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The Beatles Kaleidoscope Eyes Prima Facie on Broadway Karl Lagerfeld: A Line of Beauty Welcome to Doodleport!
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features Spring 2023
10 Prima Facie
Killing Eve ’s Jodie Comer makes her Broadway debut BY IRIS WIENER
16 Recording Sgt. Pepper The Beatles at Abbey Road Studios Kaleidoscope Eyes PHOTOS BY HENRY GROSSMAN
22 The First Ten Days After a Shooting at your Daughter’s School BY BETH KANTER
24 Karl Lagerfeld -A Line of Beauty A Designer Celebration at The Met 28 FICTION Goodbye to the Road not Taken
“I wanted an apartment in Paris. Is that so bad?” BY A.M. HOMES
34 THIRD EYE Kenyan fashion photographer, Thandiwe Muriu Bold, Colorful, African Patterns take a funky twist
Karl Lagerfeld for House of CHANEL courtesy of The Metropolitan Museum of Art
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depts. 8 TRAIN OF THOUGHT First Impressions How to tell whether someone is liberal or conservative BY REESE CASSARD AND GARY M. ALMETER 42 BOOK CLUB North Bay Road “The Fifth Avenue of Miami” BY RICHARD KIRSHENBAUM
Editor & Publisher Camillo Ferrari Executive Editor
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General Counsel Bruce Koffsky, Esq. Digital Designer Michael Carpenter Sales Reps Emma Chase, Carly Davis, Kristen Mangino, Jordan Paulick, Matthew Troxel Contributors Gary M. Almeter, Reese Cassard, A.M.Homes, Beth Kanter, Christa Kiesling, Richard Kirshenbaum, Iris Wiener Photographers Henry Grossman, Thandiwe Muriu Illustrators Bob Eckstein Cover Illustration: Malika Favre Cartoons Bob Eckstein Advertising & Editorial Inquiries email@example.com @westonmagazines ISSUE 68 Copyright 2023 Presence Media Group. All rights reserved. WMG: The Luxury Constellation westonmagazinegroup.com
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TRAIN OF THOUGHT
First Impressions How to Tell Whether Someone is Liberal or Conservative
by REESE CASSARD AND GARY M. ALMETER
IF A WOMAN is wearing Doc Martens, she’s liberal. IF A MAN is wearing Doc Martens, he’s conservative. If the man in Doc Martens has a buzzcut, he is very conservative. If someone’s wearing a golf polo anywhere but on a golf course, they are conservative. If someone’s wearing a barn jacket anywhere but in a barn, they are liberal. If they’re wearing a barn jacket in a barn, they are conservative. Unless the barn is filled with rescue dogs, then it’s anyone’s guess. If someone’s wearing Stan Smiths, they are liberal. If someone’s ever played tennis with Stan Smith, they are conservative. If a man lists his pronouns on social media, he is liberal. If he lists his pronouns on dating apps, he is conservative but wants you to think he’s liberal. If someone has erotic dreams about Anderson Cooper, they are human and shouldn’t look into it too much. If those erotic dreams also include Andy Cohen, Don Lemon, and the rest of CNN’s drunken New Year’s Eve crew, they are probably going through a lot and should maybe talk to a professional about it. If someone is still bemoaning cancel culture, they are conservative. Unless they’re bemoaning the cancellation of Broad City , then they’re liberal.
If someone saw Bruce Springsteen on Broadway, they are conservative but like to think they’re liberal. If they saw Bruce Springsteen play in New Jersey before he was “Bruce Springsteen,” they are liberal but like to think they’re conservative. If a guy drinks white wine, he’s liberal. If a girl drinks whiskey, she’s conservative. If someone can taste the difference between a Merlot from ’78 and a Merlot from ’98, they are conservative but have a son who dropped out of college to join Antifa.
If a guy wears baggy corduroy pants, he is liberal but his parents are conservative. If he wears slim-fit corduroy pants, he is conservative but his parents are liberal. If a woman is in the top 1 percent of Taylor Swift listeners on Spotify, she is liberal. If she is in the top 10-15 percent of Taylor Swift listeners on Spotify, she is conservative. If she got good seats to Taylor’s tour through Ticketmaster, she’s a bot.
IF A GUY DRINKS WHITE WINE, HE’S LIBERAL. IF A GIRL DRINKS WHISKEY, SHE’S CONSERVATIVE.
didn’t get any SEC scholarship offers, he used to be conservative but is liberal now. If a man was the lead role in his high school play but didn’t get into Juilliard, he used to be liberal but is conservative now. If a man over fifty has a DON’T TREAD ON ME tattoo, he’s liberal. If a man under fifty has one, he’s a suspect in the January 6 commission. If a man is wearing an authentic horse- man’s duster from J. Peterman, it’s actu- ally three small boys trying to get into an R-rated movie. If a woman is wearing an authentic horseman’s duster from J. Peterman, she’s liberal and she has a gun. If your great aunt Tillie comes home for the holidays wearing flowing scarves and wailing on a harmonica, there’s a chance it’s Steven Tyler of Aerosmith impersonating your great aunt Tillie so he can crash your dinner. Either way, do not eat that butternut squash casserole they brought. If anyone is wearing a MAGA hat, they’re just trying to get a rise out of you. Don’t fall for it. * Reese Cassard is a copywriter in Boulder, Colorado, where he skis, hikes, and writes humor. Gary M. Almeter lives in Baltimore and is an attorney, legal content writer, and the author of the novel Kissing the Roadkill Back to Life .
If someone can hear the difference between Beethoven and Debussy, they vote liberal but donate money to Republicans. If a man wears dress shirts with monogrammed cuffs, he is conservative. If a woman wears dress shirts with monogrammed cuffs, she is liberal. If anyone wears those dress shirts that don’t have a collar, they are a cult leader. If a man was the quarterback on his high school football team but
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Prima Facie “And the 2023 Olivier award for “Best Actress” By Iris Wiener
goes to Jodie Comer for Prima Facie !” On April 2nd, Prima Facie and playwright Suzie Miller received the 2023 Olivier award for “Best New Play.” The acclaimed London production and its star, Emmy, and BAFTA award winner, Jodie Comer ( Killing Eve ) opens on Broadway in April for a limited 10-week engagement. This breath-taking, one-woman play directed by Justin Martin is truly a once-in-a-lifetime experience in the theatre.
