Munchausen Marriage - Part II
I never stopped to think what married life would be like with Werner Forman. I really didn’t know my partner very well, and from the beginning I could sense that things were going to grow stranger and more confusing with each day.
THIS IS PART 2 of a TEN-PART STORY
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10
Werner Forman
First off, I had no idea what my new husband, Werner Forman, did all day. If I asked him, there’d be dead silence. He’d look at me like I was a fool, shake his head back and forth and change the subject. Or he’d start rapidly blinking his beautiful blue eyes, and launch a rant about a million things that might or might not have anything to do with the original question. All I knew was that he’d leave the house empty-handed each morning and return some hours later, most often carrying a small cardboard box.
At that point we were living in a large and very bare flat in Hampstead. I felt lucky to have found the place which was airy and spacious with floor-to-ceiling windows and a view over a pretty street. It had been advertised as furnished, but other than a bed, a living room couch and peasant-style kitchen table, there was nothing. We would have to supply our own. And so, when I learned what was in the boxes Werner brought home each day, I looked at our empty shelves and grew very excited.
Here’s how it would go. Without saying a word, Werner would open the box of the day and out would come a small, beautiful lantern or unusual vase or bright bead necklace or ancient wooden carving. He’d place the object on top of a tall stool, set up the lights he needed and photograph the piece from all sides.
Great, I’d think. Now he’ll put the vase or book or statuette on one of those glaringly empty shelves and things will start to look more homey. Wrong.
As soon as he finished photographing the piece, he’d place it back into its original box with the greatest of care and delicacy. He’d seal the box and carry it out to our hallway, which ran the length of the flat from front door to back bedroom and was extremely wide. He’d place it on the hall floor where it sat forlornly until the next afternoon when he brought another mysterious box home, one he’d place on top of the previous day’s box after photographing the treasure inside it.
Image: Kadarius Seegars
And so it came to be that our hallway was crammed with towers of boxes filled with gorgeous stuff while our walls and shelves remained empty. And still I had no idea where Werner went when he left the house each morning or why he refused to put his finds on display. I was a young girl who had married a man about whom she knew nothing. This was only the beginning and already I could sense that things were going to grow stranger and more confusing with each day.
Cover Image: Werner Forman at a Photography Shoot