It was love, true love. Please enter, the 70‘s, near Würzburg, a high rise, seventh floor. Paul Ehrlich-Strasse. Or Kopernikusstrasse? If you click on the photos, you‘ll see love in the details. And great records. Nothing has so much changed since: ah, there‘s the first Eno album I had ever bought, yes, at least two ECM covers at the wall, an album of the great, but short-lived Horizon label (Michael Cuscuna‘s territory), and Miles‘ „Get Up With It“, years before Brian sang its praise as inspiration for „On Land“. Is that really Jim Croce on the black and white photography?
Gosh, I‘ve been in love with her. Now, during my travel to the highest mountain of Germany, we re-connected. It doesn’t need more than a phone call. I saw these pictures for the first time since our days of wine, yes, and roses, yes. We talked about what, weeks, months, after these photographs had been taken, went so terribly wrong. I told the story many times. The spiral downwards started in a little restaurant in London discovering a hole in my body. But for the first time ever I can see it clearly now, after looking at these sepia-tinged portraits of a room with two lovers (I never had red hair.) It‘s an afternoon. She and her dreamy soft face. I put a jazz record on that I bought on our trip to Paris. We were sitting in the Bois de Boulogne. If Jacques Rivette had seen her there, she‘d probably ended up in one of his movies. But here we are. In the years.
