The City of Lights
Bonjour! Did you know... Paris- La Ville Lumière (The City of Light), was one of the first European cites to start using gas-lit street lamps in the 19th century. Not only was Paris known as La Ville Lumière literally, but it's figurative meaning came from the ideas and education centered in Paris during the Age of Enlightenment. Cool huh.
La Ville Lumière
Layers of light stacked throughout the narrow streets.
Darkness tries to turn them off, but this city never sleeps.
She shines hard for her people, keeping all ugly at bay.
An eye full of beauty from every corner café.
Frozen in time is this novel read by many.
Skimmed and noted, time no longer a wary.
Her colors glow lively in this circus of eternity.
The pinnacle in the middle, stemmed fruit of history.
Whether day or night paris is always inspiring me to imagine. I imagine another time or maybe I will imagine another way of life. I imagine another feeling, a cold, a warm, an angry feeling the artist portrayed or the happened rain that fell from the grey. As umbrellas open my mouth does the same. I imagine I'm thirsty and I drink the rain...
I visited the Louvre yesterday because I had nothing else planned and thought it seemed natural. I live just down the street and admission is free for me because I am a student.
I brought my sketch book, a bag of pencils, an eraser and sharpener. I had my camera and I snapped pictures the whole time- there, back, on-the-way. I had a book with me, Under the Eye of the Clock by Chhristopher Nolan, that I had just recently purchased in Ireland at a small book shop called The Little Shop of Books. This novel is astounding for many reasons, but if you're interested at all you should check it out- literally.
I sat outside at a café at a distance between my apartment and the Louvre where I ordered both a Vin Chaud (hot wine) and a Salade de Chévre chaud (hot goat cheese salad). I was cold and wanted to be warm, to sum it up for you. The food was delicious- the wine, though, could've been stronger. It had no real punch other than the fruity taste of an orange slice to accompany the lacking bitterness. After I read a few pages of my book, and after I wrote the poem above and after I warmed up with the food and wine I bid merci, au revoir to the waiter and crossed the street toward the Louvre.
There was an amazing street artist set up out front the museé. He was using chalk pastels to cover the ground with a portrait of a strange looking clown. The artist's clothes were likewise covered in the pasty stuff.
This made me think of my friend Kate back home in California. We used to draw with pastels to pass the empty time.
This artist's approach was rather remarkable because the scale of the piece was so big. I tipped him and moseyed on my way. That's something about Paris. There are artists everywhere. The streets, the metros, the metro tunnels, the train stations- I walk outside my door and I'm walking through a never ending museum. I'm slowly running out of my usual tip change.
Inside the Louvre I made my way to the sculpture section where I walked through the frozen crowd of white-marble painted faces. It was beautiful. I had my headphones playing loud in my ears to cut me off from the noisy tourists. The feeling was as if I were walking through an exhibition in my own dream land. Plopped into a world of frozen figures. Listening to the song Drowning Butterflies by Bipolar Sunshine, I watched as a dilapidated cupid poured a vase full of hardened liquid into the ground.
I set up camp for a while to sketch. I didn't have anything in mind while my pencil dragged along the blank paper, but the overflow of art around me kept my fingers dancing. After some time had passed and the scribbles on my sheet resembled life I found my shoulders getting soar and my spine needing to straighten and so I gathered my things. My pencil sharpener unfortunately had a minor temper tantrum and fell to the ground covering the white marble floors with pencil shavings and lead dust. My red cheeks hurried my hands to scoop up the mess and as soon as the ground looked white again I scurried out of my dream land, headphones still in.
And when I popped up out of the Louvre The City of Light was shining in the sun. Rain gone for just long enough to see with bright eyes the glory of a city full of wonder...
But today I drink the rain.