As a young boy, I used to sneak up to my grandmother’s attic, to disappear four hours between the magazines and books in that small room built under the much bigger roof. Books my father and his brothers must have read in the fifties, when art was to raise the worker and the upcoming middle class above the daily grey. Post war years: optimism so naive it makes me smile.
I read the more adventurous titles in those days, but here are some covers I could not throw away. The titles read ‘Spring of the heart’, ‘The hard way’, ‘The difficult choice’ and finaly ‘Give me one more chance’. Keep up the spirit ;-)