Redbark in Russia
A Show Report by Tom Pfaeffle

The small white taxi sped along the deserted streets of St. Petersburg in the pre-dawn hours of a cold, drizzly, October night. The dark driver squinted into the fog and the glare of the occasional oncoming headlights. On the narrow back seat, the still youthful North American Pipe Smoking Champion and his attractive companion gripped each other’s hands as the taxi accelerated past the closed-up shops and finally crossed the Dvortsovy Most drawbridge over the inky Neva River. They gazed deeply into each other’s eyes and melted into a deep sigh. Had they not made it in time, the drawbridge would have opened, causing them to miss their flight to the West and consigning them to another day in Russia.

However, one last surprise awaited: from around a blind corner, a cement truck suddenly lurched into the path of the little white taxi. It veered sharply to the left of the great, wheeled basilisk, then sharply to the right, skidding to a halt in the middle of the darkened street.

The dark driver bent over the steering wheel and panted for breath. He muttered a prayer of thanksgiving into his thick moustache and genuflected.The attractive companion sat blanched and frozen in her seat. The still youthful North American Pipe Smoking Champion was unfazed. Had he not learned to drive in Lower Manhattan? He continued gazing from the window as the taxi regained the street and continued to the airport.

Such was the passing of Redbark from Russia.  

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More photos...
Photos from Vernon Vig
Gallery 1 by Henryk Rogalski
Gallery 2 by Henryk Rogalski
Gallery 3 by Henryk Rogalski
Gallery 4 by Henryk Rogalski