are artists. Love transgressors. They have no boundaries, no prejudices. She is spread of that philosophy, and worries that attracts you to a dark shape. And while she tells me, I imagine it with black hair like the mane of a horse, his tousled bangs, smoking a cigarette while talking with Pierre, his professor of sculpture in plaster room, eco and iron, and large factory windows, gesturing with his expressive eyes, open as a window in the summer and biting his lower lip. At another time, another town. Paris, 1968, full of revolution, sensuality, art, mystery and sophistication.
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