Foto says it’s all too late -‘clothe yourself in the life you’ve lived not the one you’ve been waiting for’ – ..and, as crowds in Oxford Street overpower the recovering spyche, ‘fashion isn’t to be found in a shop window’.. true, oh sage, true
Green shoots on dead branches. 100th anniversary of he who died as quietly and easily as he lived, no Stalin exit for spyche’s Dad and s/he no Svetlana, either.. time for new underwear, magical Lancome – re-generation of embodied history..
Foto and I sniff out truth over a latte … what is it that haunts the memory, lingers like music on the breeze? sweetness of the skin – individual, unrepeatable …did we lose for love?.. the scent of memory had a body.. Foto couldn’t capture it, ‘.. must be Mum’ ( hat’s off andre green) .. we laughed – truth was it was an other, whatever..