Paris Omniprésente

Il y a quelque chose omniprésent de la Tour ce soir, circulant dans la nuit. Je sais pas si c’est la gouvernement constamment en regard de le Covid ou la pluie qui détruit la lumière par tous. Autant, l’air d’amour reste entre les gouttes de pluie qui vole violemment froide entre les bâtiments.

Les gens semblent déprimés. Il fait froid et la pluie tombe incessamment. Des fois là soleil pendant l’hiver se sort des nuages. Mais tout le temps j’ai l’impressions que le monde vient de se faire braser leur cœurs. Malgré tous sa, je peut pa éviter de sentir la tendresse pour la ville de Paris. Chaque fois que je rends visite j’ai l’impression que les édifices sourient a moi est les rues font des petites bisous contre mon marché. Lés endroit urbain on une semblance de labyrinthe. Mais un labyrinthe que j’ai pas envie de sortir. Un labyrinthe rempli de tous les œuvre les plus majestueux et des boulangeries de goûts alléchante.

photos by Sean McGadden Paris November 2021

En marchant entre les oeuvre d’arts du Louvre je n’hésite pas de penser à tous les époques ou ces artistes s'épanouit. Les années sa a pris pour définir l’idée qui c’est réaliser dans une peinture ou une sculpture qui reste finalement sur la mur ou un piédestal. Sa prends un vrai engagement avec tous les media d’art pour savoir comment créer une pièce qui tout le monde veut regarder.

My time in Paris is always filled with excitement and the overwhelming sense of awe I see in the raw will it took to build a city of such refined beauty. The streets are well lit and I always see hugs and kisses in between the flickering of scarfs hiding the huddling rosy cheeks of the French men and women sauntering about to the brasseries or the bars. Often times I ache to spend much more time, a mundane kind of pass time ripe and exploding with eccentricities at each turn. I long for a time yet to come where I can settle into a coffee and write or draw the sidewalk. My eye is indulged at every corner. It never ceases to amaze me how lovely the roof scapes are. The brisk winter is of no concern to me despite an infrequent need to feel melancholy when the sun cannot fight the dense clouds.

Somehow I fit in with the well dressed and articulate french. I enjoy the layers of silks and cottons that protect from the windy corridors and the willingness to sit out in the cold in the street with a beer and good company. It’s an incredible endeavor. Perhaps in my sequence of encounters with this city I’ve had so many feelings and for the first time I’ve experienced the excellent beauty that resists the sadness of winter. And still the willingness of people to laugh and enjoy life despite a pandemic and blistering cold. In a city such as Paris it is still not too difficult. But the human condition is a frightful and chaotic thing that cannot be well defined. However the way the French have framed their desires in Paris is quite simply, a romantic affair.

Winter in Paris

People search for power

When they feel powerless

When there is sadness inside the clouds

they cry out onto the streets

begging for a piece,

for a small sandwich

Aching for some joy from the sun

To break from the weathering of our obsessions.

Strolling between double takes and flirtatious glances

the inviting Metropolitan and wispy S curves

crash through idle thoughts.

She asks only to be validated.

Only in the expression of her sadness

Can the glinting laugh of the street corner,

Be wildly beautiful against a foggy rain.

Floating through the opulent halls of this city,

The silk falling off the supple body of Nike,

The hint of a swirling smirk from Le Joconde,

the violent despair on the raft of Medusa,

The sought after purity of Venus de Milo,

crashing, forming, materializing,

An assemblage of many lives.

Le Musée du Louvre, photos by Sean McGadden, November 2021