bought a little Citröen with the money hidden in my shoe.
I called on professorErnst
Fuchs. He was happy to see me and wanted to make amends
for professor Hausner's lack of "savoir vivre".
He offered to certify to the authorities that I worked for
him as an assistant. This would avoid any further problems
with the ever-present immigration police. His secretary tried
to squelch this tentative saying that if the professor paid
me any more than the pittance of 2,000 shillings a month,
the professor would be liable for social charges and higher
taxes. He brushed the comments aside.
met the professor's son Daniel Fuchs who also was a painter
(his workshop was located 7, Porcellan gasse). I went to
his studio and found him most agreeable and modest, quite a
contrast with the rest of the "fantastic realists".
He spoke of his problems with finding a personal identity and
earning the respect of other painters while being the son of
a famous painter. It's as if you were the son of a policeman
and that you had your father's gun on your belt... Although
both father and son desired my presence, I must say that I had
had my fill of Austria. I loaded my car with what remained of
my belongings and my paintings and, accompanied my frend Gunther,
drove as far as the Hungarian frontier. There customs
officials demanded a DM 1,500 charge in order to cross
the country in an automobile. I didn't have the money,Gunther
paid wit his credit car.. I left my paintings with him as
collateral and went on my way in my little Citröen. (16,
Pamken gasse 41/29)