Loving nature, dreaming of making cheese in the mountains, needing a lot of space for creating dance choreographies, being deeply claustrophobic, plus allergic against the pollution through cars.... finding myself in Paris (in the meaning of the words).
You walk along a cheap clipjoint quarter, filter out each face crossing your eyesight, having a Karl-Lagerfeld-Attitude "to keep them away from you" (he really is my idol for that, i crossed him once and felt like a clocharde in his?mine? perception), your nose has passed out already because of the cars and dogshit.
Then, a miracle, a gate opens, and you find yourself - one minute away from the clipjoints - in another world.... Jean Renoir lived there, and Django Reinhardt, and me one day, when i can afford it.
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