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A
protoplast of the Hairdresser’s shop is the
green moon-apple found in the autumn sky at the
full moon. I thought it was a garden of blooming
women: the fluctuating time and all the shapes created
by women. The lobby and rooms for washing and cutting
hair are two oblong and joining rectangular spaces.
The bulk that sticks out at their meeting point
changes in accordance with the natural illumination.
In the afternoon, the dust of light is brought inside
by visitors. A profile of faces twinkles on walls
made of glass and concrete. In the washing rooms,
a ripple of water is heard. Forms of forthcoming
passions emerge from the scratching of scissors,
combs, and hair-dryers. A mysterious shining of
hair in the evening twilight. A green reassuring
moonhead in the smiles of women walking out. |