Manuel Salvat / Arles
pretending to be a Gropiusstadt resident for a week
I buy my bread downstairs of the building – the baker likes to speak French with me: for some years she worked in a pastry shop in Dijon
I’ve never lived so high
no computer no music
monastic silence
I ordered Berlin, Alexanderplatz in French
waiting for it I read a Balzac novel: courtisanes and decadent anachronistic parties in my apartment
boredom and sleep and dreams but I don’t want to break that arrangement and go to Berlin
everyday I go down and make a lot of photos
in the middle of all that architectural treasure so incredibly preserved
an inexhaustible source of details
I imagine photographic objects that I could have installed in my building’s passages and hidden corners
