We where three 20 year olds on the way to Paris. One Ukraninan, one Russian and a Croat of course.
The journey started at 4 am for my self, at that age being natural having a boyfirend, and it natural for a boyfirend to be scared of a girlfriend encountering any French men at all, meant he had kept me up awake all night, as to melanchololy absorb as much of me as possible in case I might return changed. No effort to throw him out of the apartament, or to get to sleep, worked, and so having sleapt none, very exhausted, I was glad to go into the freezing febuary night, and get away.
Taksi was booked for 5am. The train left for paris at 6. I was living in hoxton. The taxi was too small it turned out. It was 5.10 There was I stuck with huge paintings, which had to get to Paris by the next day for my exhibition opening, and it looked like i was going to miss the train.
So thats why the gods set the boyfirend to woose ower me that night i concluded, his purpose was to help me carry the huge paintings, down several kilometers in the night trough east london streets until we could get to a point wehere we would actualy spot a black cab.
It was 5.35 am, the cab where as frequent as water salesmen in the desset. But we did signal the first to stop. The paintings where too big to fit in the black cab, that is the clasic version. At 5.40 we hailed the new 2000 version but this also was badley tailored for painting transport. The only other possible cab that might fit the paintings was the ugley square 80's eddition, and it came, and stopped,paintings fit, and we where off to waterloo. I was verry late. The train had 2 minutes to departure. People where allready waiting in line for the next train. But as fate would have it both paintings and I got on.
On the trian my ukraninan project ally was ready and set to go, with her friend russian who was simpley there becouse she loved Paris and any exsuce was good enough. The russian had her hair in 17 century curles and her cheeks where shiney with gold powder. "Oh pleased to meet you.. I just came straigh from the War & Peace Ball"
Terribley tired, K fell asleap. The russian M handed me an ear phone as a sign of friendship, right out of her own ear, out of which sounds of Ella fitzgerald and Strictmachine flooded my brain, hypnotizing me into sleep too..
In Paris, it being one hour ahead of london it was allready gray dawn. The exhibition was in Rue Rivoli, and of course the damn paintings did not fit into just any cab. Miss russia than pointed out towards a limouzine. Oh of course. My first ride in a limo, I took like an indian cheif, nestleled under a teepee of my paintings . The choffeur was loving it. And charging it.
Rue rivoli 59 is a 5 floor house, once eamptey, claimed by artists, who set up a studio and living space, at the ratio 1 artist to 1 room. The rooms vary in size. But each room was something out of a fairy tale, each room was an entirely different world, with a unique atmosphere, coloration, and undescribable objects, artworks decorating them.
On entering the building a moroccan man, a verry tall man, with a broken umbrella whose skeleton was hung with teady bears and flowers and all kinds of jangles took my hand and began a dance, he was singing too, and danced with all of us as a means of introduction. Miss russia was squealing from delight. But it was am in France too. Which reminded her that she will fall in a bad mood unles her energies where replenished by an omlett in a sun filled street cafe.
Paris was bathed in sunshine, very exotic for london dwelers, and we breathed in the sunshine, with the freezing febuary air and we became dizzy with excitement. At omlett, it was decided that magic exsits and will happen to us.
We spent the day setting up in the gallery. The show was made up of two parts. The easiley constructable painting exhibition which I had negotiated out of caprice to St. Martin's college becouse they did not aprove my going on an exchange to the parisian Beaux artes school. And a more magnificant performance, never seen before, inside a new type of theatrical stage readiley invented by Kseniya and my self.
