my mother’s hairdressers’ (90’s)
2nd floor of a sandstone chocolate factory with machinery still in (uncut rolls of pink aluminum packaging), resting on the gray micro concrete. Floor to ceiling wall painted Lichtenstein behind errica’s front desk. A see-through plastic curtain in the middle of the floor enclosing racks of clothing wrapped in see-through plastic. The orange rug on the micro concrete. The furniture and floor lamps change every few months(era of blow up furniture, hot pink, lime green, orange and ff cushns). The red rug on the micro concrete. The timelessly urgent paradox: hairdressers are rarely rich- hairdressers are always on top of fashion trends.
My mother’s hairdresser was a drugie, he was gay and he was always singing.