America is a country of great ambitions but even greater divisions. Reason enough for photographer and filmmaker Robin de Puy to look for 'the American'. Who is that? Who represents this country? Episode 1: Nick and Zorka's Dreams.
I see an old blue Dodge pickup truck under a blue sun-drenched neon sign that says, "The Maverick Motel." In the deserted area, a lady – in a blue shirt – is sitting under a lean-to. My photography heart jumps because of the perfect combination of all that blue.
“May I take a picture of you?” I ask her. “Yes, of course,” she replies in a pronounced voice in a dialect that is still unclear to me. In the distance I see a man coming out – also in a blue outfit. It turns out to be her husband Nick. Nick starts talking from afar and from then on my toes barely touch the ground. I float in my blue bubble carried by Nick's sentences that almost all sound like iconic anecdotes ending with an exclamation mark, supported by the consenting - or not - sound of his wife. The dialect appears to originate from former Yugoslavia.
Nick visited America in 1968 as a tourist and in 1978 he became an American. "You gotta take chances! All you need in this country is common sense and the will to work!” After 18 years as a welder in Denver, Colorado, he took the plunge; he started a motel in Raton, New Mexico. At first he ran the motel alone, but then he heard from a cousin in Canada about a single Yugoslav lady. Not much later, Zorka and Nick married and together they ran the successful Maverick Motel.
“I thought I was marrying a millionaire!” Zorka says with a laugh. "I was very close to a million! At that time there were a lot of horse races in Raton. The motel was always fully booked.” Now the motel is for sale. Large, corporate motel chains are rapidly taking over the industry and that makes motel life difficult and sometimes even impossible for the smaller and older motels. Add to that a shortage of staff and higher purchase prices and the older motels – sometimes literally – collapse. For Nick and Zorka there is another reason to stop: their aging bodies need rest.
In the evening we drink slivovitch in an un-American living room between the fake sunflowers and dozens of photos of (grand) children - even the couch is covered with a large family photo. Nick picks up a tamburica-like instrument and plays a song. His fingers are moving slower than he hoped, but it still sounds good.
