Spaghetti Friseur

These drawings can be seen for real at Oblomov Bar, Lenaustrasse 7, Berlin. Please get in touch for prices.

Spaghetti Friseur

I sit and wait.  I fold my number ticket. I bite my nails.

A goblin with red lipstick washes my hair and sits me in front of a huge mirror to stare at myself while it goes off on important business. I contemplate my reflection. I thought I was looking good this morning but in this hall of mirrors I look like a tiny ugly troll.

The haircut begins and I try to sit as still as a marble statue in case the pointy scissors accidentally cut a piece of my ear, stick in my eye or cut a vital chunk of my precious hair.
I contemplate my bedraggled reflection.
I can’t wait to look amazing.
I hope I look amazing.
The sudden fear that this has been a terrible mistake spreads over my body, my hair was fine before, I don’t need this…..

My mind wanders and I think about the time me and my brother laughed until we cried watching a constipated dog try and have a poo in the park area opposite our flat.

My head feels warm and heavy, I swing back into the present and realise the hairdresser has put a pile of spaghetti on my head. It is huge. A giant wobbling swirling mountain. Strands hang down, stick to my neck and curl round my ears.

‘Do you like it?’ the hairdresser asks.

I don’t want to hurt the hairdresser’s feelings so I say  “yes its lovely, thank you, just what I wanted, really wonderful”

I watch my reflection in the shop windows, pretending I am looking at the displays but actually staring with anxiety and fascination at my new coiffure.  Spaghetti hair. I start to enjoy the weight of it, the fancy curls make me feel important and special. I eat a couple of pieces and walk off down the street with my head held high.

Spaghetti Friseur 100 x 70cm

Pink spaghetti dog hair 100x70cm

Fancy dog 100x70cm

Spaghetti restaurant 50x70cm

House of cards 50x60cm