
- Writing the book was scared. What I did not take into account is how much to work on advertising of the book after its publication, that everyone will dive to details, ask questions. And so I am sitting all red with shame - after all, I am very shy in life, I had enough that the writer had to tell everything. And the journalists ask - well, is it true that the shooting at Emmanuel made you frigid for three years? It hurt me from such words.
-The same stress, the attention of the crowds once pushed you to drugs and alcohol?
“I now think that this was a great stupidity on my part to miss the writer Hugo Claus, the father of my son Arthur from my life.” For a long time he remained a certain stable rod in my fate, designated an intellectual presence in it. A man with an excellent taste, he was a kind to me, my mentor and hypnotist. And I decided that I could handle it myself, that I should only follow my heart, and began to live with this demented ... Ah, excuse me, a brilliant English actor whom I call Ben in the book. I do not want to give a real name of his name, he has already stopped using drugs for thirty years, he has a happy marriage. This book has never thought about revenge in relation to someone, this is just a story about my life. But we must admit that yes, it was this bin that introduced cocaine into my life. However, do not forget that at the time when I arrived in Los Angeles, this was accepted in high society. One gram of cocaine was very expensive, about $ 100. Such a pleasure was available a few, they were indulged sometimes, as entertainment. But I have bad genes, I fall dependent. My parents were both old from dependence, especially on alcohol. It is also known that one dependence goes into another - as soon as I refused cocaine, I started to drink, with the same success I could switch to chocolate or become a casino slave. So my brain is arranged.
- And so you switched to painting.
- Yes, I love the smell of paint! So you can start sniffing glue, what are you! No, no, but I really write pictures. True small sizes. I am very sad now that my friend, writer Freddie de Whelm, died. For twelve years we lived together! It was he who was my inspirer. He did not let me go home if I do not make ten sketches. He always said: "You must be disciplined, like a cantor clerk, sitting down at the desktop at nine in the morning." And so I lived with him. Then he suddenly fell ill, I found cancer, then he died ... and since then I draw very little. Instead, I plunged into memories. Because death suddenly came so close ...