at the French Institute of Budapest at the speed of light.
I had a fractured leg. I was looking for an au pair, urgently, to take care of my children. She loved children. Magnificent round and generous Irish redhead, studded with a million freckles, she had her leg crushed by a truck. I spoon-fed her during an entire winter.
Sociologist working on Bangladesh, friend and colleague of Günter’s, whom talks incessantly of her, she sometimes lectures at the Weissensee Hochkunstschule. She is Italian, polyglot, slim, blonde, short bob.
Gitti and her husband Helmut were our heroes. At theirs, my children could play Nintendo, eat all the junk food in the world, play with their two obese cats, and even sometimes go play mini-golf. Gitti exuded a tough, unsweetened type of kindness. Red hair, glaring makeup, all chuckles and plumpness.
He runs a chic gallery in Berlin. Jovial, bon vivant, pleasing face, he still wears the same navy blue suit jacket over white shirt, and sports a beer gut that testifies to his taste for the latter. His openings are quite fun.
Enthusiastic and talkative professor, messy hair, booming, quavering voice, hip-hop look, red sweatshirt and sneakers, I immediately took to him at the university welcome get-together.
In Berlin, it is of capital importance to maintain good relations with one’s bike dealer, thank god Hassan is a charming, bearded neighbour, strategically perfect. He is shy, yet his eyes twinkle and flash with petulance. He is very polite but I believe him to be rather naughty.
Klaus was our HTML teacher. He performed the miracle of making this difficult language accessible to us. He’d always hail me: “Meine bunte Bonbon!”, booming from the end of the class.
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Directive: noun.
an official or authoritative instruction: a new EU directive.
Demos: noun. 1-village. 2-deme: the smallest administrative unit of the Athenian state, like a voting precinct. 3-people, as in the People of Athens, the body of citizens collectively.