Ms. Comer plays Tessa Ensler, a fierce barrister who defends men accused of sexual assault. Winning is everything in the “game of law” as she delights in crafting a defense strategy to obscure the woman’s account of the rape. When Tessa is sexually assaulted by a work colleague, her world is shattered. No longer the thoroughbred barrister, she’s a broken woman, the alleged victim pleading to be believed in a court of law. Production photos by Helen Murray
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Prima Facie is the result of Miller’s excruciating awakening that the “game of law” works against a rape victim. “1-in-3 women have had a vi- olent sexual assault and reported it to the police, and only 1 in 10 of those who have reported it are taken to court. In the United Kingdom, only 1.3 percent of them have a convic- tion. If you look at those stats, you realize there’s something very wrong,” says Miller. “With Prima Facie , I wanted to show the process of what someone has to go through to get to court, and even to get there and to lose. There’s no motivation to do it. Even if they are mistaken about what happened, 1.3 percent? You can’t tell me that 98.7 percent are mistaken. There’s something wrong with the way the system works.” When Prima Facie ran in London, the production hosted a night that was solely for female lawyers and those in the law profession. Miller found herself participating in a three-hour Q&A discussion follow- ing the performance. Women shared their stories of sexual harassment, as- sault, and ways of being undermined in their profession. “There was a top defense barrister in the first row, and I knew that her specialty was sexual assault law,” Miller recalls. “I thought she would excellently hammer me when the time came. Instead, she said, ‘I do sexual assault cases every day of my life. I win a lot of them and get my clients off. If my god- daughter came to me and said she had been sexually assaulted, I would tell her, ‘Do not take this case to court.’ I would believe my goddaugh-
“When I was in law school, I remember thinking that there was something really amiss with the whole concept of sexual as- sault,” says Australian playwright Suzie Miller. “I was a defense attorney, so I believe in innocence until proven guilty and I be- lieve that is the bedrock of a civilized society without which you have a dictatorship, so it’s very important that we have that,” says Miller. “But it was laughable to me that they kept compar- ing laws like an objective truth. The structure of the system has been created by generations of white, middle-class, heterosexual men. All of these cases that decide what is fair have not had women’s experience embedded in them.”
ter, but I would say, ‘You’ll never win.’ What does that tell you?” The play is affecting change in ways that Miller never thought possible. Prima Facie inspired a group of barristers in London to set up an organization for serious examination of sexual assault law. The production was filmed and distributed as part of The National Theatre cinema series and has been screened at judges’ conferences. “Who would dream that something you write in a dark little studio on a miserable winter night, thinking that no one is ever going to watch a rape play, would get picked up and have this cumulative effect?” Thousands of women write to Miller weekly, sharing stories
of how they were silent about their assaults until they saw the play, and finally told their mothers and/or the police. “That’s more important to me than anything, it’s this chance for people to speak out,” says Miller, proudly. “Every now and then some- one comes up to me, sometimes powerful women, and says, ‘I’m 1 in 3.’ They don’t want to talk about rape, they just want to ac- knowledge that they are 1 in 3. It’s not their fault and they can own that. That means a lot. It’s my response to that paradox of being a lawyer and actually being a woman.” There are many roles of truth for Prima Facie ’s Tessa, and the play aptly explores these complexities. In the court of law it’s the legal truth that presides, but when an assault victim isn’t clear about what happened and moments of affection turn violent, the truth shifts. Miller chose to explore a form of sexual assault in which a woman is assaulted by someone with whom she is close (and also happens to be a colleague at her practice.) “It is the most common version of sexual assault,” she says. “Men don’t realize that they have an obligation to check on consent. They are part of the conversation if they are having sex with a woman or any sort of sexual intimacy or relationship with a woman.” Miller recalls tak- ing six sexual assault statements each week from young girls in her prior career. “They were horrific. Often their attackers were their boyfriends, dads, stepfathers... There were some that were a date and they would say, ‘It was my fault because I went with them.’ I always wanted to separate that involvement and the doubt, and the idea of the shame they have by trusting somebody.” Miller considers the Supreme Court Justice hearings in
which women bravely told their stories of sexual abuse in tele- vised, national hearings, yet were still dismissed. She wonders if the issue is getting any better. “I have to believe that we’re at least talking about it and we’re outraged,” she says.“In earlier years, I don’t know if those women would have had the chance to even speak up. The fact that they are being crucified by cer- tain aspects of the media and politics doesn’t mean that women don’t believe them.” Prima Facie has partnered with the School’s Consent Project, which aims to educate and empower young people in under- standing what it means to give consent. “I realized after I wrote the play that it goes well beyond a legal problem,” says Miller. “It’s actually a community problem about how men and women are raised in talking about consent and choice. Hopefully, if you go back to the education system and start there, you hope that in the next fifteen years, those conversations will be less defen- sive. It’s about having those conversations in schools.” Miller is hopeful that the world will see necessary change, and is proud of the fact that Prima Facie is already helping it along. “I still hope that we as a community, one-by-one, can see something, empathize, and create change,” she says. “I believe in people and the power of story and the power of creating empa- thy as the one way that you can stop people in their tracks. Not an argument in court, not a dinner table political stash, but ac- tually seeing something from a different perspective, and in spite of themselves, feeling sympathetic and empathetic toward a human being.”
