The Face of Paris

A soft snow falls on Paris obscuring details and softening edges. It is a rare yet familiar occurrence. I have seen snow in Paris only a few times in more than 20 years of winter visits and the feeling is the same each time. The snow doesn't last long. The inner warmth of Paris even on the coldest of days begins to melt it away. The details begin to emerge from under the white blanket and soon the edges show again, pushing through. This area around Bastille has always been a place for artisans, craftsmen, the people who supply them with their materials, a center of creation. Even a Republic was created here with the destruction of a prison. What in this image is truly beautiful? The image is black and white but even in life the scene is black and white. The only colors that rose above a dark, greyish green were the red pinpoints of brake-lights. I buy my film and developing chemicals here on bd Beaumarchais. Over the years the shop owners have come to recognize to me. This year, by chance, I was seated next to them for lunch in Bistrot Voges, just across bd Beaumarchais from their shop which traditionally closes from 1pm to 2pm. We talked about the still falling snow during lunch. By the time I left their shop with my chemicals Paris had shaken off her blanket and put on her face. The one I have been looking at for years. The glow of light flashing off wet sidewalks, slowly turning Morris columns, the art deco Métropolitan entrance, the ubiquitous umbrellas. It is early in the visit and running through my mind is just this: “Here I am again, this is where I belong, this is what is truly beautiful.”