top of page
Screenshot 2022-04-22 at
Screenshot 2022-04-22 at

LAUREN BÖHM (2019-ongoing)

In 2018 I found over 200 colour positive slides from the 1970s abandoned in a car park in Vienna. They mostly depicted the same woman, the muse of a individual hidden behind the camera lens. 

This unnamed woman inspired a series of stories which traverse time, space and protagonists at I imagine her soul and her observers being inseparable throughout space & time. 

Click here to read "Your lifeline has many forks:1"


I’ve always liked her, she’s easy to listen to and she doesn’t grind my gears. I’m waiting in the garage, the door’s already open and I stare longingly at the vista I am soon to drive out upon. I watch her enter the garage, I can see her, she disappears. She is sat on the driving side peering in the rear-view mirror. With clear navigation she guides that rouge lipstick over the contours of her face. We must be going out alone, she only puts on those lips when he’s not coming. Lauren likes me too. I make her look good, I make her look flawless, expensive. I’m a great conversation starter. We hit reverse and venture out into the twilight. The headlights light up the overhanging trees always one step ahead of us. We are guided through the tunnel, onward to our destination, running into the town, we hope out the other side. Oh we must be going to see the other him, the one only I know about. I’m glad Lauren is driving, I don’t have to pay attention to the road, to the other cars, to the fluffy shapes of bunny rabbits hopping in the headlights, I can look at Lauren. She’s tied a waft of delicate green silk around her head, a graceful attempt at identity protection. Shame everyone and anyone will recognise me. It’s a warm night so we are driving with the windows down. Little coils of her hair have started to fall from the scarf they whip this way and that in the channeled air. She looks happy. We’re really cruising now, Lauren fumbles for a cigarette in her purse. I sense something new as we approach the corner. A new engine, something I haven’t seen before. The twilight is gone and night has fallen. I feel it before I hear it, a deep warping in the depths of my engine. The darkness lifts for the briefest of seconds. The light is racing towards me, and I towards it. There’s a corner coming up here, she should slow down now, now, right now. The darkness falls. She is gone and I am flying, her hands no longer touch my wheel, nor do her feet caress my pedals. In a split second there I am wrapped around a tree my metal flanks twisted and deformed like an incestuous baby. Smashed glass, crushed metal, the bitter smell of burning, an inflated airbag that protected no one. Feebly illuminating the dark trees my hazard’s blink gently.

bottom of page