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Prima Facie ’s Impact: A Conversation with Producer James Bierman
When producer James Bierman first read Suzie Miller’s Prima Facie , he immediately wanted to bring it to the stage but hesi- tated over the fact that a man would be at its helm. The play- wright assured him a man was the best choice, explaining, “No, if a group of women put this play on, we’ll just be written off as hysterical women shouting loudly about something; if I get you to produce and I get a guy to direct it, I am implicating men in a conversation in this piece right from the start.” According to Bierman, being involved with Prima Facie has changed his life. “I’ve talked to Jodie [Comer] about being part of something that is so much bigger than the sum of what we do,” he says. “It has become this thing .” Bringing it to Broadway has made it even larger. “Even in liberal New York…the fact that abortion has become a conversation again in one of the most progressive countries on the earth, things that you just felt were dealt with, just shows how important these things are.” As the show began to get underway in London, Comer asked police and DSI Clair Kelland, “If I went to a police station for real, what would happen?” She invited them to meet her at the station, where Comer was to press a buzzer and go through the experience. Bierman remembers it as being one of the most compelling and terrifying days in the show’s process. “Jodie was told to go to the desk and say, ‘I’ve been attacked.’ We walked through the whole experience of it. You realize straight away in that scenario that you’re already up against who you’re going to meet that day, what their day has been, if they have been on duty for hours…Is there a specially trained officer in that branch at that particular time? If there isn’t, you won’t get that sense of care,” recalls Bierman. “The sense of responsibility I have as a man producing this play is to not miss any opportunity I get on this journey to let this play make some change. It’s a re- ally articulate way of making people think about it, and it’s a real problem.” Schools Consent Project Bierman resourced the Schools Consent Project, a charity dedi- cated to educating and empowering young people to understand and engage with the issues surrounding consent and sexual as- sault. In London, barristers lead workshops in secondary schools and youth groups in which they discuss the legal defini- tions of consent and assault. The group is launching branches in the U.S. to coincide with Facie ’s opening on Broadway and Peter Avery, the Director of Theater for the New York City Depart- ment of Education, is helping Bierman and Schools Consent Project plug into various existing organizations, schools, and networks. Accessibility “We’re looking at a lot of different ways we can connect with diverse audiences in our ten weeks, and accessibility is one,” says Bierman. “One amazing donor has underwritten 500 free
tickets, so we’re going to do five nights where we’ll have 100 young people from different groups across New York come to see the show for free. We’ll have workshops from the Schools Consent Project either beforehand or afterward.” The produc- tion is launching a $10 lottery. Ten tickets at $10 for each show will be spread throughout the house. “We have three nights where we’re going to do Q&As after the show, and I’m working to see if we can get interesting peo- ple on the panels,” says Bierman, who is in conversation with people like V (Eve Ensler) and Ashley Judd. “I’m hopeful that by the end of the run, we’ll be able to galvanize and pull some activity together that will help this conversation poke through and disseminate in a lot of different directions.” Prima Faces Project “One of the most overwhelming things was getting loads of tes- timonies from people,” recalls Bierman. “I read them all because I felt that if someone could be brave enough to write, I should at least be brave enough to read it and respond. It was over- whelming to read what people go through. It broke my heart to read this repeatedly. The positive thing for me that came out of it was feeling like the show got embraced by a community of
people who went, ‘This really is our show. This is doing something for us and we’re empowered by it.’” Bierman was traveling through Gatwick Airport when he had the spark of an idea. “There was a mural of the Queen and it was made up of lots of little photos of the Queen. I took a photo of it and I sent it to Doug Kerr, a brilliant designer who does all of my artwork.” Bierman felt that Prima Facie ’s story belonged to the people who embraced the show, so he asked the people who had shared their stories to submit their photographs; within three days photos and testimonies flooded in. Doug Kerr compiled over 1,000 photos to create Prima Faces , a special piece of art on display at the theatre, at locations around New York, and online. The piece is a merging of the play and the community of voices saying in solidar- ity, “On the face of it something has to change.” For tickets primafacieplay.com * Iris Wiener is a professional entertainment writer, reporter, and theater critic. Her work as an interviewer and reviewer has been featured in more than fifteen publications, including Playbill , Newsday , TheaterMania , and OK! magazine.
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KALEIDOSCOPE EYES A Day in the Life of Sgt. Pepper The Photography of Henry Grossman THE YEAR WAS 1967. The Beatles were hard at work on Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band , writing, recording, and experimenting behind closed doors at EMI’s famed Abbey Road studios. Though the album took five months to record, few of these groundbreaking sessions were photographed. However, American photographer Henry Grossman spent an evening in the studio with the band as they began work on a new song: “Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds”. Henry documented the entire session with his camera, taking more than 250 black and white photographs over the course of the evening. Strictly limited to 1967 hand-numbered copies, Kaleidoscope Eyes reveals the Beatles at the height of their creative powers, recording the body of work many would hail as the greatest album of all time. PHOTOGRAPHS BY HENRY GROSSMAN: © GROSSMAN ENTERPRISES LLC. All rights reserved
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“ONE OF THE THINGS THAT STRUCK ME ABOUT THE BEATLES WAS HOW UNIQUE EACH ONE OF THEM WAS INDIVIDUALLY, AND, YET, THERE WAS NOT A LOT OF ‘SELF’ IN THE ROOM; THERE WAS A STRONG SENSE OF ‘US’. THERE WAS THE FEELING OF “THIS IS WHAT WE ARE DOING.”
PHOTOGRAPHS BY HENRY GROSSMAN: © GROSSMAN ENTERPRISES LLC. All rights reserved
PHOTOGRAPHS BY HENRY GROSSMAN: © GROSSMAN ENTERPRISES LLC. All rights reserved
Photographer, HENRY GROSSMAN began his freelance career shooting assignments and covers for Life Magazine, The New York Times, Time magazine, Newsweek, Paris-Match and others. The range and diversity of his subjects included prominent political figures (the three Kennedy brothers, Richard Nixon, Nelson Mandela) to painters, sculptors and writers (Alexander Calder, Kurt Vonnegut, Vladimir Nabokov) and, especially performing artists (Elizabeth Taylor, Richard Burton, Martha Graham, Rudolph Nureyev, Leonard Bernstein, Luciano Pavarotti, Placido Domingo, Leontyne Price, Jimi Hendrix, Barbra Streisand, Thelonious Monk.) On November 23, 1963, Henry’s portraits of John F. Kennedy and Lyndon Johnson were featured on the front page of the New York Times ’ announcement of the assassination of the president. The breadth of Henry’s time and work with the Beatles — having documented them in both professional and personal realms— marks his singular place in history as one of, if not the most, prolific and comprehensive photographers of the Beatles. Only a few years older than the Beatles themselves, and bringing his background in classical music and journalism into their shared experiences, he developed an immediate and unique rapport with them. In addition to covering their 1964 appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show , Henry joined them at several different locations while filming the movie Help! . He also was with them in Wales during their legendary personal meeting with Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. Considered a trusted friend, Henry enjoyed unprecedented access and was invited into the Beatles’ homes to spend time with them, photographing them informally with their friends and families. *
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THE FIRST TEN DAYS AFTER A SHOOTING AT YOUR DAUGHTER’S SCHOOL
OR, WHAT TO EXPECT WHEN YOU ARE EXPECTING THE INEVITABLE by Beth Kanter
DAY 1. You realize the long, high-pitched wail coming from your dog’s mouth is not a sign of distress. She’s simply mimicking the sound you are making as you watch the news unfold that a man deliberately shot hundreds of rounds of ammunition into your daughter’s school at close range.
