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The story of the photographs began on December 12th 1981 when I stood up in a Tallin coffee house and used my Polaroid SX-70 to take a picture of the cake I had been served. Within seconds of the camera's flash I was mobbed with desperate requests for portraits by a clientele steeped in the privations of a Soviet winter. The demand was clearly insatiable, even with my generous supply of film. At this point I felt I had two choices; to abandon the cake and run, or to impose order on the situation. Without a word of Estonian or Russian, the unique character of Polaroid photography served as my language for convincing an apprehensive waitress to pose in exchange for a photograph. This was perceived as our arrangement and the commotion evaporated. And what could be more persuasive than the astonishing materialization of a photographed serving alongside its actuality?
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