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Cibeles Madrid Fashion Week - 2011

Todo o Nada Exhibition - 2010

Milan Fashion Week - Roberto Cavalli Fashion Show - 2010 - 2011

Mujer de Hoy Awards - 2009

Marie Claire Prix de la Moda Awards - 2009

TELVA Fashion Awards - 2009

Madrid Tennis Open - 2009

Marie Claire Prix De La Mode - 2008

Telva Fashion Awards - 2008

Infiniti Presentation In Spain - 2008

Americas Cup Match - Black Tie Party - 2007

Marie Claire Awards At French Embassy - 2006

TELVA Magazine Fashion Awards At Hotel Palace - 2006

2006 Laureus World Sports Awards

Actually it's an old interview I came across that had already been translated.

Interview: I"m Anthony Borden Ward. This is my name. It was inspired by the name of a friend of my fathers with whom he had served time in the pokey for dealing some shady business. I always thought that was cool and quite mysterious. My father never explained the shade. The funny thing is, my father’s friend’s name was Antonio. See, the mix up started from day one. Some people think they know me. That’s funny. Just to start off on the right foot, you can call me mr.ward... I started drawing as early as I can remember and it ramped up as soon as I got into school. I self-diagnosed and self-treated my severe A.D.D. before it was noted as a rampant syndrome. Drawing and sketching and exorcizing the demons of a pre-pubescent frustrated life was the only way to cope with the crumbling marriage of my parents. Years and years of drawing away the confusion and torrent of wildly whipping emotions of a young child was my first schooling in the arts. One day during class in middle school, I was called to the office which worried me because the last time I was called out of class someone had died. My heart started to beat again and my breathing eased as I rounded the corner and saw my mother’s face She turned to me and looked at me with a cold humor in her eyes - then frowned. Ooops! Shit! What had I done? Then as I approached the principal’s desk, I saw the art that I had handed in just the morning before. It made me smirk. I then was served a serious knuckled backhand to the shoulder and an swelling charley horse. The principal expressed his concern that I was not a very good student and that I most likely had problems with women. and that maybe I had severe issues that needed immediate attention. To stem the problem as early as possible, I should see a psychiatrist. That was probably the only way for me - medication would probably be the answer. These problems can be handled if they are attended to right away, he added. I piped in with, "Thats a bunch of bull crap! I was just following…”, my mother raised the iron fist again, "direction, uhm, darnit!"... I piped right out again. "Thanks for bringing this to my attention, I'll get right on that" my mother said and she pulled me out the door as if I was going to receive the worst whipping of my life. The principal had a big self-righteous smile plastered to his mug as we tore out of the office. We drove away in silence for a while. My mom reached over to me and put her hand on my shoulder where she had delivered the sock, and touched me gently. "Sorry"... my mom chimed... "I can't believe that friggin idiot"! Son I love you to pieces but please do not ever draw anything like that again in school. Wanna get an ice cream at Farrell’s . My mom was awesome. She took me to see Fellini's Satyricon and A Boy and His Dog, and inspired me to read great books like The Shining and War and Peace. She taught me one of my great lessons. "There is no such thing as perfection in this life... lighten up kid…” Oh, yes, and also, "Don't hate any one or thing, this is a true sign of human weakness". I read about the lives of my favorite artists, read their writings I fantasized a lot. I was the midget “Walter Mitty” with Rabbit teeth. I hated my face and my nose and my teeth and my shortness. I hated having my picture taken, anyways - you get the point. I wasn't super happy with my cards. So, today minus the self-effacement, it's not all that different. I channel what is in me out onto a canvas, negative film, a wall or whatever material I’ve got at my disposal, when i'm inspired. I am not hampered with correctness. There are no rules in my art today, absolutely none! They would not serve me well anyways. I am spewing my insides out, so you and I can examine it - like it or not. My art is directionless and pointed straight at your energy. I dare any to walk by it and not have a thought in that big piney box we call our heads. I picked up a brush much the same way as the #2 pencil in frustration. I just could not pace circles around my apartment enough... chain smoking, boozing or drugging myself into being cool enough and having some bohemian life full of pain and the problems with humanity. I was trying to keep two steps ahead of my racing thoughts, and I was losing... Oh... and my thoughts about my art... it's an exorcism, plain and simple. I need to get what is tearing around in me - outside of me, or I'm going do something real ugly., no doubt! I just couldn't figure out for the life of me what the hell I was supposed to do with all this crazy energy of mine. I hadn't been writing or drawing for many years and I was really losing my shit and a light bulb went off in a close friend’s head. "You are like an great artist with no art, you should be a painter... maybe that would chill you out". And about a year later, almost to the day... my dear friend bought me my first paints, canvases and brushes as I was busy checking into my first stint in rehab. Yes, my very first paintings - in the hospital... cool I thought, and I was hooked... I discovered a great relief... and the brevity of it was staggering, like an insane pulse-pounding, sweaty, joyous masturbation that leaves you in the end staring, listening to your heart beat in your temples and not ever quite happy,exactly. Something is just not right. This is the push. This is why the artist keeps going... I imagine, if the fucking asshole that told Hitler, with a scholarly smugness... "Your work is shit, you have no ability or talent - your art is going nowhere. Give up!" We could have had an entirely different history, had he said... "My dear boy you are beautiful and your vision divine... paint and discover the truth inside of you, discard what is not of any use to you any longer, but which may be useful to others... take part in the movement of history and the brotherhood and peace making of humankind... share, inspire and relate!" This is my art. More or less...

