I was first enamoured by Elvia’s “My Girl” charm when we met amongst the nicotine vignettes at the basement of Times, or was it within the mix of the social cocktail of the Schinkel?  Perhaps most likely over a communal wine bottle adjacent to the Spree, I think we both feel most at home there. Whichever the truth, no matter as our friendship began seamlessly as though it was willed into existence. Elvia offers an effervescence that, whether it be a familiar face amongst the crowd or her diplomacy during a Knödel crisis, never ceases to amaze me. I am always in awe of her productivity, bouncing through one professional field to the next, all the while with the ability to squeeze in creativity and to start back at it again when Monday rolls around. We both hate Mondays and we both have a knack for anxiety during the best of times. From organizing panel discussions, composing digital literature and criticizing architecture to rom-coms and chicken wings, Elvia is still able to make the distinction between pussy drama and pussy logic while swapping dick picks over a pinot grigio. There was this one time when Elvia hosted an impromptu pre-game birthday celebration for me in her white cube apartment (seriously a cube), and in the height and heat of our boogie woogies, at the strike of midnight, a bottle of champagne on the table popped all on its own, ushering in a new year for me as me, and as a sign for one of many more with Elvia.  This summer Elvia will be participating in a two-month residency on a secluded island where there is no internet, she will be greatly missed, R.I.P.

www.elviapw.com

Photo by Clemens Jahn