Night was falling. I watched clips. I had a few drinks. And then I've spent time to make a new friend.

 

Every time I need to reassure myself, I read a poem. I listen to Gluck. And I try to imagine the paradise of my dreams.

A mystery. On the back of the photo, there is a phone number blackened with a ballpoint pen. And somebody has written : "Call me...T"

The sky turned black. The gulls were silent. I've taken the photo and I went for a beer in front of the North sea.

 

This picture reminds me London. My first still lifes. My little room in the appartment of the Tzaroff, a couple of former Russian surgeons.

 

Emma had been ballerina in Buenos Aires. She was a friend of my mother. Child, I often went walking with her.

 

It's the game with Toni, a poet in exile in Ibiza. The highest price we pay for the gift we exchange: one euro.

 

Some are obsessed by bears. Others, by flowers. In my case, it's pretty weird. I'm amused by death's heads.

 

A little bit of cash, a convertible and, of course, your darling...You're ready for a thrilling weekend !

 

The painting was at the foot of the bin. Why get rid of a woman who knows to dance? I have no explanation.

 

I've forgotten everything about this photo given to a Korean friend. Who owned the bear? Why so many blacks? I no longer know.

 

It was in India. After a disappointment in love, I started seeing hearts everywhere. Today, they are a part of my life as a photographer.

 

I often make doll's photos. My fear of growing old does not explain everything. There is something else. But what?