She's got better things to do, so when I talk about art projects I can hear suspicion in her voice. She is cautious, and I always sound like something out of a circus, so we cannot quite connect. Unless the camera is actually on, and then there is instant yield and wield. She is a weapon, I keep thinking, except I have no time for games and should be onto the next project, the next dream unfolding. And, as I always say, she has much better things to do. These shots, though, ask for a life of their own: How can they keep living? In a character, obviously, perhaps a model about to make a killing. She chooses between her face and murder, profit or her heart. This woman, who grew up barefoot, chasing horses, has a face like a rocket but she is the only person who can light its fuse. I am just shouting.