These aren't so much polaroids as conventional prints, hence the delay in my post to the list. These four didn't have too many advisory stickers on them although I'm convinced I need a nice shiny new digital camera... It's a double height modern space, clad in marble. Across the shiny expanse of floor are dotted slim, bronze sculptures and bonsai . Illumination is from a grid of chandeliers in the ceiling, although this is augmented by a pulsing blue from beyond all-glass revolving doors, where a motorcade has arrived under the porte-corchere, busy this evening with policemen, camera crews, diplomats and a scattering of foreign ministers. The Grande Hotel Esplanade, Berlin, 1999, is accommodating delegates to a G7 Economic Summit. With her back just half way off the shot is a woman, who may be Madeleine Allbright. I'm over there by the lifts. My taxi from the airport has arrived about an hour ago and I have been spending the intervening period in the company of several White Russians in 'Harry's New York Bar' just off this foyer. The lift doors are open, revealing an expensive mirror and veneer interior. I am being carried into it,on all fours, by two smartly liveried porters, up to my room. There are around 15 of us students, in a high-walled yard to the rear of buildings we've borrowed from some Belgian Nuns for the week. On the paving in front of us is a large flask of red wine, upon which has been marked the passing of time and volume. Discovering the latest time has involved some puzzled gazing at a wrist watch, and the lowest projector-pen line is somewhat wobbly, veering and fading off down round the bowl of the flask. We have been caught in poses that may derive from some ancient ritual catharsis. We are dressed in lightweight, disheveled summer clothes. Ceren flashes her palms towards the lens. Like her feet, calves, cheeks and forearms, they are liberally splattered with green emulsion paint. The rest of us are similarly decorated and behind us, debatably more conventional use of this and other pigments is evident on sheets of wood, cardboard and unravelling reams of blank newspaper. We are in the 'Dionysus' phase of our 'Apollo and Dionysus' workshop, hotting up for some wild abandon beyond the walls, past the big top we're staying in and up into the woods. It is still mid-afternoon. We are in a ravine, and the twighlight sky is but a ragged band above us. Strewn in arcs across this and glowing against the rock and branches below are coloured bulbs. To one side, a footpath winds between some hut-like buildings from which, if this were not a mere photograph, could be sniffed the rich scent and sizzle of grilling kebabs. To the other side a mountain stream foams, eddies, rushes and flows down towards the distant rooftops of the city of Teheran. We are sitting on carpeted cushions on a wooden platform partially cantilevered over the water and beside one of the huts. Chief architect, international avant-gardist and tutor B. sits by two young Iranian architects and the four of us postgrads from London. We have been well fed and conversation is flowing towards dusk as we take turns inhaling from an antique smoking contraption known to the British as a 'hubba bubba'. My mum and dad are in this one, smiling and relaxed, across the table. Although laid with a clean white cloth in a dining room elegantly fitted with early twentieth century carpentry, the food on the plates is modest: croque monsieurs, to be precise. Out of the window to our left is water of dazzling turquoise blue. The colour owes to the water's origin in glaciers high up between the peaks of the Bernese Oberland which, being out of shot, we'll have to imagine. Also missing from the print is the satisfying rumble of old brass machinery as the steamer churns its way east towards Brienz. The final missing item is my brother, who ought to be sitting next to me. However, he's 2 years older than my fourteen and has taken an independent turn today. His own itinerary has opened with a train ride westwards out of Interlaken towards Thun. For our part, a walk in the fresh, sunny alpine air beckons, along with another photo in which I'm sure to be seen with an ice cream. Gordon +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo@missprint.org. 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