photomontage by Maurice Tabard

Mathilde Dear,

It is what it is now.

This morning, I thought I saw you from afar. Same garments and same hat. Same all.

It is time for new sounds. It is time we reflect the perception of what we were and bring it to a new period of creativity. We should both let our creativity have wings again and Fly.

I am more in Europe these days than I am in New York or at least my heart is. Do you remember that I used to write "heart" as "hurt"? Yes, it is true that any matter of the heart does hurt but we know well that new sounds can bring us closer to each other with or without one another.

I am listening a lot the sounds of the band Austra.

Look inside me now same way I look inside you.

We are like a vintage reflection of a photomontage by Maurice Tabard.

Love,

Sandrine X.

Comme J'ai Mal

Mathilde,

The sun is rising in my heart now.

It is Tuesday October 20th, 2:20am.

I am still in New York. No sign of Lourelien for almost a year.And you my love? Where are you? I often recall the time we spent together. The room has still your perfume. Some nights. Other nights I get mad with both of you that you left me alone and I dont even walk in the room.

Comme J'ai Mal sans...

Last night I finally had an adventure. I liked it. It didn't feel as if it came out of need or anger or loneliness. It came out of pure desire for another flesh. another heart. another breath.

It was not your breath that I felt by my side last night.

Do you understand my love? It was not your breath..

Madame G doesn't like that I hang staff allover the place. She says that I am keeping the memories alive and that sometimes memories need to stay in the past.

You have to stay in the past now.

Till you appear again that is.

Love pour toujours,

Sandrine X.

The Redhead Piano Bar - Chicago, 2010

Ma Chere Madame G,

The night moves without me now.
Its Wednesday May 20th, 1:00am.

It’s the fourth night that I am sleepless thinking of all that music.
And its not anymore the music of that man who came unexpectedly one night at your corridors asking for me. I am talking about the music of that man with the blue hat. How can I treasure all those rhythmic touches he offered me without feeling the need for more?

Come take care of me Madame. Will you?
I need a touch.

He had a blue suit on, a white shirt with the initials R.T., a red scarf and his blue hat. He placed his left arm around my waist and told me, “Doll, you must be from far away. We don’t have women of your skin often around here. Go put some music on the jukebox for us now. Play, Lou Rawls’ Nobody But Me for me Doll and come here to move and sweat feeling my blues."

“Tell me you Love Nobody but Me Doll.”
“I love Nobody But You tonight” I replied.

“Will you give me all your love Mama?”
I didn’t reply. The music kept playing while our drinks left alone at the bar, were silently finding comfort among the icy razor sharp touch of the cubes.

“Dance with me angel.”
Don’t call me angel I said and removed furiously his rough hands from my waist. “Don’t get upset now with me. Be soft.Does it make you feel guilty when I call you Angel, Angel?" I didnt reply.

The night moves with me now. And I know well that I am not an angel after all. I am at the Redhead Piano Bar looking for someone like him to call me an Angel again.

I want that guilt back soon.

Bisous Madame G.
Sandrine X.

Kingston Mines Blues Bar, Chicago 2010

Mr. Lourelien IV La Passione Letters of the Lovers

Foto by Peter Lindbergh

My dear Sandrine,

I cant be close to you for few more weeks.

I am sending you a ticket to go to Berlin. A woman who has named herself after the famous Anita Berber will wait for you upon your arrival to take you to a very special place where you will meet someone to replace Mathilde. At least for a while.

Mathilde left. That's who she is. She will always come back to you though.

Feel free now. There is always someone new to cover your desires.

Wear the mask that you shall be given and watch Isabella’s semi naked body dance for you.

Stay pure for me from a man's touch till I come to you.

Yours,

Lourelien

Foto by Peter Lindbergh

Ma chere Mathilde,

Isabella is sleeping now.
Its Wednesday March 18th, 1:50am.

I am at Berlin for few days. Lourelien sent me the ticket. He ordered me to go admire another woman's nakedness at an underground cabaret.

As soon as I arrived at the place, three girls removed my clothes and Anita covered my eyes with the same mask Lourelien had on the first time he watched you and Isabella dancing together that night in Prague.

Anita told me your whole story.

At 3:00 am Isabella asked me to follow her to Hotel Gelabeck.
She undressed and wore a costume from which I could see her skin in those places that it is more curvy and more fragile.

La Passione made me give in to a lover other than you.

Isabella is sleeping now. And my heart is feeling like an angel free to fly away.I am seating alone thinking of her touches and sounds. I feel released knowing that a new lover could fall in to my existence.

Temporarily.
Cause forever doesnt exist.

Je t’embrasse,
Sandrine

Foto by Peter Lindbergh

Sandrine my Angel,

Did you still smell me in the sheets of your new lover? That’s all that matters. We shall be together again. I am sending you some fabric from my new night gown. Its made of red dentelle.I need you to feel what I am wearing.

Cover your new lover's sex with it.
Your eternal lover,

Mathilde

This post was highly influenced by the theatrical play 'Oh, Those Beautiful Weimar Girls,' , conceived and directed by Ildiko Nemeth, a native of Hungary, and performed by an amazing group of young actors back in February at La Mama Experimental Theater in East Village

- Garia August

Mr. Lourielien III

Foto by Ellen Von Unwerth

Mon Cher Lourelien,

The moon is down now.
Its Wednesday March 11, 12:26 am.

It has been already a month since the night you left me at the rooms of Madame Geromeaux. She has taken good care of me and she introduced me to Mathilde as you have ordered.

But your absence is repeatedly keeping me in a great darkness no matter how hard I try to convince the voices of my thoughts that you are just a fantasy.

My days pass by calmly. I am working on a dress made of pallietes and chiffon. It is for a very special client of Madame G.

My nights are very lonely. Sans Mathilde.
She is away for two weeks. All she left is her blue dress.Madame said it is the one you liked the most cause you could see the skin of her sex from its thin garment.

The moon is down now. And my heart is asking for pleasure. I am walking upstairs in the upper rooms of the house longing for the smell of her perfume "Safran Troublant".

I still wonder why you never touched me.
Maybe you will.Soon.

Yours,
Sandrine X.

Mr. Lourelien II

Christian Schad
Two Girls, 1928
private collection

Sandrine arrived at the restaurant for her regular Wednesday night shift.
On her way in, the manager informed her that she had received a letter. She wondered who could have sent her a letter. Both her parents have died in a fatal car accident when she was nine years old in Belgium and since her arrival to the United States she had no communication with the remaining members of her family.

The envelope was white with a blue - red border. Inside there was a postcard from NEUE GALERIE in New York featuring Christian Schad’s Two Girls oil on canvas painting. In the back there was a note with a red marker saying:

I will come pick you up after your shift.
Wait for me in the corner of Laffayette and Bond Street.
Yours,
Charles Lourelien

Mr. Lourelien

8:00pm Wed night
The door opens. The tall man she had seen one Sunday eating with his father came in.

The hostess turns and looks at him.

Staring at each other.

Lourelien he said. I have a reservation for two but my friend will not join me.
Can I still be seated?

Hostess: Of course, Mr. Lourelien would you prefer to eat at the bar then tonight?

Yes. Thank you -