Pont des Arts on another day

Paris is like life, it it what you want it to be. She presents scenes to you, scenes which have no meaning until you give one to them. Presented with ambiguity you have to reach into yourself to create a meaning and that meaning comes from who you are. I believe it is this process of connecting meanings to what we see that creates a deep emotional attachment to this city, Paris. It is this that draws each visitor to a different part of Paris, a kind of auto-seduction. As I walk the city with my camera I am not looking for images, I am waiting for them to call out to me, for something familiar to appear. When it does it is as if I am photographing a memory that I never had until this moment.

It's mid-day in Paris and snow is still falling although it will stop in a few moments. A person is standing on Pont des Arts, very still. Is it a man or a woman? Happy or sad? I think it is a woman. I think she has been here for a long time, there are no footprints in the fresh snow around her. Was she here long ago with her lover placing a padlock on the iron grill as a sign of everlasting fidelity or just someone out for a stroll? Her left foot wants to leave, her right foot wants to stay. Could you say, if I didn't tell you, when this picture was taken? 2009? 1950? 1890?

My imaginings about this scene are my own but I will say that I am never alone in them. What does this scene say to you?

Oysters, rain, and the Eiffel Tower

I love oysters and Paris has plenty of interesting places to get them. Of course, one always hopes that something of interest will be seen on the way to and from. This was a cold, very cold, and rainy night and we had just discovered something wonderful at the market in Passy. Way in the back, against the wall was an oyster stand. If you looked closely you would notice a small counter with 4 stools around it. It wasn't until I saw two well dressed women sitting there eating oysters that I figured out what was going on. We waited until the women left and then sat down. No menu, no ceremony. Just point at which oysters you'd like to try. One of those, two of those, what is that one? The oyster guy would shuck them and put them on your plate. There was a stack of rye bread slices and a couple of bricks of butter on the table. He had a bottle of white wine in a little cooler. We sat and watched the activity in the market and ate and ate. It was very cold, even inside the market, the stools were hard and uncomfortable but we were really a part of the life in Paris. People shopping in the market would stop and talk to us showing us what they were buying and asking us about the oysters. Were they good tonight? Did we like the fat ones?

We walked to the bus stop afterwards in the rain to catch the 32 bus to Trocadéro where we switch to the 63 to get home. The stop at Trocadéro is usually crowded and when we get on there we usually have to stand. We know there is a 63 stop just below the cemetery one stop before Trocadéro and getting the bus there almost guarantees a seat. You have to get off the 32 bus and walk about 4 blocks. I almost instantly regretted the decision. The rain was cold and stinging. I had my head down and was just pushing forward when a flash caught my eye. Here is what the Eiffel Tower looks like on a cold, rainy, foggy night from rue Benjamin Franklin.

Pont St Louis

Night is more of a place than a time in Paris. Everything changes and Paris becomes more like the mysterious woman I know her to be. There is more night in the winter months and I am here more often then because of it. In French the same word, effeuillage, is used for the falling of leaves in autumn and for striptease. The revealing of secrets, but in classical strip tease the leaving of some mysteries for future discovery. Things up close at night are extraordinarily real, sharply focused, as if you are in a circle of light all your own. Each cobblestone seems sharply defined, each rail in the iron fence seems unique and personal. Look up and the distance is less sharp, you strain to see details but all you get is a mood. The mood I like best is along the Seine and it is even better when there are people, couples especially, being in the night. In seconds I can walk from my apartment to Île St Louis. To get there I need to cross Pont St Louis. The bridge has been closed to cars for quite a while and on most evenings there will be one or more street musicians. My favorites are the accordion players. It's a cliché, I know, but the accordion music helps make it more Paris. Tonight is quite warm for a winter night and people are sitting down by the water on the Quay. This part of the river is generally one way for barges going up stream but tonight for some reason a batteau mouche (tour boat) is using the channel. I stand here often thinking about how lucky I am in life and love. On the bank to my left, you can almost see it in the image, is the place from which Abelard, alone in his monk's cell, wrote many letters to his beloved Helosie. No cell for me nor distant lovers, I'm here tonight with two and one is named Paris.

Black and White Days

My apartment existed here on rue Maître Albert in the 16^th century. Its walls are thick, old stone. This morning I can feel the cold oozing through those walls. Paris is usually a moderate city, neither too cold nor too hot. Today she is not feeling moderate at all. I see snow on the ledge outside my window. I know that today the monochromatic aspect of Paris will be even more intense. In my images of Paris color plays no role, only forms and texture and light. That doesn't mean I don't see her colors, it just means that I need to interpret them, to visualize how to capture the essences behind the colors, to create an abstraction. Today, no abstractions are needed. One has to look very hard to find colors in Paris on a cold, snowy, winter morning. The reality has become the abstraction.

Snow is not a common occurrence in Paris, I have seen it less than half a dozen times during my years of visiting here. it creates a mood. When she displays this mood the nature of things change. The air is cold and crisp and I feel it when I breathe. The cafés are warmer and fuller, both with people and with the extra coats and umbrellas stacked up on brass racks or just piled up chair backs. This winter/snow/warm/café experience is what I am looking for this morning. I am walking along blvd St Germain trying to decide which café. It is here, in front of Deux Magots that I see these two motor bikes, one white with snow, one black. It is my image for the day. Somehow my mood has changed and I don't feel ready to be inside just yet so I walk down rue Bonaparte to the park. There is a small café in this corner of Luxembourg Gardens where I can sit by the window next to the heater and drink a chocolate chaud and watch the children play in the snow. It feels right here.