This was in New York in the early eighties, just before my disaster of Mata Hari. (I lost all the braids when a perm went wrong). I have forgotten the exact name of the photographer, but he was a young German living in Manhattan with a studio in one corner of his flat. He was keen on creating moving atmospheres, not interested in static poses. I would dance and he would take whatever he thought was interesting.
-Lene Lovich