| Travel |
My dear Paris, you're impossibly chic. You dress up as - a lover, an icon, even Shakespeare then put up the greatest show - a fairytale, a lullaby. The artist who made women wear fancy pants like a city's affair.* You just do it better.
Have me some French etiquette, the foie gras is hard to quit but strolling is always a good idea. Easy breezy.
With Francophile tendencies on le smoking alert, I've unraveled the je ne sais quoi and scattered myself over Paris, The Great Chic, in 6 days - sang at the coffeeshop to the likes of Hemingway, emulated versions of Charlotte Gainsbourg, heart flaming at every sweet Parisian heartily and sartorially consumed by Breton stripes, and spading through cobblestone streets for lovebirds pinned from the Trocadero to the Seine. The place to come undone, like the Bioderma Crealine to my face, like steel and lace before Eiffel Tower, this city is a grand exhibit to nestle wanderers with dreamy choruses in sparkling kisses and breaths. One to be had, slathered, and painted, over and over.
Shot with film
*And a constant inspiration to steal my man's shirt and pants until he's got nothing to pair.
I'll be printing these visuals into postcards straight from the negatives as a little side project of mine for all readers internationally so don't be shy to request one. Let me make your day! If you wish to receive one in your mailbox, email me at firstname.lastname@example.org with your name, preferred picture (I'd likely assume the generic shot of lover-strangers and the Eiffel), and address. The postcard will include a short story about Paris, with each individual print that comes in a form of poetry, prose, or dialogue. You know what they say, #onceuponparis, no grain no gain.
Stamped, sealed, delivered.