
Stopping Distance
How to get remembered at a casting: arrive at speed, stop on a coin, and let the receptionist do the rest of the marketing for you.

I've been on wheels since I was six, when my grandfather traded a neighbour two jars of honey for a pair of quad skates three sizes too big. Twenty years later I still arrive at castings on inline skates: partly because Riga tram schedules are a work of fiction, mostly because nobody forgets the girl who rolled into the lobby, stopped on a coin, and handed over her comp card before the lift crowd had pressed a button. Casting directors call me 'the skates one'. It's on my invoice footer now.
People think 'commercial energy' means smiling on cue. What it actually means is hitting a chalk mark at fifteen kilometres an hour with a bubble-gum bubble at maximum inflation, forty takes in a row, while a lighting assistant reparks the sun. I can repeat a hair-flip until the wind cooperates, laugh on the seventeenth take like it's the first, and paddle a kayak backwards out of frame without dropping the smile. Fast looks easy. Easy is the job.

How to get remembered at a casting: arrive at speed, stop on a coin, and let the receptionist do the rest of the marketing for you.

The Walkman is older than me, the mixtapes are recorded the night before, and no, you cannot borrow Side B.

The brief said 'one perfect bubble'. Nobody wrote down how many imperfect ones it would take. Fortunately, the art director's assistant did.

Commercial & Lifestyle Model, rolling out of Riga, Latvia and quick to anywhere with good light. For bookings and castings, send the brief.
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