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the journey    Mae West once said “Je ne suis pas un ange.” But what exactly is an angel then? Well, my friend followed those words to the “t”. She crawled off into her fourwheeled cave like a cockroach and there she stayed, in the dark, making love to nicotine day and night. And so it remained until she set off in her caravan and visited towns, cities and continents. She stuck her head out the window in Berlin and on the other side of the street came across Marlene hunched together with one of her lovers under an umbrella blowing air kisses... and then came Budapest, Florence, Lesbos, Ankara... she crossed them all without descending from her wheeled cage. Thousands of curious onlookers gathered around to catch a glimpse. Tall Russian men, Hip Italian Vespa owners, sword-wielding English princes, veiled and mysterious Iraqi women, Hindu fakirs with bottomless eyes... they all formed an immense queue that led to my princess’s door. But she haughtily slammed the door in their faces. Mae West was her only friend... they would talk and talk into the small hours every night. With a glass of whiskey each in hand they would reminisce about lovers they had enjoyed... ”I once had a lover in Paris who would bring a star and hang it over our bed every night...”, “and then another time when I spent three weeks in Prague. I didn’t leave the house for those three weeks such was the magic of that Czech...”. Other times Mae and my princess would remain silent, each one lost in her own thoughts. Sometimes snowflakes would fly in the window of the caravan and my princess would hug her dressing gown to her body to shut out the freezing cold. And in this way with Mae as her only friend, my princess spent years lost in her dark little world. The onlookers would dejectedly trod off when the caravan moved on from where it was stationed. The wooden coffin was spinning round the world, round and round it went, like a never-ending yo-yo. My princess there... her silhouette could be made out behind the curtains, like a vision shrouded in smoke. Then one day a young Arabian managed to get the door open. He found my princess and Mae frozen completely stiff. One at the window and one in bed. Or the other way round... one in bed and one at the window. Or one hung on the wall and the other one unconscious on the bed, or... whatever, it was cold in there. The young Arabian closed the caravan door and it kept on spinning, round and round and round... on that long journey into the infinite.

model: maider sanz
atrezzo and lights: amaia tobes
make up: nekane ortiz
shots: amaia sagasti
place: tolosa karabanak. ikaztegieta