Gesine Danckwart

Single mother with little daughter. Blonde. At the moment: golden blonde. In Berlin. At the Kotti. Above the clouds – and the junkies. Pulsating dirt with a dream view. Is that okay for a mother? The blonde woman thinks: yes. The little duck simply gets carried. And loaded like that, she hunts, savanna blonde, through a freelancing, autonomous artist’s life. Networking, kissing the child, side jobs, kindergarten kitchen, togetherness, loneliness, failing, success, exhaustion and getting up again. Still, she doesn’t fold. The blonde becomes a symbolic woman of our ambivalent times, in which the desire for a maximum of compatibility demands giving up the very last ounces of strength. But if that has to happen, then at least it happens when you’re platinum blonde!