February 16th, 2021 - c'est la vie
Hello again, old friend,
Here we are, reunited, me writing, you reading, big tech watching. Six months came and went, seasons did their thing, and the world kept spinning while the gravity of Corona held us down in the same place. What a bully. We’ve all lost one thing or another to 2020, from itsy bitsy pieces to large chunks of freedom, from jobs to family members. My case of deprivation has been mild, all things considered, and I feel for those whose hardships have been much harder. I hope all of you and yours are healthy and happy, and that things will keep looking up.
my Corona diary, continued
I’d dodged strict confinements until autumn, or, in other words, until I jinxed it in my last newsletter. Not long after that, my explorations of Honfleur and Normandy were halted by the French government. Suddenly, all life happened within a one-kilometer radius and a one-hour time limit and that went on for a couple of months. Ah well, I had it coming and c’est la vie.
It was a beautiful little bubble, nonetheless. The small coastal town conserved more than a few centuries in the bones of its half-timbered houses and the beach was long and fairly wild. When the last leaf fell, the sun fell with it and clouds got comfortable in the sky, where they lingered, lazily, without ever releasing much of their burden as though they didn’t want to move on.
A pitstop in Germany made for a slightly softer lockdown with slightly softer weather.
In January I moved to Paris, where a 6pm-6am curfew is in place, so don’t wait up to see any nighttime shots anytime soon. The other day, as I drifted down one of those grand Parisian boulevards, a face stood out of the crowd and for a moment I couldn’t pinpoint the cause. Then it came to me: it wasn’t anything about the face in particular, but the face itself, unmasked, a singular identity in a sea of anonymity. As masks are obligatory in all of Paris, the only facial features you typically see are eyes and the occasional mouth with a cigarette or food entering. But there it was, a maskless face in all its regular beauty. It’s the little things, I guess, even in a place of big things. One little thing I never thought could be distinguishable and noticeable, let alone appreciable, is breathing air. But pulling down that mask when there is nobody around to steal away a couple of fresh, crisp breaths is nothing short of hedonism in these days. I am an appreciator, but this is certainly a new high (or low).
living in one of those cities
Oh Paris, who wouldn’t want to move in with you? Smitten with a romanticized ideal, yes perhaps, but doesn’t the feeling make it true, or at least true enough? I am here as an artist, gladly, but first and foremost to get to know you better. One’s gotta live and love before pursuing any art or trade. But if you choose to be my muse for matters of life and art, and if you take me somewhere you haven’t taken your past lovers, I promise to tell all your secrets for I know you don’t want to keep them.
new shop – shop now!
With every facelift my shop looks a little more mature, go figure! This latest makeover comes with a neat new design that allows you to browse different categories, explore more artwork, and find captions alongside the photos.
If you or someone you know is looking for something unique to dress up their walls, stop by!
glimpse: SUNFLOWER CEMETERY | And when they ask us why all the sunflowers are dead, we’ll just tell them the truth.
glimpse: ALL WAS FEEL | On an afternoon so long ago, I lived a life so far away, where all was feel and none was thought, and no one with me there but me, with all my souls in both my soles, my eyes so keen to feed my heart, which longed for the moment I was in more than for any other part. And every house I came across was a home that was mine too, where I lived all sorts of fleeting lives, on an afternoon so long ago.
glimpse: TOWARDS | Towards the sun, always, but never in a straight line.
all flavors dancing
The day was as green as it was warm and our sleeves were short and our worries less than a few. And then, some two thousand miles later, we were neck-deep in winter jackets, our eyes clinging to a glacier that knew all hues of all blues. explore
from the back alleys to the avenues and back
Taming those dreams and turning them into domesticated realities did not leave the man with less, but more; for the cities’ unsung, unanticipated, unimaginable tales were the sweetest. see more
where to next
Nowhere, obviously. It’s Paris after all. Ask me again a little down the road.