we were on a street that goes nowhere, looking for the numbers on the buildings, trying to find 24, when it started to snow. a group of teenagers sat on a stoop smoking rolled cigarettes. a man walked past us - he looked like a clochard, a black top hat cocked on his head - and said "i think you're looking for that door," pointing behind him.
the squat is 600 metres square, full of paintings and small cabins with televisions that project films made by the artist in residence, laurent godard. there is a red fiat at the back and a record player that seems to only play nina simone. there is a fake garden full of artificial trees and vines which also serves as the concert hall. the room that seemed to be dedicated to children - chalkboards, springy chairs, stuffed animals and knitted quilts over single beds - also has a rack of dress-up clothes. me and some other girl put on wedding dresses, hanna gave me her pearl necklace, and a man called jerome kissed our hands and took our photographs.
No comments:
Post a Comment