The stage was made entireley out of paper, and constircted the movement of the audence as well as framed them as a piece of art. I shant tell more as it is copyright. Having spent the whole day, stappeling paper, climbing ladders, pulling electricity lines, setting up lights illegaly borrowed form college. We where exhausted. K left for the hotel she had booked on line. I taking on Morrocans offer to stay and paint all night just becosue I can, prepared my self for insomnia. Plus I was a poor student, and secondley I had previousley proved that I could stay awake 3 nights witohut sleeping as long as there was music and I kept dancing. Miss russia announced " I have to have a bath or I will die" Before she left to hunt down a hotel next to the louvre she suggested I may wish to take better care of my self and enjoy some comforts in life as well as art. I was aobut to start painting and than her idea, a very new kind of idea in my student brain, seemed the best possible, I switched off the lights took the council, and the very first hotel next to the gallery, and jumped into the bath.
The folowing moring we where all refreshed, and ready to work. The organizers had invited everyone they knew in Paris and expected a large publc to come to the performace. K and I rehearsed. M was the film recoding director. The show opened in the evening. Croatian ambassador arrived and the cultire council of Paris, and all kinds of art people that meant notthing at the time. More surprising was the arrival of my morther and her best firend, who had each relinquished their 3 children to husbands in Staffordshire, and appeared in Paris, with cakes for the openeing.
We placed people one by one into the avant gard theatre setting using a kinfe, when no more could fit, lights turned on, and perfomance started. The show was something between shadow theatre, theatre of cruelty, poetry, mime, art, and won us a rewiew as the best thing in Paris that month together with Richters painting exhibition.
There was an after party to the opening on the island in the Seine. The paranoid mother remarks where hushed by her firend and taken off in a taxi setting us free. K was tired and decided to return to her hotel. M and I stepped into drizzely Paris like hounds set to looking for our after party and a share of the magic we deserve. We found the street. On the fourth floor of a building a lit window was blearing happy hot latin music into the cold night. The window was decorated with red baloons and the party seemed exactley what we needed. Yet, it turned out to be the wrong number of the street.
Our after party was a 10 minute walk in the rain later, and the party was a dark gloom, coloured with blue lazer lights industrial electronic music and faces we did not recognise.
M looked at me, and I at her, we could not hear what the other one was trying to say from the noise, but withing a minute we left the party and where walking up the street to the wrong adress. The building was private and locked, but somone was leaving and opened the building to us. On the steps we encountered people who where leaving the party and intorudced our selfs gigleing all the way. At the door on the fifth floor from which latin music could be heard, when asked who we are with we named Laurant- the name of the guy we met on the stairs. When we enterd the house we introduced our selfs as Marina and Sunci, friends of the guy at the door.
The partament was low lit, warm ,full of foods and the instant we entered we where given a martini each and pulled into a latin dance. It could not have been better. We danced a while with the gorup wondering how they all know to dance so well, even the men. Finaly we figured out they where a group of dancer frriends who have known each other intimatley for the last 20 years. When we got tired we simpley explained to the closed french, that the guy at the door, we met at the door, and laurant he thoguht we knew we met on stairs too, satisfylingley shocked the deer everyone and left.
On the the other side of town. Kseniya had headed to sleep. she got in to a taxi and sent it to the right side of town. But she had forgotten the name of her hotel, and the street it was on, and had not wirtten it any where. She circiled with the taxi in the red light disstrict, for she was sure it was there somwhere near Marmont, but she could not remember visualy how to get there at all. And there where no internet places open for her to check at that tmie. Flustered she paid the taxi and decided to search for it on foot. She walked the cold parisian drizely night and could not find the hotel, nor remember any detail that could help direct her there. She walked and circiled ,and started to get very frightened, cold, and lost. She did not speak French.
Than something strange occured a man, a big, older, russian man appeared. He spoke to her. At first she was frightened but he kept talking and walking and protected her from comments of pappers by, acompanied her taking her directley to the hotel she did not know how to describe.angles perhaps come in non orthodox forms too.
M and I decided to hunt for a place to sleep, withdrew our luggage from various hotels around the exhibition than came in to a beautiful hotel opposite the Louvre the only open, plush with red and dark green velvets and a very polite receptioner, who under persuasion of two student girls and the hour let us have a very comfortable room and bath for very little price.
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