What's the purpose of trying?

And as the road to riches slowly starts to become a never ending chase into the desert of shamelessness, I start to think that this might be a good time to pack my empty bags with litter and profanity and head back south to france again. I miss the neat pavement, expensive taxis and corner tourists eating their cheap croissants. A small funding problem won't hold this return to reason, but this dirty old town called Amsterdam is already getting on my weak nerves again, too much time on my hands is not the problem like before - as i keep getting booked for small jobs as well as the occassional bigger client - no, it's every little niche and streetlamp i come across, that take me right back to that fictional place i was almost able to erase completely. I guess it's true what they say that you can't run from certain facts or people from your life, they follow you around whether you want to or not, the only thing that restrains this frequent recollection, that in a masochistic manner i'm certain i recall upon self demand, is hard, cold liquor. It makes me flow, it takes me up in a whirlwind to another level of consciousness. awaiting the flow again, but this time i'm referring to money issues, I am thrilled like a child to be on the road again, exhaustion of carrying pounds of excess baggage around, another masochism, makes me feel like i'm doing something worthwhile, i'm addicted to this rush of moving around, literally replacing this scenery for a better one, another set that we can act, ofcourse without rehearsing, capturing the next dramatic scene to come.

les jours d'une photographe a paris

So there i am at gare du nord, carrying my black heavy loaded suitcase - filled with all the necessities to create a nice shoot - rolling along the smooth pavement of this busy paris station. I inhale a quick smoke and watch my bags carefully before i get into the taxi to rue de legendre, where my shabby little hotel awaits me. I amuse the driver with my obama conversation and without a good tip because I'm too broke for the ride anyway, I get out of the taxi and look up and down at what is supposed to be my hotel. The road I am standing in looks empty, dark and a forgotten street of Paris. An arabic looking fellow, who's slow in his movements and obviously forgot I was coming gives me a key to my room. I carry my heavy loaded suitcase up the stairs and ask him for some help, as I'm sure it's common for a fellow to help a lady. The pity fool contemplates this seemingly, ordinary question for a moment, asks if my lamp standard is too heavy to carry, and then decides to carry it -while moaning- to the fourth floor anyway. Whaddayknow, the elevator is out of order, 'pour l'instant'. I spent the next two days exercising just to get into my room.

I drop my stuff at the room, and was expecting exactly this, a small room, with a bed that barely fits the room, no electricity plugs in sight, and the tiniest little bathroom you could expect for exactly the same kind of budget. I smoke a cigarette and inspect the street where I will have to live in for the next couple of days. I'm overcome with sadness and poorness. A taxi pulls up and this wonderful young lad and black haired girl step out. Ah voila, c'est Annabel, ma amie d'amsterdam et la Jeremy kaponz, a boy with a james dean look, hair all over the place, almost too beautiful for his own good. I spent a good deal of time with them, and as I am shooting them in my small bed, in my hotel room, following a series of walk arounds drinking beer and shooting pictures, near the most uncommon of all places in paris in the 17th district, I almost forgot that I've just arrived and still need to eat.

At 11 o'clock sharp I push the huge brown door to get in this patio where I would have to guess which door would lead to the agency I am supposed to be at. A mobile phone leads me to my appointment on time, and I am seated in this white room, behind a desk, where I am supposed to meet the boys for the casting today. I call them in one at a time and smile and act like this is the normal way of life, judging and approving/dissaproving someone in 5 minutes, already knowing first hand when I meet them if they are what I am looking for. Some of them are shy and others i turn away instantly, while they are full of themselves, who needs a boy that doesn't want to be liked by anyone , anyway. Ten guys from the age of 18 until 20 follow in a quick tempo and I am impressed by two of them. I book one of them for a shoot on thursday and then i run out again for my next appointment, while getting lost in the crowd of the subway station I hardly have time to think about the fast and mad world I got into, so i go to two other agencies where i also cast some models, and go back to my last night in this poor hotel near place de clichy.