Mojgan (Misha)

This is Mojgan, an artist in Florence who, to make things easier on the rest of the world, calls herself Misha. We met on via Calzaiuoli. There are a few well-known things about her: she is very talented, likes the impressionists and the music of Ravel and Respighi, has an extremely pleasant personality, her lucky number is TWO, her favorite dish is Gazane, she misses Doogh (which she cannot find in Italy), plans to travel the world and her favorite animal is the cat. There is one fact that nobody knows about her (Misha herself is not aware of this either): she is one of the very few people in the world born with a secret, magical component that will reveal itself at some given time in the future and make Misha unbearably lucky if she keeps a pure heart. Misha is very happy to chat with passers-by if they buy her art or not.

Grigoriy Belkowsky

This is Grigoriy (Grisha) Belkowsky from Rehovot, he was born in Dnepropetrovsk and, after obtaining a Master Degree in Metallurgy, went to live with his sister Klara in Israel where he changed his name to Avigdor Lavan. He had a dream: to figure out the secret of cymbal technology that made Sabian and Zildjian the best in the world. Klara had inherited a Coca-Cola distribution deal that gave him access to an unlimited supply of Diet Coke to which he became addicted at the level of ten to twelve cans a day while studying and experimenting with bronze and brass alloys and writing letters applying for a job at either of the two cymbal companies. One night, about six years ago, all of Grisha's teeth fell out without any warning. The doctors were puzzled as all tests came back normal and not knowing what else to do, they advised him to stop drinking that stuff. Four months later all the teeth grew back. He sued the Coca-Cola company, was offered a cash settlement and asked to sign a non-disclosure agreement. He refused and the lawsuit is now slowly winding its way through various levels of courts in the US, Canada, Turks and Caicos and many other jurisdictions. Grisha now only drinks water and has a part-time job teaching percussion at the Rehovot Conservatory of Music.

Karl-Heinz Hammermüller

This is Karl-Heinz Hammermüller from Kleinzell, Lilienfeld, Lower Austria, a bookbinder by trade. He is known and recognized as one of the best in the business and I met him in Florence where he was the keynote speaker at the Conference on Gilding and Inking Edges. Karl-Heinz is permanently agitated and aggressively motivated: when he walks, he pushes people out of his way, shouts at them and, if they are visible minorities, he tells them to go back to "their country". His family secretly puts ground up Extraveral pills into the "Primitivo di Puglia", the only wine he drinks (the "ripe plum, vanilla, and tobacco"  bouquet hides the bitter taste) as he refuses to go to see somebody about his condition. Herr Hammermüller was twice detained for disorderly conduct and once arrested for causing a disturbance. He lives with his wife, two daughters and a pet Bolivian Python in a large house-workshop on the outskirts of town (they also have two dogs).

Giovanni Francesco Sanminiatelli

This is Count Giovanni Francesco Sanminiatelli, he was born in Pisa on February 13th, 1814 and (supposed to have) died on August 21st, 1869 in Florence.  During his life he had many accomplishments: he was named a Knight of Saint Stephen and became a great expert in ecclesiastical law even sitting as a judicial vicar - as such he decided to excommunicate a certain Paolino Certarossa (Siena 1868) based on statements by two different witnesses that Paolino is involved in sorcery and black magic. Exactly one year later the Count died but his body mysteriously dissolved in a green puff of smoke before the eyes of the grieving family (who decided to avoid the scandal, keep this a secret and proceed with a closed-casket funeral). Giovanni's tortured spirit is condemned to forever inhabit disgusting mannequins in middle-Tuscany and area (just guessing here: Paolino wasn't entirely innocent). I tracked down his latest appearance in a window of a store on Via de'Tornabuoni 73, Florence.

Amilcare Clark

Amilcare Oreste Clark was the successful owner of the popular and successful high-end Hotel Imperiale at Via Veneto 24, in Rome. Almost nine years ago, in an epic 24-hour card game with some Russian millionaire guests, he lost it all. Due to his excellent classical education received as a boy, he finds occasionally work as a tour guide. His family obtained a judicial order that forbids him to own credit cards, take out bank loans or have more than 150 Euro in cash on him at any time. Amilcare is not bitter, he is a philosopher: when he is depressed (which is often), he goes on to the balcony of the small apartment on via Salaria he rents from his cousin Giorgio Garozzo and smokes his pipe. Giorgio is the only one in the family who still talks to Amilcare.

Jolanta Gulbis

This is Jolanta Gulbis of Udine, Friuli as I met her in front of the church of San Gaetano in Florence. Her parents were born in Riga, Latvia and escaped in the early eighties from the Soviet communist terror to settle in Boston where Jolanta was born. They started a successful business of buying and selling stuff and making pots of money, quickly retired to Udine where they bought land, cows, goats and started to make cheese. This turned out to be another family triumph. Now they have a bakery downtown called "Le Konditoreja" where they sell their cheeses and make buns ... the most popular is the "Royale with Cheese". Jolanta is deeply and secretly in love with Raffaelo Brunetti, son of a policeman.

Loris Cecchini

I met Loris today when I went to the opening of his latest piece high on the walls of a Florence luxury hotel (the piece "Waterbones" was high on the wall, not the opening)  http://www.artribune.com/mostre-evento-arte/loris-cecchini-waterbones-3/
I must say he seems to be is at the high end of the success-in-art-rainbow ... Paris, London, Berlin as well as Beijing and Shanghai. Our conversation was briefly interrupted by his two adorable daughters (five and seven - their respective ages, not their names) who wanted his phone and money for gelato (he, of course, gave them both). I asked how it felt to win the Pomodoro Sculpture Prize and he retreated into (what I thought was uncharacteristic) modesty. For another few minutes we smiled a lot and promised each-other we'll keep in touch, but before I left, I remembered how an old Maitre d' taught me to gauge the success of a person: look at their shoes! Loris' handmade stingray-leather shoes appeared to be more expensive than my car!