When an iconic photograph of a famous, but relatively newly discovered photographer disappeared from Momma, New York's top art curators knew for the first time what real panic felt like. I was sensing their fear. I could feel it in my bones. I admit it felt kinda nice… I knew it was a matter of time before the phone rang. And it did, later that night. The Italian connection was on. Of course, I have suspected that too… The only woman -the only person to be more accurate- in the western world that could retrieve a lost art treasure in less than 48 hours, was coming to Athens. It was believed that the photograph was there. I was hired -as I usually am- to follow her and document her work, without her knowing who I really was… What else was knew? Was I working for Momma? Was I working for the smugglers? You will never know.
It was really a pretext so I could get close to her. As usual, I was hired to investigate her. I didn't know why, only that she was a writer and a musician. I had to read her short stories and listen to her music and make her talk to me. What she didn't know was that it was really her pictures that were doing the talking. But I couldn't tell her that. I am often wondering about my employers motives when they send me to photographically investigate someone… I have managed to realise one thing: they know more about my subjects then what these subjects know about themselves. And of course that on the other hand there is always me... That all I really know about anything, is nothing.
He was there, no doubt about that, but it was obvious to me that he was a projection from a parallel dimension. In my photographic investigations I have come very often across incidents like that-some call them "accidents", but not me. I knew how to recognise the "trespassers". The trick was to look at them with the corner of your eye. Then you could see them standing in both places. Everywhere and nowhere. I shot him. That was my job.
That was the name of the 2 girl rock band I was investigating a few months ago. They were very reluctant to have their faces photographed. Not their feet, though… And what would be more appropriate, considering the name of their band? In fact, one of them had indeed new shoes, while the other one was just "hangin' out" shoeless. Coincidence? Nobody will ever know.
I was killing time between cases, so I decided to take a walk around Acropolis, in Athens. The title is just a Dan Fogelberg song that I was listening inside my head when I was taking these shots… It could very well have been something like "in the shadow of Acropolis", but what can you do? A P.I.'s mind is weird, to say the least…
... She didn't know she was the kind of girl you meet in a film noir's hot summer day passing through a gas station or a general store, the kind of girl you ask for directions, or if she has seen the guy you're looking for… She didn't know she was the sunny kind of girl that fate had put in that particular spot as a last effort to make you abandon the search and go back… Because if you are a film noir hero, when you find what you're looking for, you wish you didn't… Her name was Sunday and that proved that there are no coincidences...
