TIZIRI, which stands for 'moonlight', is an original Berber Barbie, in a way a Berberella. She comes from down a valley of the Hoggar mountains. She can tame wild camels and has been raised in a matriarchy system where her grandmother still was the village's witch and shaman. Her hair never was cut since the day of her birth. From now on she will be a regular guest star to the Folies Barbie.
She walked into my life legs first, a long drink of water in the desert of my thirst. Her hair is an endless gloom; her eyes are hazel. She's a free Berberian flag in occupied territory, and I fall for her like Algier. She mixes my metaphors like a martini and serves up my heart tartare. Nothing will attract a puppeteer more than the picture of a beautiful, passionate, cruel, and despotic doll who wantonly changes her favorites without scruple in accordance with her whim. Puppeteer is the one who desires, Barbie the one who is desired. This is Barbies's entire, but decisive advantage. Through his passion nature has given master into dolls' hands, and the marionette who does not know how to make him her subject, her slave, her toy, and how to betray him with a smile, in the end, is not wise. Barbie dolls are neither as good as their admirers and defenders maintain, nor as bad as their enemies make them out to be. The best one will momentarily go down into the mire, and the worst unexpectedly rises to deeds of greatness and goodness and puts to shame those that despise her. No Barbie is so good or so bad, but that at any moment she is capable of the most diabolical as well as of the most divine, of the filthiest as well as of the purest, thoughts, emotions, and actions.
By choosing to live above the ordinary level we create extraordinary problems for ourselves. I am here to live, not to calculate. And that is just what they do not want you to do - to live! They want you to spend your whole life adding up figures. That makes sense to them. That is reasonable. That is intelligent. They die comfortably in their little bed of understanding, to become useful citizens of the world. I pitied them, and in short order, I deserted them one by one, without the slightest regret. Everything we shut our eyes to, everything we run away from, everything we deny, denigrate, or despise, serves to defeat us in the end. Everyone has his own reality in which, if one is not too cautious, timid or frightened, one swims. This is the only reality there is. And a night comes when all is over, when so many jaws have closed upon us that we no longer have the strength to stand, and our meat hangs upon our bodies as though it had been masticated by every mouth.
It didn't end well. For Barbies, it seldom does. Boredom sparks the roaming mind, and roaming eyes found the glint of something bright. Bended light a rainbow in their thoughts with a jungle man guiding their imaginations as he whispered to them. Nobody knows what those precise words were that seduced them, but Barbies need diamonds and desire, and he promised both, as he took them both. Hours in dark travel boxes did nothing to prepare them when at dawn, their style and stilettos found themselves drifting along a river, searching. The effect was subtle at first. Just a slight sense of strangeness settled by a sip of cognac when the innocent question became persistent with the encroaching jungle and men. Fighting men. Do you understand what it means to love? Asks their savagery refined by maddened purpose. They ask this as they write funny poetry in blood on bloodied corpses. Some would eat the livers. The kind of love in the darkness of human nature refined. Would you continue to read if I suggested that by doing so would risk the enslavement of your mind? The madness of that question had a faint sweaty smell of nightmares and jungle. The sweltering heat asked them to remove even the lightest layers and intoxicated by the madness the Barbies did. The effect on the battle-hardened men deserted in a godforsaken country purified by the darkness that infiltrated their blood remained to them unnoticed until it was too late. Savageness heightens the primary senses, and it simplifies man to his basic instincts. A necessary survival assaulted by the naked presence of these dolls - an essential question, yes? As we reach the end, my friend. ~ Barbie Q
The 'Barbie Switch' controls the numerous stage lights for the 'Folies Barbie'. Barbies, the greatest postures under the sun, never can't get enough of lamps and light gadgets. 'Master-Slave' ASHANTI hauled it onto the stage. VERUSCHKA, the wounded poor, acts as the self-proclaimed 'Stage Coach'.
So Bwana is going on and on about how difficult it is to set the lighting for the show. Some Barbies tried double body shots of Courvoisier, but alas even that could not distract or sway his tedious lamenting. With the rhythmic beating of her head against the box: tap, tap, tap, Ashanti was trying to think. What is Barbie to do? Always willing to give a guy a helping hand, they set into action with the idea of dissembling the switch box and pre-programming the light settings. It was quite a struggle for the little Ashanti who had to drag an additional weight of repercussion for the suggestion that Barbie displays were not enough to distract the master of misery. A cacophony of tiny scraping and grunting sounds made it difficult for Valeria who was attempting to dissipate the tension that was almost palpable in the studio. She got so worked up that she got caught up in the power cord and, not realizing what had happened, Ashanti connected the cable to the wall socket. The Ohm effect of voltage, current and body resistance left the entire apartment block in absolute darkness with a faint smell of burnt plastic. "Right girls", said Valeria "grab the matches. It's candlelight tonight."