DAY 2. You clutch your daughter much in the way one who is about to fall holds on to the edge of a cliff. Soon you will send her back to school, to the scene of the crime. You will have to let go of her again and again and again. DAY 3. You feel acutely aware in your gut, in your brain, and in your heart that you are “lucky” compared to others who have been pushed onto this path. You contemplate the notion of luck. You swirl the word around in your mouth. It tastes wrong and is hard to digest. You imagine it boring holes in your belly much the way the carpenter bees attempt to make holes in the old pergola outside your kitchen window.They do not understand the sealant recently applied to protect the wood is keeping them out. You identify with the bees and the pressure-treated wood. DAY 4. Your appetite becomes strange. You consume things that seem momentarily appealing like a vegan cheeseburger, personal pizza, lox on pocketless pita bread, or runny eggs. Your taste for them is intense in the moment and then fleeting. You settle on room temperature Fresca and pretzel nuggets because they will not make you more nauseous than you already are all the time. DAY 5. Words that never left a mark suddenly grow sharp edges that leave bruises when you casually bump into them. That date is still a moving target. Just send over a few bullet points to start. I like that he is someone who shoots from the hip. We were just shooting the breeze. She spent most of the day trying to troubleshoot that problem. We sure dodged a bullet with that one. It’ll be tough but we need to stick to our guns. Don’t jump the gun. Let’s give it a shot. She is the one calling the shots. It’s a long shot. It’s worth a shot. It’s a shot in the dark. (You hear shots everywhere.) DAY 6. Phrases you reach for to explain your experience also grow fangs. The news is triggering. We all seem to be sniping at each other. My nervous system is shot. (More shots.) DAY 7. You take up counting at night when you can’t sleep. First backwards from 200, the number of bullet holes the self- described “AR-15 aficionado” forced into the heart of your
daughter’s high school. Then backwards from 800, the number of rounds of ammunition found in the shooter’s sniper nest. (You pause to note that nest once was a pretty word.) Then backwards from the growing number of shootings this year, a number higher than the number of days so far in the year. DAY 8. You’re still awake. So you try again, this time counting forward to 3 million children, the number of young people in this country traumatized by gun violence each year. You definitely are awake when the sun rises. You are surprised that the sun has decided to come up again. You are not surprised when you hear about more gun violence. Horrified, furious, sickened, depressed, outraged, terrified, yes, but not surprised. You wonder how anyone can be surprised by it anymore. DAY 9. For reasons you cannot explain, you try naming all of the kids on Eight is Enough . It takes you two nights to remember that David is the name of the oldest brother and by night three you can name them off like rapid fire. (Another jagged edged phrase to add to your collection. How many more words now can wound you?) Mary, Joanie, Nancy, Susan, Elizabeth, David, Tommy, Nicholas . You guess that there is meaning in this but are too tired to figure it out. DAY 10. You cry and scream and howl. Into your pillow. In the shower. In your head in the middle of the night as you sing the Eight is Enough theme song like a lullaby. As you walk the dog. On the phone to your partner in the middle of the day. At the newspaper, which has abruptly stopped reporting about the shooting at your school because it has moved on to another or on to other stories entirely. At the people who do nothing. At the voters who stay home. At the Senate and Congress. At the Court. At the talking heads. At the alerts on your phone. At the understanding that nothing has or will change yet everything in your world, in your child’s world, has changed forever. * Beth Kanter’s words have appeared in McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, Idle Ink, Bright Flash Literary Review, Roi Fainéant Press,The Writer , and the Chicago Tribune . Beth won a James Kirkwood Literary Prize for her novel-in- progress, Paved With Gold . This essay was originally published on identitytheory.com
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THE METROPOLITAN MUSEUM OF ART’S SPRING 2023 COSTUME INSTITUTE EXHIBITION
WITH approximately 150 works, Karl Lagerfeld: A Line of Beauty explores the designer’s stylistic language through the aesthetic themes that recurred across his 65-year career. Drawing on the theory of art and aesthetics expressed by William Hogarth as the “line of beauty,” the exhibition is anchored by two lines: the “straight line” and the “serpentine line,” which delineate, respectively, Lagerfeld’s modernist and historicist tendencies. These lines explore different stylistic representations of themes that the designer returned to again and again, spreading in a rhizome-like configuration with intersecting moments— or “explosions”—that exemplify points of convergence. The exhibition will conclude with the “satirical line,” a section that focuses on Lagerfeld’s ironic, playful, and whimsical predilections expressed through visual puns that reflect the designer’s razor-sharp wit. Approximately 150 garments will be on view, spanning the designer’s career as the creative director of Chloé, Fendi, Chanel, and his eponymous label, Karl Lagerfeld, as well as his time at Balmain and Patou. Most of the pieces on display will be accompanied by Lagerfeld’s sketches, which underscore his complex creative process and the collaborative relationships with his premières. Presented at The Met Fifth Avenue in the Tisch Gallery Karl Lagerfeld: A Line of Beauty will be on view from May 5 - July 16, 2023. #MetKarlLagerfeld @metcostumeinstitute KARL LAGERFELD a LINE of BEAUTY
RUNWAY IMAGE OF ENSEMBLE KARL LAGERFELD (FRENCH, BORN GERMANY, 1933–2019) FOR HOUSE OF CHANEL (FRENCH, FOUNDED 1910), FALL/WINTER 1986-87.
COURTESY CHANEL. IMAGE COURTESY OF THE METROPOLITAN MUSEUM OF ART.
