Abuelita, gave me a couple of pointers as a child, one that stuck was:"Nothing ventured, nothing gained"
My grandmother, was an ex-mafia baroness from Medellin (Colombia) who didn't read bedtime stories like my british Granny did, she taught me to sharpen knives.
Abuelita's words weighed over her small figure, and like Moses parted the red sea, men parted their way for her, and I became the grandchild believing her words:"Its best to be red for 5 minutes than pale all your life."
The encounter with Martin Parr, would have required a gallon of sunscreen. I tried to rescue my gradually red roasting face, but nothing helped.
I listened Parr diss my work in the most sarcastic, and condescending way. I was warned though, Parr means business. I suppose had I owned wads of Sterlings, AÏE would be the shit...
(Actually it would be.)
Fact is, I haven't got a million, but I'll figure out how we can erect projects, and if it means shattering a jewellers window, I'd do it to for Parr - wait, first for AÏE.
However, would it be worth time inside?
I assigned Parr a skateboarding series of portraits - Not interested -
The Olympic fencing team - NOT interested - Daisy Lowe- NOT interested.
Truckers-"Why Not."
Finally, I had Parr hooked on truckers, though I've already started in Belgium, hence I know the drill, its an insanely fun adventure.
To have the honor of Parr's presence, AÏE should send a scout from London to Bristol to research on all truck delies.
AÏE should pay a collosal amount to Parr for a ready-made feature. Parr will have a chauffeur, and AÏE will go bankrupt for the sake of a Trucker's story, "shot à la Parr", without an inch of spontaneity so classic to his pictures.
Parr likes cash, to the point that I felt I was being interviewed by a landlord sussing out my profile in order to devise whether I'm a legit tenant.
Parr: "Are you rich?"
Parr: "What does your father do?"
AÏE: "He chopped wood for 35 years of his life, and drinks his life away.
Funny you should ask, he's the best father one can wish for, and I live with him."
Parr:"Ahhh...good."
AÏE: "Yeah, Its the price I pay, for the life I choose."
This meeting could have been avoided,
but Parr deigned to give AÏE some thought.
Parr: "What is the next issue about?"
AÏE: "Sweat"
Parr: "Ok, lets head back to the studio. I did a serie at the gym, you can choose from that."
AÏE:'"Great thank you."
( Note: - Parr means business, my acquamarine eyes won't help in any ways)
I looked at 4/5 images of men in a gym mildly sweating. I'll leave it to that. You'll never see them. I'm not fooled by an overflowing egocentric artist, I've got scorpion venom gushing through my veins, and ruthless latin mamas guarding me with better taste than some of these pretentious men.
We shook hands, and Parr smiled with that hypocresy so inherant to the Brits.
I've got to give it to him, his smile does says it all. I wish I could tell people to bugger off with a Cheshire cat smile.
(footnote: cheshire cat is in Alice and Wonderland)
Parr impersonates the irony and the sarcasm conveyed in his portraits. He gifted me his latest opus, which you see through these pages. It takes the piss out of granny's read. I wonder if in his countless travels, where people are a joke to him, whether Parr ever carries a mirror...
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