Neither designed by Frank Lloyd Wright nor by Oscar Niemeyer, the Barbies were never happy with their flat not till I told them that their box is a visionary design by Le Corbusier, something like 'Board Brut' for Barbies. Thrilled by this fact, and after sniffing around in my holy Photobox, they upgraded it with a typical Italian facade. As in the photo, they even reproduced the stairway to their apartment.
Alone at the bar he sat, spending his last coin on a drink. With her smile, she went to listen as he was drawing because sadness is not profitable in her business. Not to be ignored, she was funny that way, he searched and said that people like us are the same. We are storytellers in the business of making people want to feel good in space - the place where a shelter becomes a pleasure. In this brutal world, there exists a love song to the beauty of concrete, said he. "In my work, in my life," spoke the man, "form is not about function but beauty. Form follows the feminine, its curves, and lines." His look was salacious, "we appreciate a curved line for beauty and a straight line for duty, but it is not about the visual. It is about what you can touch, what you feel. 'Brutal' is a title to be earned like 'muse'. Your contrast in structure and memorability of image. It is that simple." Design is a living art as it moves with the light and drifts with time, breathing in a brutal world, but to say it does so without soul and music is a mistake. "That's my cue," said the Barbie doll as her imagination turned into an alluring performance. The men were happy, they usually are, and in the early hours of that morning, while sipping their Courvoisier, the bartender delivered an envelope with an inscription. The curious cats read: "A cube of cardboard is beautiful in its expression and structure." It contained a photograph - Italian front, with a little binder clip. "Imagination is a ticket to anywhere". She smiled. ~ Barbie Q
TIZIRI has a background as fascinating as her Berber Barbie roots, soaked in tradition and vibrant culture. A talented storyteller, she shares her memory of her homeland, her move to France, and the circumstances that brought her to Folies Barbie. She speaks of a camel, who was left behind - no camels for France! As she remembers, her face turns troubled. All-day long, she laments and at night, cries a river into her pillow, forcing Master & Commander to find a replacement for her. This camel was to be of a high standard, a beast of exceptional breeding, only the best for TIZIRI, and this was no easy task. Its story was found bound in documents hanging around its neck and tells of its discovery, as a calf, almost dying of thirst in the Nubian desert, left for dead by celebrity-wannabe parents cast as extras in Howard Hawk's Hatari movie. Raised in Mordillo's crazy zoo, it learned such exquisite skill as standing on three legs, two when drunk. Yes, unfortunately, Camel fell victim to the familiar story of youngsters fending for themselves in harsh urban environments, and it developed a taste for alcohol. Found worthy of TIZIRI, it was shipped from the zoo via Khartoum, Kairouan, Sidi bel Abbès, and Marseille, down the Danube to Austria, tied down on a wooden palette. At three years, Camel is but a teenager and so fits in at Folies Barbie. Introductions were smoothed over by the free-flowing Courvoisier, a favorite drink of its Barbie carers, and a fact that adds to Camel's insanity. Inebriated, it totters around sticking its nose in every photo set resulting in a re-take, often, which means work for Barbies and a less-than-amused photographer. Someone fixed the problem by attaching a heavy metal ball to its left back leg, much to the dismay of this beautiful beast. ~ Barbie Q
CAMELLITO, the little braveheart orange camel, planned to go outside and to hunt and to bite the Corona-Virus to death. But the Barbies joked that much about the silly look with the oversized mask over its big nose that CAMELLITO finally decided to stay at Folies' home and leaving the world to fate.
Masks! I see them everywhere. That dreadful vision of the other night - the deserted town with its masked corpses in every doorway; that nightmare product of morphine and ether - has taken up residence within me. I see masks in the street, I see them on stage in the theatre. They are on the balcony and in the orchestra-pit. Everywhere I go I am surrounded by masks. Masks crowd around me in the foyer. It is truly too much to bear: to feel that one is alone and at the mercy of all those enigmatic and deceptive faces, alone amid all the mocking laughs and the threats embodied in those masks. I have tried to persuade myself that I am dreaming and that I am the victim of a hallucination, but all the powdered and painted faces of Barbie dolls, all the rouged lips, and kohl-blackened eyelids. All of that has created around me an atmosphere of trance and mortal agony. Cosmetics - there is the root cause of my illness! But I am happy, now, when there are only masks! Sometimes, I detect the cadavers beneath and remember that beneath the masks there is a host of specters.