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Emblematic Creative Director for the CHANEL Fashion House from 1983 until his passing in February 2019, Karl Lagerfeld was an extraordinary creative individual who reinvented the brand’s codes, first imagined by Gabrielle Chanel, through his inspiration and collections for the House. Creating “a better future with enlarged elements of the past,” according to Goethe’s phrase which he liked to quote, Karl Lagerfeld extended the spectrum of CHANEL’s stylistic vocabulary, crossing the House’s identifying elements with his own aesthetic universe. Drawing from his vast array of cultural references, his designs were notably inspired by two of his favorite eras, Modernism and the 18th century. The sumptuously refined silhouettes and accessories of his collections never ceased to exalt the exceptional know-how of CHANEL’s ateliers and Maisons d’art, which he nourished with continual inspiration. Karl Lagerfeld’s unrivaled gift was perfectly articulated in his final CHANEL Métiers d’art collection, named “Paris-New York,” presented in December 2018 at the Temple of Dendur at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. Garments, accessories, catwalk sets and scenography, advertising and editorial photos, film books: as the first Creative Director of a luxury brand to think of fashion design in all its facets and as a whole, Karl Lagerfeld forged his own myth. He placed himself alongside Gabrielle Chanel as the second founder of CHANEL Fashion, leaving a strong and coherent legacy that is now reinterpreted by Virginie Viard, who spent more than thirty years at his side. CHANEL is pleased to support this exhibition, which sheds light on the work of a designer of genius who marked the history of fashion and changed the destiny of the House forever.
OPPOSITE: SKETCH OF ENSEMBLE, HOUSE OF CHANEL
(FRENCH, FOUNDED 1910), KARL LAGERFELD (FRENCH, BORN GERMANY, 1933–2019), SPRING/SUMMER 2019; COURTESY CHANEL. IMAGE COURTESY OF THE METROPOLITAN MUSEUM OF ART. RUNWAY IMAGE OF ENSEMBLE KARL LAGERFELD (FRENCH, BORN GERMANY, 1933–2019) FOR HOUSE OF CHANEL (FRENCH, FOUNDED 1910), SPRING/SUMMER 2019. COURTESY CHANEL. IMAGE COURTESY OF THE METROPOLITAN MUSEUM OF ART.
L-R: SKETCH OF “PURPLE FIELD” DRESS
KARL LAGERFELD (FRENCH, BORN GERMANY, 1933–2019) FOR FENDI (ITALIAN, FOUNDED 1925), FALL/WINTER 2017–18 HAUTE FOURRURE. COURTESY FENDI. IMAGE COURTESY OF THE METROPOLITAN MUSEUM OF ART. SKETCH OF DRESS KARL LAGERFELD (FRENCH, BORN GERMANY, 1933–2019) FOR HOUSE OF CHANEL (FRENCH, FOUNDED 1910), SPRING/SUMMER 1995 HAUTE COUTURE. COURTESY CHANEL. IMAGE COURTESY OF THE METROPOLITAN MUSEUM OF ART.
Over the course of his 54-year tenure at Fendi, Karl Lagerfeld played a vital role in shaping the history of the Roman house, as well as becoming a beloved member of the Fendi family. “The bond between Karl Lagerfeld and Fendi is fashion’s longest love story,” said Silvia Venturini Fendi, its artistic director of menswear and accessories. Hired in 1964 by the five Fendi sisters – over five decades Karl transformed the family’s house into a playground of creativity, powered by his extraordinary and boundless imagination. It is that same vision that is celebrated throughout the exhibition, which traces his stylistic vocabulary and explores the unique working methodology that inspired such freedom. *
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eet me by the Fish’r King.” “Where?” “Near the deli that closed, it’s near the place we used to go.” “The first place or the second place?” “It depends how you define it. What will GOODBYE TO THE ROAD NOT TAKEN BY A.M. HOMES M you be wearing?” he asks. “It’s not that kind of meeting,” she says. “If you’re not on one corner you’ll be on the other. Even from across the street, I’ll see you. It’s not like I don’t know who you are.” “I’ll have an umbrella,” he says. “These days I always have an umbrella, I like to be prepared. And I’ve discovered it has many uses—almost like one of those utility tools, like a pocket-knife.” Two days pass. “So here we are,” he says. “Imagine that, me bumping into you, here on this corner where in the past we spent so much time waiting for the lights to change.” “You didn’t bump into me, we made a time to meet so I could give you your mail. Why do you need to turn a fact into fiction?” He shrugs. “Polite conversation?” “And by the way, why this corner and not the usual?” “Oh,” he says, knowing exactly what she is talking about. “I don’t go there anymore.” His tone implies that whatever hap- pened there was so bad that he hasn’t shaken it off. “What do you mean you don’t go there anymore, that was your place, you went there every day, it was like a religious event—” She could go on but he cuts her off. “I got into a fight with the guy.” “A fight? You don’t fight with anyone. What was it about?” “Who was next in line.” “And like that you just stopped going?” “I did,” he says proudly. “He let someone cut the line. So I stopped going. I wanted to show myself that I can be definitive, that I can stick to something.” A moment passes. “You seem upset.” “It’s a little frightening,” she says. “The idea of you, a little . . . hamantaschen, getting into a fight.” She pauses. “I’m sorry if that sounded anti-Semitic.” “When one Jew insults another it’s not antisemitism, it’s self-hatred.”
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“Half-Jew,” she says, as if that makes it better or worse. “I just can’t imagine you getting into a fight. Who was it who thought he was in front of you?” “A woman with a stroller.” He pauses. “Her stroller was in front of me, but she wasn’t. She wasn’t even with the stroller, nowhere near. She was going up and down looking in the cases, and I was standing there, stuck, trapped, trying to entertain . . .” He pauses again. “. . . the inhabitant.” “You mean the baby?” “I mean the inhabitant, a blob of flesh, with an enormous bobblehead.” “Babies have big heads.”
thing, a stroller the size of a Buick. And it’s been pimped out, it has enormous tires like it’s also a dirt bike, and my foot gets stuck in the hole of this fucking all-terrain tire, and I’m still trying to walk forward, and everything is going haywire. All I want is to get out of there, and the woman comes over and she’s hitting me with the nova all wrapped up and telling me to stop touching her child, who, of course, I’m not touching. But the stroller is tipping over, and it looks like I’m kicking it, but of course I’m not kicking it, I’m just moving my foot back and forth trying to get free. It was awful, beyond awful.”
