paizay-le-tort
In early June, when the travel restrictions lifted, Kaspar and I bought train tickets to go visit Max and his mother out in western France as the George Floyd protests erupted back in the States. Images from Nouvelle-Aquitaine and déconfinement thoughts.
confinement : interiors
Interiors and self-portraits from confinement.
confinement : exteriors
The world outside changed dramatically over the course of a few days.
to tc: postcard on leaving
Paris, at least the one I fell in love with, is no more, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.
to adam : human hollows
Avec les grandes villes comme Paris ou New York (les villes où j’ai mis mon cœur, comme une maudite idiote), ils sont toujours comme ça.
to john : in other words
I’m not ready to leave now—et pour être honnête, je ne pense pas que je serai jamais—but I feel like this chapter is drawing to an end. To be revisited later, perhaps, but no longer unfinished.
to friends : early january postcards
It's good to be back. Reunited with old friends, familiar streets, this language I let slip away from me in the past year. Almost sad I have to leave again so soon but excited for the new adventures that await.
to matt : la péniche
I don't know if I ever got to tell you that I live on a boat on the Seine?
rue des thermopyles
Kindred spirit and bucolic streets
paris attacks
fluctuat nec mergitur
to tc : autumn reflections
I know that Paris sera toujours Paris. I said this often to reassure myself when I was away, but to come face to face with that reality was jarring in some ways.
to quentin : d’être étranger
Je me mis souvent aux situations où je suis dépaysée, déracinée, complètement bouleversée. Déraciner. C’est un mot qui n’existe pas en anglais dans le même sens et je le trouve tellement triste, mais précis.