Well that day in Paris, my love and I watched street theater beside some giant flower pots with no flowers in them, and we saw the finish line of a roller skate marathon, and there was a girl selling her drawings on the ground, and then the air changed really suddenly and everyone started running for cover, and the street theater disappeared and in a split second the sky opened and the coloured tubes of the Centre Pompidou turned into a refugee center for people fleeing the rain, and the street became a river and there we all were, people who never met huddled together in awe of the spectacular weather... I don`t have those photographs, but I remember the day. Actually, I think I remember it better BECAUSE I know that I lost the photographs. Other days you just think, "If I want to remember that I`ll just look at the photographs". It`s strange.

It`s strange and I`m waffling... Well this painting made me think about a lot of things, some of those things are described here... but mostly it was about a girl who probably has really good photos, but no actual memory of the gig because she didn`t look at it. I used to do that a lot, totally concentrate on getting the perfect photograph of a gig, and then that was all I had... But I`ve changed, now I get a couple of average photos and a lot of good memories...