“It didn’t move, but its eyes kept rolling around—trying to get a read on me. It was sucking its bottle, totally self-satisfied, like everything in life came so easily, so naturally. It made me crazy.” “You were jealous of the baby’s contentment?” “His eyes were enormous, like the heads of octopi.” “Really?” “It felt that way.” “Then what?” “‘Who’s next?’ the guy called out. ‘I am,’ I said, raising my hand. ‘I’m next.’ ‘I’ll have a half pound of nova,’ the woman with the baby says from the other side of the room. The guy looks at her. ‘Half pound?’ ‘I would do more,’ she says, ‘but it’s so expensive.’
“HER STROLLER WAS IN FRONT OF ME, BUT SHE WASN’T. SHE WASN’T EVEN WITH THE STROLLER, NOWHERE NEAR. SHE WAS GOING UP AND DOWN LOOKING IN THE CASES, AND I WAS STANDING THERE, STUCK, TRAPPED, TRYING TO ENTERTAIN . . .” HE PAUSES AGAIN. “. . . THE INHABITANT.”
‘It’s not your turn,’ I say. ‘You’re not next.’ She doesn’t even look at me. ‘It’s not all about you,’ I say. I may or may not have added another word, a word that would not be a good word, I just can’t remember if I said it out loud or just in my head.” “What was the word?” He hesitates. “The B word.” “Ummm. Well, at least it wasn’t the C word.” “The guy just looks at me. Maybe it was the word. Maybe I actually said the word, I have no idea. . . . ‘Anything else?’ the guy says to her as he’s wrapping the fish. ‘Is the macaroni salad house made?’ she asks. And then I lost it. ‘Her stroller is parked here, parked and unattended, that does not equal a place in line. It is a fire hazard,’ I shouted. ‘Foul ball, on the six and ten.’ She stares at me. ‘Oh my god,’ she says. ‘Will you just stop.’ Her voice is more grating than horseradish on a blade. And now the guy behind the counter has something on his finger—some- thing kind of yellow and shiny. He leans forward, and like magic, the octopi pulls his bottle out of his mouth, and the thick finger goes in. ‘A little something for the baby.’‘What was that?’ the woman screams, still on the other side of the store. ‘Butter,’ the guy says. ‘My mother used to give it to me like that, a little bit on her finger. She’d say, “I’m going to butter you up.”’ ‘Is it organic?’ the woman asks, panicked. ‘Are your hands clean?’ The big man wipes his hands on his apron. ‘It’s New York,’ he says. Everyone in the store is now staring. I turn quickly and try to get out of there. My shoe gets hooked on the stroller because of course it’s not a regular stroller, it’s a massive
“Did the octopi fall out of the stroller?” “The octopi was fine, the stroller tipped, but he was entirely strapped in, never knew what happened, the thing even had a roll bar. He never even let go of his bottle, just clutched it the whole way over.” “Amazing that no one was injured,” she says. “I was injured. I did something to my knee. I barely got out of there alive—I probably need physical therapy.” “That might be the least of it,” she says. There’s a pause. “It doesn’t sound like you,” she says. “You don’t really have what I’d call a temper.” A yellow cab comes around the corner, cutting in too close. He bangs on the hood with the handle of his umbrella. “Butt fucker,” he calls out. “Butt fucker?” “It’s all I could think of, I had the butter on my mind. Bud- der fucker.” A long silence between them. “Anyway, it’s nice we always agreed about children, we still have that in common— not liking children,” he says. “I don’t not like children,” she says. “I am a teacher, after all. I teach children.” “That’s a double negative,” he says. “Grammatically incorrect and you didn’t want any of your own.” “That’s right,” she says. “It’s unusual, isn’t it,” he says, “for a woman not to want
“I left,” he says. “It was a matter of life and death.” “Like the baseball game?” “How much more serious could it get?” “There’s always something,” she says. “Something more, something worse. Something to look forward to, something larger than oneself. It’s too bad you’re like this.” It’s too bad you’re like this . His lips repeat her words but no sound comes out. “I think this is what your therapist meant when she wanted to know if I’d find your anxiety overwhelming,” she says. “At the time I was surprised by the question, I hardly knew you. But I’ve come to understand that your anxiety is so important to you that you can’t live without it.” He nods. “Who would I be without worry?” They walk a little farther. “You are too perfect,” he says. “That is so you. You are blaming me for your problems, I am not perfect.” “To me you are perfect, it drove me crazy.” “Your problems aren’t about me,” she says. “No,” he says, “but I kept lowering my expectations.” “Of me?” she asks, increasingly agitated. “No, of myself,” he says. “You were fine, happy, satisfied, ev- erything was going along as planned—” “I thought it was,” she says. “Exactly,” he says. “Exactly what?” she says. “You know what,” he says. “In the end it is you. You have an ability that I don’t. You can shelter yourself, you can elude de- tection—you can hide your feelings. I can’t. I can’t protect my- self, so I gave up on all that and am hurling myself into all kinds of things.” “What kinds of things?” “Well, women, for one.” “You should know better than to tell me that.” “We’re friends.” “I’m your ex,” she says. “It’s too soon. You are such an ass.” He smiles. “I wouldn’t smile if I were you,” she says. “Why not?” “You’ve got poppy seeds in your teeth.” “I can’t help but smile. I like it when you say I’m an ass. I was so good for so long, and now, I just listen to you, calling me an ass, telling me I have poppy seeds. It’s great,” he says. And then he makes a sucking-swishing sound like he’s suddenly become a dentist’s office or a water pick. He shows her his teeth again: “Poppy?” “You are an ass.” “Are you seeing anyone?” he asks. “Who would I see?” “Men, I assume, although at your age, I’ve known a lot of women who switched—they said there were better pickings on the other side. The men of this age either didn’t want a woman their own age—or were bitter like escarole and came with too much baggage.” “I’m not seeing anyone,” she says. “I am enjoying my time alone, spreading out in the bed, leaving books and remotes and
