I remember...

I remember the lady in the bakery, coming to the end of her chemotherapy, her hair extremely short, but freshly dyed, proudly wearing her normal style of make-up (only women who work in bakeries know its secrets), and replying to one of her clients, who had asked how she was holding up, "Oh, you know, I cling on to my mascara". She had no idea that her animal skin-print shades and creative way with cosmetics were an inexhaustible source of inspiration for a whole neighbourhood of artists.

I remember the lady in Los Angeles, on a section of the boulevard where you weren't supposed to walk, but we did. By the look of it, she was a tramp, but her appearance, her objects, the way she carried herself, her encampment and her attitude was a translation of her inspired research into unique forms of creativity. There were so many details to look at that I couldn't take my eyes off her. Inevitably, we just had to speak to each other and for three days running we spent time together, talking and exchanging things.

I remember the joke they told in the States about Vanessa Paradis. Everyone knew that she was Johnny Depp's wife, but nobody really knew where she had come from. Suddenly, Chanel brought out its Cambon line, dedicated to Vanessa and for which she was the face. The ad campaign, featuring Vanessa and "her" bags, appeared in all good magazines and on billboards in the streets. The young french woman finally existed in American eyes : "Vanessa Paradis ? I know her, she's the bag lady from the Chanel ad!"