Interview: When Werner Schreyer, 26, enters the room, the light goes on. The boy from the Vienna-Simmering district proletarians is so beautiful that it hurts. The top model could carry a duffel bag with holes cut for the legs, it would be tomorrow le dernier cri. And smelled Hugo, the men's perfume, advertises the Schreyer, by horse manure instead of leather, sandalwood and wild creek - it would be the scent that each pimple boy longed for, that he may turn it into this beautiful man in the world. Schreyer's aura of carefree young wild gilded the products for which he poses: the Levi's jeans, the Studio Line hair setting of L'Oreal, the washing machine from the mail order company Quelle. Its 2.5 million Mark Gage per year is the big earner among Dressmen well worth. Appearance is paying off - which now also applies to men. Compared with the income of female-Star Models Schreyer's salary is, however puny. Claudia Schiffer would such a narrow Paycheck occur in the garbage: Modeling is yet the only industry, are really at a disadvantage in men. Here Schreyer is hardly less famous as Linda Evangelista and Kate Moss. As the first man climbed "Wöana Schrraiah" as its name is emphasized flirty in Paris, the title page of the French fashion magazine Elle, a kind of Olympus of fashion world. In Paris Galeries Lafayette department store perfume his presentation had to be canceled because a mass hysteria broke out. And the teenagers in the stands of the TV-show rate "Coucou c'est nous" squealed during his appearance as if Take That announced their reunion. The advertising industry has discovered the modern man, and Werner Schreyer surfs at the top of the shaft. No one embodies the new type over it: An independent bohemian, success itself defines who goes his own way, yet never alone - that's the message. The emancipation of women has freed him not only from the stereotypical utility role, but also on the accompanying Uniform: white Seidensticker shirt, gray C & A suit and the black Salamander shoe and the scent of Pitralon and Kaloderma. In the sixties and seventies had Masked men, blond and blue-eyed, stood in the background of advertising for women's fashion. Only fashion photographers such as Bruce Weber, who was the mid-eighties famous, changed this ranking: men's bodies and men's skin Henceforth used commercially. Today masculine Models plunge from high cliff into the sea naked and can be pat of woman hand her bare butt to bring perfumes or deodorants to the people. The pressure externally herzumachen something also increases in the men. Those who want to succeed in life, must go to the extreme, while still look damn good. In a perfume spot Werner Schreyer mimes these casual sun boys with the rebel look that has it all alone, very easy to manage a loft roof in Manhattan to be there waving the balmy evening breeze through your hair. Schreyer, who would win any James Dean similarity competition, is the modern hero, a star. But his image is suddenly compared with reality as a star. And looks a little different. Especially, the son of a Viennese insurance agent and a tire fitter by his wife has separated after just 18 months of marriage. Last year came Marlon son into the world who gets to see her father now just twice a month. The War of the Roses runs. It's about a lot of money and to dirty stories. For an interview about intimate details of the marriage should Schreyer-wife Jeanne, have 28, requested by the Gazette Voici tens of thousands of marks. In it she complains how "moody", "violent", "common" and her husband was "extremely jealous". He had beaten her and him - "two little monsters", Schreyer Agent Olivier Bertrand appeases the matter: "When you get married again tomorrow, it does not surprise me that are like Richard Burton and Liz Taylor, slobs just." Chaos that is life Schreyer. Its 60 square meter duplex apartment in Montmartre reveals the most beautiful view over the rooftops of Paris. But the shack itself is little more than a "pied a terre", a foothold in the city. Nothing fits together so pretty that does not, on the ground lying pink marbled walls to the huge dark-green second-hand leather couch dumbbells, the balcony is delivered by bicycle. There are no pictures, only Polaroids - life, a snapshot. Schreyer days pass with openings and dinners in a circle of Parisian high society. Each used here each, while he can contribute something: money, contacts, contracts. People hardly look in the eye when they talk to each other over wine, because somewhere could a more interesting interlocutors are, they still hope to discover. Soaring and soul hangover lie here close to one another. When the dance is over, spits a city from again. "Snakes are all," says Schreyer, and then he's always with you on the go. The simple life lacked a house in Tuscany with friends, "but that's it". Obviously, there is a lack of the young star, who often lose the thread and scarcely a sentence leads to the end, nothing more than peace and stability. Be sure he wants to again go to school, be "cultivate" - a favorite word of the graduates of a business school, the mother would like to have seen in a bank. He feels the "hollowness", the lack of substance and grip behind the gleaming facade of the fashion business. But Schreyer has wanted this success in the shallow. At 18, he applied to an ad in a Viennese model agency in the elegant 19th district - and was taken equal. For a few years he hoofed it through the fashion capitals of the world. Initially, he received a paltry salaries of 500 shillings, he even had to share with the agency, he swiped at the supermarket, to fill you up. But the awesome power which then brought him up threatening to fray. Schreyer is courted today, it can save you from offers and flattering invitations that he accepts or deflects without great inner emotion barely - everyone gives him what he wants. Only no resistors. Actors, which is still a target. But at the moment ranges Schreyer stamina just to stundenweisem lessons when it is time happened to be in America. Schreyer, who sees himself as "unstable," said the quick business eludes merely temporary, if he can not take it anymore. He is unattainable even for his agency two or three days, makes appointments burst five minutes before or entirely absent without excuse. The planes that he has missed, are countless. In the industry it is considered the largest bitch by Naomi Campbell. Several times already Schreyer has abused its main client, the manager of the company Hugo Boss, or their customers. Again and again conferred the bosses in the Swabian town of Metzingen about whether they need to let the behavior of this villain offer further. Apparently. The contract has been extended until 1998th "What makes Schreyer difficult even his charm," explains a company spokeswoman. The bite hand that feeds you, and it has not received an extra large bone - no one has so plan how Werner Schreyer.

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