A Baroque Morning Before 10 a.m.

A Baroque Morning Before 10 a.m.

“I have a pair of shoes for you,” says Sara.

She fishes two unbelievably cheeky ankle boots out of her suitcase.

“They’re too big for me,” she says.

“I found them in our village, on the street—together with a silver coat.”

The boots fit me like a glove. I’m astonished.

“I’ll wear them now, when we do the photos with Lara—they’re perfect.”

And so we set off.

I stomp. Sara floats in her barefoot shoes.

“Sara, I feel it exactly: these are absolute boss boots.”

“Well then,” says Sara, slipping the command neatly into my pocket.

We pick up Lara Buffard. She’s standing in front of the Vidmarhallen with a huge bag full of peculiar textile objects.

“Hello, you two! Let’s go.”

Lara doesn’t waste time. It’s 9:00 a.m.

She spreads out her magical costumes, and we spontaneously grab whatever calls to us. Lara positions us somewhere on the Vidmar grounds, and we start posing.

“Wow,” says Lara, “you’re so baroque.”

Mister Cello starts grinning—dazzlingly.

We grow bolder and roam through the halls, always wearing something new from Lara’s creations on our heads. And suddenly we’re standing in front of Duffy Duck.

I’m enchanted. Duffy! At last.

I kiss him passionately.

But of course, Duffy is a construct. His creator storms out of his studio, stands in front of us, scratches his head, and asks:

“Where did you come from?”

I hurry to introduce us:

“This is the noble Lara, this is the noble Sara, and this is me”—pointing at myself—“Natali A, with the emphasis on the A, to keep the meter. May we take some photos in your studio?”

“You may.”

“If you turn off the radio, we’ll play you music,” says Sara.

It’s 9:30. The man turns off the radio and sits down.

Mister Cello has ironed his grin into a graceful smile, and we begin our morning song. Lara clicks away. The studio owner—a set designer for the opera festival—keeps scratching his head, and Mister Cello’s smile conjures the sun into the sky.

By 10:00 we say goodbye and move on.

“I like big things,” Lara says. “That’s why I like working for the opera. I like to think big. I like to wander through vast halls with artists like you.”

As she keeps shooting, she tells us about her work at the London opera.

We are smitten with Lara.

But then it’s time to pack everything up and catch the train.

“I’ll drive you,” Lara says.

I look at our suitcases, the cello, and the cabriolet and say, “Then we’ll have to somehow get all the big things down small.”

“I’m good at that,” says Lara.

And indeed—within fifteen minutes she has packed everything, including us, into the car. Everything and everyone in its place.

How Mister Cello felt, I don’t know. He was already back in his case, relaxing.

But my boots giggled all the way to the station.

Headpieces & photos by Lara Buffard