that first love

".....maybe your first love is the one that sticks with you because it's the only person who will ever receive all of you.

After that, you learn better. But most of all, no matter what, a piece of you forever remains left behind in the heart of the one you loved...this piece no future lover will ever get. That piece holds innocence, the belief that love really can last forever, it holds friendship and pain, trial and error, that one kiss you'll never forget and that night under the stars you can never get back. It holds youth and everything you thought would be, everything that was proven wrong." 


My First Love-Avant 

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Save the date!

23.04.2010 SPRINGMANN.VAROL Gallery opening:


One of my favourite artist will be in my town this friday ! His works are breathtaking. I got to meet and talk to him a few months ago, when he was in Germany and the stories this guy has to tell are just unbelievable, amazing, frightening, funny, thought-provoking...beautiful and so real. 

He captures all of those stories in his pictures, somehow to me it's like this pictures can talk. He's gonna show his exhibition WOMEN ARE HEROES for the first in Germany at the Springmann.Varol Gallery opening in Düsseldorf this Friday. Come by and say yay !



Freiburg gallery owner Henrik Springmann and entrepreneur/art collector Selim Varol 
have joined to form the Gallery Springmann.Varol. Henrik Springmann has previously focused on 
contemporary art and classical modernism, while Selim Varol contributes his extensive collection from  
and connections to the contemporary and urban art world. The concept behind Gallery Springmann.Varol’s new Duesseldorf location, 
Muehlengasse 3, will be contemporary art, with a focus on the works of international emerging artists, who are being presented in Germany for the first time.



The French photographer, activist, and artist JR, born in 1983, ranks amongst the world’s leading artists of his genre. 
Starting on April 23, WOMEN ARE HEROES will be the first exhibition of JR’s works in Germany at the newly opened 
Gallery Springmann.Varol. 
WOMEN ARE HEROES is JR’s third project in the series 28 MILLIMÈTRES, after PORTRAIT OF A GENERATION and 
FACE 2 FACE. As was the case in his other works, WOMEN ARE HEROES also supports the causes of peace and humanitarianism. 
JR’s project pays tribute to the scores of women who are dealing with the effects of war, poverty, violence, and oppression on a daily basis. 
He meets them in the slums of Rio de Janeiro, Phnom Penh, Delhi, and Kibera/Kenya and with his camera, he captures 
their faces in moments of emotion. JR’s works document the personal histories of the people he photographs and his works in interior spaces – photographs and collages on various media – are already well-established and respected throughout the international contemporary art world.


The artist will be present for the opening of the exhibition on Friday, April 19, 2010 at 7 o’clock p.m.

The exhibition 
will be open for viewing until May 30, 2010 on Mo – Fr, 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. and 2 p.m. to 6 p.m. and by 
arrangement with the Gallery Springmann.Varol.


via Dreamteam Clothing
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The wonderful Kazuma of Dreamteam Clothing wrote a badass article about me on their blog.You can read it yourself, there' s not much for me to say but THANK YOU to Dreamteam.

These guys are like family to me.


Introducing.....Larissa Sirah.

Read the  article HERE.





"Someone comes into your life and half of you says you're nowhere near ready.

The other half says make him yours forever. I'm working on the forever part."

on my mind.

I had this on my mind today. Usually I write down my thoughts  in a notebook (yea with a pen...on paper, call me oldschool) to clear my mind, some of them end up here. But today I'd like to tell someone else's story, cause her thoughts helped me to clear mine and I think what she wrote is just beautiful.

However...In the end the above was all I wrote down.

“When did it happen?

When did stability become the new joy and compromise the new ambition?  When did life turn into this wilderness of desolation and pain?

I look for your laughter, but all I get is a grimace and a mirthless haha from your throat.  Your laughter used to be so beautiful.  The slow gurgle that built up into a loud burst rumbling from deep down in your belly, with the smile that lit up your face breaking the skin around your eyes into a million rivers.

When did it happen?

You say it’s part of the process.  Part of growing up.  You say I am the one who is lost, looking for a ghost, chasing a mirage.  You say being an adult is swallowing the bitter pill of reality.  That to live is to hurt and to love is to die.  That it’s better to chose the less painful option.  To compromise.  To join the pack.  To grin and bear it.

But I can’t.  I can’t because I’ve been to that place of contentment.  Those days of wine and roses.  Those days when we set our minds on the pursuit of happiness and determined to hold on to our dreams and never give up.  When we seemed immortal because of the strength of our hope and the potency of our passion. Now you tell me it’s all an illusion and that it’s time to say goodbye.

Where should I go?  To that place where people look the same and swear the same?  To that place where people fuck the same? I won’t do it.  I won’t become the new you.  The new disgusting soulless you all brushed, polished and marching to a tune that’s not your own.  I won’t become like you satisfied with your new reconditioned car, your 9-to-5 job in a tall building, your box house in the valley and your stiff suits.  I won’t become like your new girl with her chemically straightened hair and bony shoulders, little red bag always on her shoulder, the latest cell phone always in her hand and always with the “yars yars London yars, Jimmy Choo shoes, Prada scarf and Paris for Christmas.”

You said it was too hard to hold on to me.  Too hard to hold on to you.  You said you were tired of my naiveté and that you needed structure and something to rely on.  That I was too capricious and erratic.  That I was too hard to love.

I understand you not loving me.  I don’t understand you not loving you.

Love you again.  Love him who threw out a meaningless job and spent a year on the road finding himself, remembering what felt like to walk barefoot down a hot tarmac road. Love him who lay in the grass on a cold January night, pointing out the stars, dreaming of travel to strange and beautiful places.  Love him for whom compassion was as real as frustration and anger was as strong as joy.  Love him who couldn’t walk past a child without saying a kind word or a stranger without sharing a joke.  Love him who said to that live a day without laughter was sacrilege.

I remember him.  I remember him who laughed at my vanity and smiled at my haplessness.  I remember him listened to my long stories of longing, heartache and adventure and soothed me to sleep by singing along with Train on the CD and strumming on his guitar.

Tell me did you sail across the sun?

Did you make it to the Milky Way to see the lights all faded

And that heaven is overrated?

Tell me did you fall for a shooting star

One without a permanent scar?

And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there?

And are you lonely looking for yourself out there?

Bring him back because the journey is bleak without the knowledge that although he is apart from me he hasn’t forgotten to dance.

I’ll be waiting for him on the other side.  I’ll be waiting for him to wake up from the delusion that this is all there is and that this existence doesn’t offer more.  I’ll be waiting because I don’t believe that to live is to hurt and to love is to die.”


nothing. at least.


I don't know if it's possible to ever get fully over the pain of losing someone you loved. Maybe I will one day.

Nothing matters

there's Nothing to think about

Nothing to cry and yell about

Nothing to talk and dream about

there's Nothing left least.

I hold on to the Nothing

that you left me

Nothing is all I got

it's everything

I can't let my Nothing go

just to realise that I am empty since you've been gone least.
at least nothing.




ich gruesse alle die ich kenne