children?” “I don’t know,” she says. “I suspect a lot of women feel that way but are loathe to say anything.” “It goes against nature,” he says. “Or maybe it doesn’t,” she says. “Maybe in nature not every woman is a mother, maybe some of them do other things. . . .” “Like what?” “Run countries,” she says. And then there is a silence. “I wonder why men are so interested in the choices women make?” He shrugs. “We get nervous that when we get up to go take a leak or something, your people will take over. We want to keep what’s ours.” “You mean what you took from others, like land from Native Americans, people from Africa, money, power, all that stuff?” He rolls his eyes. “You look like an octopi,” she says. A moment passes. “Are you still meditating?” “I quit,” he says. “Turns out I hate sitting still. But I did dis- cover that I like hitting things. I started playing golf, but then did something to my back, so now I just punch things—I bought a bag, a punching bag. When I punch it, things come out.” “What kind of things? Feathers? Stuffing?” “Feelings I’ve been sitting on for years. I slam my hand into the bag and thoughts pop into my head, like revelations. Re- member when the shrink asked what would happen if I wasn’t angry anymore—if I could stand being happy?” “Is that why you left?” she asks. “You were too happy? I thought there were other things, problems you didn’t want to deal with.” He scowls at her. She says, “If you’re interested in what it was like for me, I can say that I realized that you loved your friend Matt more than me.” “It’s not true—I don’t love Matt, I tolerate Matt, the same as you tolerate me.” “Some call that love. Anyway. When my father died you said you had to go to a ball game with Matt.” “The man was dead, it wasn’t going to change anything, and the Yankees were playing the Red Sox. It was the final game, you can’t lie about that. You can’t go back and get that game later. You, I knew, would still be home, on the sofa feeling sad. So what did I really miss?” “Being with me in my time of need,” she says. He shrugs. “I don’t like conflict.” “You don’t like not getting your way—or acting like an ass- hole and then being held accountable.” “I don’t like feeling guilty when I don’t have to,” he says. “It’s very selfish,” she says. “It has nothing to do with you,” he says. “That should be a comfort.” “It’s not. That’s the selfish part—you didn’t think about me, about what it would mean to me.” “Are you still talking about the ball game or the bigger questions?” She makes a face.
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“What about Bruce and Emily?” he asks. “You didn’t hear?” she says. “Hear what?” “Kaput.” “Divorced?” “Dead.” “What are you talking about?” he says. “Car accident upstate.” “When?” “Three weeks ago. How could you not know?” “No one told me,” he says. “Who was driving?” “Only you would want to know that.” “It seems natural.” “No one was driving. The car was on autopilot and didn’t see the deer leaping across the road. Three deer, the car hit them all like dominos.”
“BLACK FLIES. BLOODSUCKING TICKS! I WANTED AN APARTMENT IN PARIS. IS THAT SO BAD? I’M NOT A PERSON WHO DOES WELL IN NATURE. I THRIVE IN A CITY. I NEED CARBON MONOXIDE IN ORDER TO FEEL LIKE MYSELF.”
sometimes even snacks right there next to me.” He makes a face. “I can hear it right now—the crinkling, little packages of oyster crackers.” “Sometimes I spend hours in bed, just reading and eating. I make a cheese plate for myself.” “All the crumbs,” he says, “like little sharp pebbles.” “Olives. Cornichon fig paste.” “And rodents,” he says. “Rodents could come into the bed looking for leftovers.” “A nice cold glass of Grüner, a good book,” she says. “And then if I doze off, it’s still all right there—next to me, it doesn’t move. Sometimes when I’m only half awake, I think it’s you.” “I’m a tray in the bed?” “A cheese board, solid, unmoving. You always slept so soundly. I never understood how such a fundamentally dis- turbed person could sleep so well.” “Whatever is on my mind, I let out during the day, like off-gassing.” “Venting is what they call it.” “I am well vented,” he says. “You’re toxic,” she says. “Your venting spills into the air, and whoever is nearby is a secondhand smoker taking it on.” A long silence passes. “We used to have more in common,” he says. “There was al- ways something suspect about you—a little too Upper East Side; when Russ and Daughters came uptown it rekindled my hope, but life is not a knish,” he says. “We went to couples’ therapy, but whether it was upstate, North Fork, or God forbid a weekend in the Hamptons, noth- ing was right for you,” she says. “Black flies. Bloodsucking ticks! I wanted an apartment in Paris. Is that so bad? I’m not a person who does well in nature. I thrive in a city. I need carbon monoxide in order to feel like myself.” A woman walking by overhears him and laughs. “What else?” he says. “Bruce and Emily,” she says. Bruce and Emily, the couple who also had no children. At a certain point it came down to that, people without children don’t spend time with people with children—the landscape changes.
“Were there any survivors?” “The cat. He was in the back seat in his carrier. The carrier was in the rear wheel well, so Bruce took the brunt of the impact.” “What happens to the cat now?” “He’s gone to live with her sister.” “The lesbian?” “Yes.” “I bet she already . . .” “Yes,” she says, anticipating what he’s going to say—cats. He shrugs. “You can’t make it up.” “You don’t have to,” she says. A pause; she reaches into her bag. “Before I forget . . .” He immediately starts making moves on the sidewalk, bob- bing and weaving, trying to dance away. “What are you doing?” she asks. It’s like he’s playing a weird game, like he’s one of those in- flatable things outside a car wash, where the arms blow this way and that. “Seriously? What are you doing? That’s the question to be asking here? Are you serving me with papers, suing me for all I haven’t got?” She looks at him as if to ask, Are you out of your mind? “You got mail,” she says. “It’s from your college alumni association.” “They’re always the last to know,” he says. “I think it’s a copy of the talk you gave in January. The copy you asked for; you like a copy of everything you say. After all,” she says, “you are the man who starts every day by writing his own obituary.” “It’s not my obituary, it’s my biography,” he says. “That’s what you say now, but you used to call it something else.” “I like to keep it fresh,” he says. “It’s all about the road not taken.” “I don’t follow.” He pauses. “Well, for example, I went with you and not that other woman.” “Joan?” she asks. “I met you both on the same day.” “Joan had a prosthetic leg.”
