When I first saw Susanna I thought that her skin was made of honey and virgin olive oil, and her hair and body of caramel and cupid flesh. She is perennially late. "I'm saaarrrrrrrrrry," she cries. She is a Yogi, an honest, emotionally in touch type from Mantova, Italy. Her vision is so singular and advanced (she's got a few centuries on us Amurricans...) that her drive is necessarily non-competitive. She shoots what she wants..."Ehh, I'm not a fackin' sports shooter youknowhwadimeeeen?"...First trimester we had an assignment to shoot a neighborhood (wide shot, action, the people, etc...i.e., difficult but boring). She came in with a series of door photos from a particular neighborhood. "Whaaaat??? They part of the neighborhood...'" She studied fine art in Italy and recently showed me a dummy copy of a book of her fine art paintings. The paintings were deceptively simple, deceptively beautiful and subconsciously orchestrated. She knows what she is doing, even if the glass of milk drawn is taller than the buildings, and the moon is inside the bedroom...the cup of milk is, of course, half full.
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