descollages dans le marais, paris.
Archive for the ‘Street’ Category
descollages dans le marais, paris.
I’m testing out the app Guidigo that lets you make a guided tour of just about anything. I created one to collect my recent street work during Mois de la Photo in Paris (The Month of photography, it happens every 2 years in November).
I’ll be adding stops in the coming days, and perhaps some audio. I had some trouble uploading sound, so decided it was a sign I should stick to writing. Let me know what you think!
DesCollages on rue des Déchargeurs.
It’s a short street in front of 59 rue de Rivoli, named siége des Déchargeurs in 1300, for the workers (déchargeurs) unloading stock for Les Halles market. You can’t see it here in the dark, but on the left at number 3 is the Théâtre des Déchargeurs. Built in 1708, the wiki page has photos of the façade by Eugene Atget. How wonderful it would be to have an Atget app for smartphones. Someone must be working on that. I hope someone is working on that.
My humble homage to Saul Leiter.
I’m so sad he’s gone and so grateful he existed.
In participation with Les Rencontres Photographiques du 10e arrondissement in Paris, a selection of 9 photos from my DesCollages series can be spotted around the 10th district from now until the end of November. If you see any of them, take a shot and send it to me! Or better, post it to me here: https://www.facebook.com/DanielleVoirin
If you’re in Paris, come by La Petite Louise Friday night, October 18th at 19h, across the street from La Mairie. We’ll be having an opening upstairs and giving away one of the posters!
Some moments from today’s Techno Parade in Paris.
A couple of today’s treasures from my weekly Wednesday in the dark room, and a new series of photos brewing.
Paris weather can be so disappointing, but at the end of the day when your hope is gone, the sun sometimes puts on a quick show and you think, “Paris, you bitch, you are beautiful.”
Tens of thousands of people congregated at Place de la Bastille tonight to celebrate the departure of Sarkozy. Let’s be honest, the enthusiasm for François Hollande is subsequent to their tangible joy of seeing “Sarko” ousted. The optimism is flowing, along with beer, wine and champaign. France hasn’t had a left-wing president since François Mitterrand left office after two seven-year terms in 1995.
Back in Paris just in time for May 1st. Last year, Côte d’Ivoire had the loudest, most urgent message. This year it’s clearly a distaste (I’m being too kind) for Sarkozy. It will be an interesting week leading up to Sunday’s election results. One of my dearest friends, in updating me on what he’s doing this week, said “and on Sunday we are changing the President.” We shall see very soon…
A passing conversation heard on Bedford and 6th,
filtering by on some jazz in the air.
“They never understand art.
Is it about poetics or is it poetry?”
“It’s about occupied poetics.
They never get it.”
This year’s Nuit Blanche was as enchanting as last year’s was bizarre. In the center of Paris, on a shopping street across from an H&M and a McDonald’s, two Italian trapeze artists made us all feel like kids again.
On Saturday night, Monsieur Marco Mannucci and Madame Alessandra Lanciotti, of the group Mattatoio Sospeso, performed their piece entitled Commedia Volante, while suspended from the facade of 59 rue de Rivoli, accompanied by violin, accordion and roaring traffic.
It was one of the most fun & magical things I’ve seen quite some time.
In my day, we had to walk an entire hour to the grocery store, and it was up hill in both directions! Often it was raining and windy, and if you weren’t careful you could get knocked off that one-lane road into the ditch when a car came speeding by.
Today we only made it half-way home when Koshi, the dance teacher at the folkehøgskule, spotted Brij and I and gave us a ride. He knew that two people who were walking couldn’t be from around here.
A birthday gift from my dad, I got to see Joe Bonamassa in concert tonight at the Olympia in Paris. I recently joked that his music had become the new family religion. I’m proud to say we’re a Chicago family and like big guitar sounds and blues.
It was one of the best concerts I have ever seen. He played almost 2 and a half hours and looked like he loved it as much as we did. When leaving, my spirits were so high I couldn’t fit into the metro and had to walk all the way home.
At one point Joe said he had taken a photo of the facade of the Olympia and sent it to his mother so she’d stop bugging him about getting a real job. He’d made it. Well I think he did that quite a while ago (opened for B.B. King at the age of 12! and will have his 34th birthday in a couple of days). It made me think of my parents and their relation to photography as “a real job.” I think they now believe I’m capable and do not worry as much, even if I have not reached the level of the Olympia.
Forgive the quality, I was on my way home from a concert venue that would’ve made me coat-check my usual camera, so I was borrowing a compact. I find I shoot a helluva lot when I have a little toy-like camera, taking notes all over the place. Anyway, that’s another topic. I couldn’t pass by this kiosk without taking a photo, and I’m likely not the only one. It was Obama pointing at me that made me stop in my tracks.
The kiosk display on the left, alternated between the current cover of Le Point and Paris Match, while the Observateur on the right was static.
America is Back, the World after Ben Laden and the Most Beautiful Day. Is any of it real? Could someone please refill my wine glass?
Ciao Napoli. I’ve never set foot in a city as intense and alive, unruly and expressive as you are. You kind of freaked me out for a moment. See you in the spring.
Bend left knee, hands on hips,
hair placed gently over the shoulder,
yes, you want it vertical, got it.
Because it’s a New-York-on-the-mind kind of day, I went looking through the NYC folder to see what I could see, that I might not have seen before. This photo is from my second visit to New York, almost exactly three years ago, when I couldn’t get enough of the view from my friend’s rooftop on the upper east side. I would have happily slept up there.
Tonight in Arles, a man in black walks up and down his street,
being walked by his dogs.
Avenue Laumiere is dressed in violet, top to bottom.
My favorite tree is blooming, and forever back-lit. Research determines it to be a Paulownia tomentosa, introduced in Europe via Japan in 1834. This makes me love it even more.
On my way down to the metro, I collect the cadaver blooms that have fallen.
I take out the Polaroid camera, and in the milli-second that my bag is open, a violet flower gets sucked in by the wind.
I wait on the corner for the pola to develop and I take out the digital.
I love the polaroid so much, I have to photograph the photograph.
I think of giving someone the polaroid, but I’m not ready to break my attachment to it.
I decide to think about it a while.
Instead, I give these violet buds to kind Mr. B. at the internet/telephone shop. B is for Bangladesh, his native land. He thinks I’m an architect because the day I met him, I was on my way to an interior architecture shoot.
Despite the suspicious look, he seemed very happy to receive my rescued flowers.
I was on my way to the studio yesterday and got side-tracked with the May 1st parade. I thought I’d just stop by really quick and check it out, then stayed several hours and never made it to the studio.
When so many people are in the street, the energy and diversity of people are irresistible. I’m not the best manif photographer. Not like my friend Gaelic, who I ran into today (and has been shooting May Day for years). He is up there within inches of faces with a 12-24mm. It’s a rare occasion that I feel bold enough to get that close without a conversation first. Yet I’ve seen probably all of my male photog friends walk right up close and shoot without a word. They claim their space, their role, with an apparent confidence I sometimes envy. I don’t know many female photogs unfortunately, and it’s too easy to wonder if this approach has something to do with having a penis. I don’t like to generalize. But I do wonder.
I think I’m more subtle, and the intimacy of these situations is one reason why the manif is so irresistible. Everyone is close, squeezing, shouting and dancing through the street. You walk along with Kurds, communists, feminists, Jeunes Socialistes selling roses, Iranians announcing that organization of any kind puts you in prison. Everyone is labeled with their cause, telling an important story.
Growing up in the “Greater Chicagoland Area” as I did, I don’t remember the Labor Day parades. I think we just grilled big pieces of meat in the backyard and shot hoops in the driveway. Sometimes it’s challenging to really comprehend that all of these events happen on the same planet, at the same time.
At 59 we sometimes paint on the walls.
Tonight the artist hosted by our gallery painted in the street.
Emmanuel Flipo likes to throw pigments to the wind.
Flipo’s exhibition will be on view in the gallery until May 2nd.
59 rue de Rivoli, 75001. Paris.