“So?” he says. “And was missing an arm,” she says. “You’re being rude.” “And Joan couldn’t speak,” she says.
time at that benefit.” “Oh, no,” he says. “I met her before. We had a blind date a few weeks before the accident. I went to her concert and then out for a drink.” “What made it a blind date?” “She didn’t know I was there, there were other people.” “So it was more like an audition for a date?” “No, it was a date, she and I talked about it on the phone after.” “Sounds one-sided.” “She was very private. It was actually the only time we ever spoke—the accident happened soon after.” “Have you seen Joan since the accident or perhaps traded texts?” “No,” he says. “I met you and that was all she wrote.” Another taxi turns the corner a little too close, splashing his
“If you recall, we met at an event, a fundraiser for Joan, who had been hit by a bus. She was wearing a sign around her neck, ‘I’m Joan . . .’” “It wasn’t a sign, it was a shirt. She was wearing a T-shirt that I made for her. It said ‘I’m Joan and I was hit by a bus.’ And she had little cards that she gave out with her good hand—that said ‘Thank you.’” “Everything I say, you twist it and make me feel like an ass,” he says. “I can’t make you feel like an ass—that’s your own thing, and by the way Joan was a brilliant violinist.” “You just said was, not is. Did something happen to Joan?”
“Something more than getting hit by a bus and losing an arm and a leg and the power of speech?” He looks at her, waiting for more. “Is Joan all right?” “How can you ask that question?” “What do you mean? I’m concerned.” “You’re nearly hysterical. A minute ago you said it was Joan or me, and now you’re so worried about Joan. It sounds as though you have regrets.” “It wasn’t an either-or. Joan or you. ‘Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, / And sorry I could not travel both.’” “That’s disgusting,” she says. “What?” “A yellow wood, it’s racist.” “I don’t get it.” “Joan is Chinese, a yellow wood is a reference to her being Chinese.” “It’s not my line,” he says. “It’s Robert Frost.”
ankles. “Get out of the street,” she says. “You would think what hap- pened to Joan was sobering, would keep you out of traffic.” “What happened when the bus hit her?” he asks. “She was looking the other way, she didn’t see it coming.” “Maybe it’s better that way —blindsided.” “I don’t think it’s ever good,” she says. At the next corner, he hesitates. The phrase “images from possible futures flicker past” runs through his mind. “What are you doing?” she asks, sensing his distraction. “Lamenting what might have been,” he says. “‘Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— / I took the one less traveled by, / And that has made all the difference.’” “I wish I understood you,” she says. “I used to think I did, and now I have no idea.” “It doesn’t matter,” he says. It is starting to rain. At the next corner he stops to open his umbrella. They have clearly come to an end. He turns to her. “Goodbye,” he says. “Goodbye to the ‘Road Not Taken.’” *
Symphony Space is a New York City multi-disciplinary performing arts center where bold programming is presented in a uniquely warm and welcoming environment. Symphony Space is known for its signature series Selected Shorts, where our greatest actors transport us through the magic of short fiction. The series is produced live on stage at Symphony Space and is a weekly public radio show and podcast hosted by novelist Meg Wolitzer. — — Upcoming Selected Shorts at Symphony Space include a night hosted by Meg Wolitzer and a collaboration with McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern , hosted by John Hodgman . Additional programs include literary events with Nicole Chung, Lorrie Moore, Samantha Irby, Laura Dern, Andrew Rannells, and more. For more information can be found on their website at symphonyspace.org
“You have a way of worming out of everything,” she says. “And by the way, Joan is fine. She hooked up with her physical therapist and they’re running marathons, she got a blade foot and a robotic arm, she’s practi- cally bionic. And she has her own cooking show: Everybody Loves Joan. ” “How can she have a cooking show without speaking?” “Subtitles.” “Well, Joan is very nice, not edgy, not complex, she was al- ways measured and kind,” he says. “How well did you know her?” “Well enough to describe her like a bottle of wine.” “I had the impression that you were meeting her for the first
A.M. Homes is the author of the novels Jack, In a County of Mothers , The End of Alice , Music for Torching , This Book Will Save Your Life , and May We Be Forgiven , winner of the Orange/Women’s Prize for Fiction. Homes is also the author of the memoir The Mistress’s Daughter and the short-story collections The Safety of Objects , Things You Should Know , and Days of Awe . Her latest novel, The Unfolding , was published in September 2022.
“GOODBYE TO THE ROAD NOT TAKEN” BY A.M. HOMES WAS WRITTEN FOR SYMPHONY SPACE’S SELECTED SHORTS 35 SHORTS COMMISSIONING PROJECT, AND ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN SMALL ODYSSEYS: SELECTED SHORTS PRESENTS 35 NEW STORIES (ALGONQUIN, MARCH 2022). COPYRIGHT 2022 BY A.M. HOMES. REPRINTED BY PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR AND THE WYLIE AGENCY.Page 1 Page 2 Page 3 Page 4 Page 5 Page 6 Page 7 Page 8 Page 9 Page 10 Page 11 Page 12 Page 13 Page 14 Page 15 Page 16 Page 17 Page 18 Page 19 Page 20 Page 21 Page 22 Page 23 Page 24 Page 25 Page 26 Page 27 Page 28 Page 29 Page 30 Page 31 Page 32 Page 33 Page 34 Page 35 Page 36 Page 37 Page 38 Page 39 Page 40 Page 41 Page 42 Page 43 Page 44 Page 45 Page 46 Page 47 Page 48 Page 49 Page 50 Page 51 Page 52 Page 53 Page 54 Page 55 Page 56 Page 57 Page 58 Page 59 Page 60 Page 61 Page 62 Page 63 Page 64 Page 65 Page 66 Page 67 Page 68 Page 69 Page 70 Page 71 Page 72 Page 73 Page 74 Page 75 Page 76 Page 77 Page 78 Page 79 Page 80 Page 81 Page 82 Page 83 Page 84 Page 85 Page 86 Page 87 Page 88 Page 89 Page 90 Page 91 Page 92 Page 93 Page 94 Page 95 Page 96 Page 97 Page 98 Page 99 Page 100 Page 101 Page 102
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