(autumn evening. single-family house surrounded by nature. daddy and daughter on the corridor. loud music played in her room)
daddy: “i’m curious what music you’ll be listening to when you hit puberty!”
daughter: “i already did… girls usually do at the age of 11 and i am 12!”
daddy: “in your puberty, you’ll listen to music that clearly separates you from the oh so boring adults!”
daughter: “i don’t know any adults listening to sunrise avenue and ariana grande!”
daddy: “no, no. the music i am talking about won’t even be called ‘music’ by the adults!”
daughter: “if so, when does your puberty end?”
in a couple of weeks she’ll turn 13… the party just started i guess.
“you know” fatrick said, “every random group of people contains a certain percentage of morons – some higher, some lower, never zero. every random group. astronauts, whale watchers, immigrants, flamenco lovers, inuit, vegetarians, argentinians, christians, homosexuals, geography teachers, homosexual geography teachers, buick drivers…”. “i think i got it!”, i interrupted. he looked me in the eyes for a second, then he started grinning mechanically, nodded in satisfaction and continued.
“in return, every random group of people contains a certain percentage of cool guys – some higher, some lower, never zero. astronauts, whale watchers…”. while he continued his mantra he put his hand into the sore depth of his massive triple chin, covered it in a disgusting mix of sweat, aged sebum and burger sauce and splattered all on the back of a young mother pushing a bram. she didn’t notice, turned the corner and i faced fatrick again. “homosexuals” he muttered, “geography teachers, homosexual geography teachers, buick drivers”. “so, the racists are wrong”, i went.
“very wrong”, fatrick replied, looking at his balloon hand drying in the afternoon sun. he was right, i thought later. seyfried swears by this guy.
most of my instagram shots are containing special memories and stuff what’s naturally not visible for the viewer. it’s just more of a personal thing, let’s call it a clandestine value… treasure chest. but due to the fact that most uploads look kind of cute you’re still free to like them. several times already i asked myself whether or not to tell the story behind the picture (since its a picture, it’s not able to tell the story by itself). but yeah, i postponed that… to today. this particular shot stands for a ton of different things all in one. a variety of mixed (even contradictory in parts) emotions. at least it feels like this…
what it actually is:
it’s a snippet of an advertisement poster for salad oil, done by a guy named jan toorop back in 1894 (i know what this sounds like! but it’s a damn fact. not making this up!). the entire thing can be seen here: rijksmuseum.nl. and since it’s public domain i made a tiny glitched edition.
what it stands for:
this phase of life where everything appears vague, supercomplex and dynamic – but in the big picture, the whole show feels like it’s slowing down, approaching the ultimate stagnation point, the glorious standstill. it’s not the first time i’m experiencing this but it’s the first time i share this with somebody… while listening to the cranberries in a loop.
and here it is, symbolizing truly special days while describing them best: