St. Eustache is a church I’ve long loved, and always walk out of with a sore neck because I spend my time there staring at the ceiling. My boyfriend complains that Americans say “amazing” too much, but I have to say, the architecture here is amazing. The thick columns remind me of old trees stretching up to the sky. And I’m lifted up when I walk through them. It makes me want to replace all the chairs with soft mats so we can lie down and stare up, instead of bowing our heads.
Posts Tagged ‘Paris’
Last weekend I played music inside a metallic rainbow. The song was Sugar Boom, and the tenor steel drum reflected blue, yellow, violet, green and orange up into my face as I was playing. I needed a GoPro attached to my forehead.
With my hands busy playing, the photos I could get were between songs during rehearsal.
Five steel bands came together, thanks to musician Alain Rouaud, and played three concerts in MPAA’s (Maison des Pratiques Artistiques Amateurs) lovely auditorium in the Marché St. Germain in Paris. As a part of MPAA’s group, I was absolutely thrilled to play with 70 other steel drummers and 5 percussionists.
I’m not being an exaggerating American when I say “absolutely thrilled.” I was full of joyful tears when I heard our sound swell from 18 drummers to the sound of 70, supported by the engine machine of percussionists behind us. I was overwhelmed and I hope to never forget it. The first time only happens once.
Sunday nights at the Coolin were a treat.
Like the ritual of a Sunday night dinner with family.
Once it’s renovated, it’ll be a dead space on Sunday nights, an Apple store on other days. Fabulous. We totally need another Apple store. I’ll probably never walk through those doors again. Nothing against Apple (I’m typing on a Mac, it’s my most important tool after my camera) but I buy online. You see one Apple store, you’ve seen them all. And the Coolin was just an Irish pub, but it wasn’t like any I’d known before.
The good news is the beat goes on, and the wonderfully talented people who created this special place, and their family of fans will continue in another neighborhood across the river and into the 8th.
These photos are from Saturday, March 21st,
the last gig at the Coolin. Marché St. Germain, Paris.
Additional photos of the mayhem can be found here.
I’m a little late getting out my wishes for this New Year. The momentum I was creating the first week in January took a detour with the Charlie Hebdo story. People being killed down the street from where I live and work, for expressing their ideas, shined a big light on the word “now.”
Like the little girl in the tutu at the supermarket, happy with herself, at play each moment of the day. Why wait for an “appropriate occasion” to wear that flashy skirt? Why wait until tomorrow to call that grandmother, sister, or father and tell them you were thinking of them, right now, today, for no other special reason, other than they are important to you and you love them?
Do you have something important to say that someone, somewhere should hear? Write it, send it, ship it, say it. Release fear and it uncovers love, they say. I’ve found this to be true.
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.
The photo festival, Les Rencontres Photographiques du 10e, continues for another couple of weeks in Paris, and I’ve been out again enlarging the circle of my street exhibition.
There is a map here: DesCollages Map
(though it now includes rue Bichat, near metro Jacques Bonsergent, and also farther west to the Passage des Petites Ecuries, great place to go for drinks and dinner btw.)
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!
Ten years have now passed, since I changed countries. I’m almost breathless, looking back, seeing who I was, who I think I was, and who and where I thought I would be today. People make ten-year plans, I never have. I have dreams but I don’t give them deadlines. I was impatient with the Paris dream. I tried once, it was all set up, seemingly perfect, and then fell through just after the Twin Towers. I let it go. And maybe it’s like they say about the people you love. Let them go and they may come back to you. I let the dream rest, though never stopped desiring it, never stopped saying out loud what the ideal situation would be.
I changed paths, out of necessity, and became reacquainted with another dream, one not linked to a particular city, one that could be initiated right where I was.
In looking for a starting point, I jumped through numerous hurdles to get to where I thought I should begin, and when it was my turn to sign up, all seats were taken. But it was vital for me to begin, so I found a second-string starting point, one I judged as inferior but at least put me into action. The new plan-B-point-A would take me far, to where I wanted to be, because the room where my plan B started was where another person had entered by mistake and then decided to stay.
A relationship began, one that would bring me to Paris and then dissolve. A person came into and out of my life, enabling “the ideal” situation in between, which I had so often described out loud.
But a dream is maybe like having a photo of a tarte au citron meringuée when the reality is eating one. Except reality also requires you to learn to make the thing first, then savor it. And those are the ones you don’t forget.
These years have been a lot of work, and sometimes a real pain in the ass, but equally delicious.
I’m still working on the meringue.
Some moments from today’s Techno Parade in Paris.
For two very fun years I shared a big loft with two painters from Argentina. I lived upstairs on the mezzanine, and they worked downstairs. It was a pretty raw space. We had a tiny improvised kitchen in one corner, a very aged red sofa in another and wonderful floor-to ceiling windows. No door separated our spaces, just a half-wall, over which I took these time-lapse photos of Martin Reyna making watercolors. I love seeing the process behind a piece of art, and I got to witness Martin’s practice daily. In celebration of his birthday today, here’s a selection from those days.
Feliz cumple Martin!
It’s hard looking through old work sometimes. I groan, tear up some prints, light up at the sight of others, and travel back in time much more pronounced way than when looking at photos on a computer screen. Today I went back through rolls of film shot after first moving to Paris, and the contact sheets that had both Chicago and Paris on them. It’s interesting to see what I was focused on then, and how I was constructing my photos. The obsession with geometry was always there. This one I rather like. I think it was taken at Bercy. Great place for a skateboard.
A couple of today’s treasures from my weekly Wednesday in the dark room, and a new series of photos brewing.
I spent the evening with an inspiring friend, choreographer Gaëlle Bourges, whose work I’ve photographed on a number of occasions and who is soon to be the subject of a book. Tonight we made some new selections of photos taken in the last five years and one thing we revisited was a performance she created for Paris’s Nuit Blanche in 2007 called Strip.
It was pretty intense, to witness this erotic and humorous show in the center of Paris (next to Les Halles!) on the night of the World Cup quarter-finals in rugby when France beat New Zealand. While three women stripped and teased in these sulfurously-lit phone booths, the cafés and streets all around were full of cheering testosterone.
More photos here.
In the end
I was just thirsty
Every time I pass the Square Georges Cain at night, I hear seagulls singing. And every time, it makes me stop and think how far the sea is from here. And every time, I stop walking and look at this girl standing in the roses, shining like she’s made of glass.
Tonight, for the first time, I looked at the plaque and saw that her name is Aurora and she is made of bronze.
My gorgeous view, from a rented room of my own, which I will have for only four more days and four more nights. I have lived on top of these trees, with a view of the Butte Chaumont and the big Parisian sky, for 2.5 years. It’s true, you do get used to climbing stairs, and to your roommate calling you from the courtyard down below, asking you to toss the bike room keys out the window so she doesn’t have to make the 7-flight climb.