Summer: most people are fainting under white and blue umbrellas on the beach, worshipping the sun and all the frivolity that comes with it.
Paris: Dali’s melting clock. An open-air oven, more than Sylvia Plath could ever dream of.
I’m fed-up of wearing ugly Birkenstocks and drink naturally mulled wine. The darkness of cinema, seems to be my only comfort, a spark of civilisation.
So, I just completely spontaneously booked a one week solo trip to Saint-Petersburg, Russia.
It might sound random to you, but an actress needs to draw inspiration from somewhere, sometimes.
(The picture above represents myself as zombie Anna Karenina back among the living to find her long lost love Count Alexis Kirillovich Vrosky)
I’ll stay away from train stations, maybe.