Those days insane Barbies, the greatest moviemakers under the sun, are very busy with their own Christmas production 'Quiet Nights In Clichy'. An adaption of Henry Miller's novel. For now, they are casting various reindeer for the role of Rudolph. The Folies' make-up-artist is on strike, pregnant also, and so the red nose has to be accomplished by slamming the clapperboard - in the name of art.
We make, see, and love films, not digitals. To convert all of our movies, videos, photographs and television to digital would be like telling a painter to throw away his brushes and canvas for an I-Pad. Celluloid isn't just nostalgic, it's an art form and, like it or not, it's superior to digital. It lasts much longer, it provides grain and brighter colors, and it takes more effort so that it produces something wonderful. With the inferior binary codes, pixels and untested shelf-life of digital files, plus the fact that these days anyone with a digital camera, even a two-year-old, can make a video and pollute the world with self-photography and cat pictures, film has a lot more integrity and worth than digital.
Most of the featured Barbie shots average the effort of several working days per photo, less the time effort of the pre-running creative mindset. Barbie dolls are some of the most complicated subjects to picture. A Barbie doll's 3-D shaped plastic body is prone to reflections and therefore, a challenge in any tabletop or product-photography. Achieved by using the latest lighting technology and most professional state of the art equipment. The stage is engineered and built to perfection, down to every single bolt. A result of months of ongoing testing, adapting, experimenting. With steady updates, versions, and technology improvements. Barbie dolls have to be photographed and lighted as real female models. Technically all dolls work as a dynamic reference set, ranging from bright blonde hair and skin to dark black colors and shadows. To get the depth-of-field necessary for more complicated shots over a larger area is another goal to master. In general, the goal is to keep it as natural and analog as possible. The doll's fancy colored dresses are proof for correct color rendering although none of the shots reflects the actual colors. The photographer mixes his colors as in his other work.
Barbies, queens of unboxing, discovered new gadgets to play with. Their favorite, for now, is a cable release. Barbies constructed something like a photo booth to selfie themselves while the master & commander is asleep. The Barbie crew is pretty proud of its engineering skills.
The best photographs might be the ones where the people in it are not aware of the presence of the camera. So, when do we see a photograph, when a reflection? Are we in the picture? Are we getting in or out of it? We could be ghosts, animals or dead bodies, not just this women placed against this white background drop. Photographs do not discriminate between the living and the dead. In the fragments of time and shards of light that compose them, everyone is equal. Now you see us; now you don't. It doesn't matter whether you look through a camera lens and press the shutter. It doesn't even matter whether you open your eyes or close them. The pictures are always there. And so are the people in them. We can not get outside the aura. We are part of the aura. We are here, we are now.
All we ever wanted was everything and so Barbies were forced to write product reviews for all the stuff they got. Unboxing, screaming and leaving a lot of garbage isn't enough. They love it but are very critical. For Fashionistas Barbies just the best is good enough. No nice color - no 5-star rating!
It's not very easy to grow up into a woman. We are always taught, almost bombarded, with ideals of what we should be, but amidst all the many voices that bark all these orders and set all of these ideals for girls today, there lacks the voice of assurance. There is no comfort and assurance. I want to be able to say, that there are a few things admirable for a woman to be. It's always wonderful to be elegant -- elegance is a glowing inner peace. It's always fashionable to have grace -- grace is an ability to give as well as to receive and be thankful. It's always glamorous to be brave -- glamor only radiates if there are sublime courage and bravery within. Glamour is like the sky; it only blazes because the clouds are there. And it's always important to own a delectable smile. Yes, wearing a beautiful smile is in style at any age. Wear it as you wear an exquisite perfume; to be wrapped and cradled in an enchanting scent upon your face is a magic all on its own. The notes in that precious smile will remind you that you love yourself and will tell other people that they ought to love you because you know that you're worth it. The love affair created by an alluring smile between you and other people, you and nature, you and yourself, you and your memories and anticipations and hopes and dreams; it is all too beautiful a thing -- a woman is never overdressed or underdressed with a little seraphic smile.