This is a portrait of Eva in our Flat at Venice Beach 1983. People warned me that Swedes were a different sort. Cold, shutdown, suicidal types unless they were drunk which made them aggressively gregarious and unbearable. Eva was none of that and everything more. Those lips, those eyes. She could cut hair and sew as well. My days as a bachelor were numbered.
This is typically how I looked then and still to this day I'm trying to get paint or glue off of my hands. I was the apartment manager at 35 Clubhouse. 24 units of Venice Beach inhabitants. Mostly crazy oddballs and us. We lived here for about 18 months before moving to Hollywood and what seemed like the mansion on the hill compared our little Flat.
Thinking back it must have been so exotic for Eva to land in this world after spending the previous 23 winters in Sweden, in the dark and cold.
Venice was like an incubator for us. We formed all our first dreams and patterns there. Eva started painting and we bought a piano. Our first sofa. We didn't own a car or T.V. for that matter. It was simple in one way but complex in another because we knew it was going to grow into much more.
After a few months she returned to her life in Stockholm and I started a movie at Universal, Streets of Fire. We'd have three months apart and now the true courtship would begin.