Wandering around Paris...
Wandering around Paris...
Paris Roof Garden
by Ludovic Strl
des femmes au musée de l’homme, Paris.
These b—itches hatin' on me cause I'm confident in me. And if you hating on me hoe, then I'm down, big shit.
Paris seeks to ban through traffic in city centre by 2022
The council wants to create a low-traffic zone to reduce pollution and congestion. Source link
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𝓒𝓲𝓽𝔂 𝓸𝓯 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮: 𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓼 - 𝓢𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓸𝓷 1, 𝓔𝓹𝓲𝓼𝓸𝓭𝓮 12.26
Louvre - Paris - France (by barnyz)
Photography by Willy Ronis, Paris 1950 #willyronis #photography #art #paris #shadow #photogallery #portrait #france #streetphotography #artwork #moment #nostalgia #city #beautiful #light #fantasy #poetry #dream #love #travel #blackandwhite #minimalism #life #simple #bnw #artgallery #artcurator #story #blackandwhitephotography #simpleisbeautifulphotography (at Paris, France) https://www.instagram.com/p/CO0RgZfHyPa/?igshid=jhyna6bn5p4d
I feel like in remembrance and memorial of Tily, we should re-examine THIS, for good fun.
🎲 - card shark lyric from cornelia street, cruel summer lyric reference, ties into the theme of chance and gamble with their relationship(??)
🦋 - the tily emoji lily used in a lot of her captions for taylor photos, once even having her own highlight attached to her Instagram using the emoji too
🇫🇷 - the theory taylor attended vsfs with lily, in the beginning(??) of their relationship (ciwyw lyrics make me inclined to speculate this)
☂- this is a complete random ass guess, with not a lot of evidence to back it up, BUT… lily went somewhere tropical winter 2016/2017 for her birthday, I believe it was cuba, and taylor had the tropical pics hugging/hanging off the palm tree in her rep magazine (which would match the tily timeline)
🔒- all the secrecy of the reputation lyrics, plus the paris padlocks of love? IDK
love all your thoughts here!
lemme ask you this can we identify any of the flowers in the pic? i see roses and sunflowers...any lilies?
as for the umbrellas i think of the me! mv or hygtg live performance for 1989 🤔
by Micheli Fernandes
by Micheli Fernandes
Wandering in Paris...
𝓒𝓲𝓽𝔂 𝓸𝓯 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮: 𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓼 - 𝓢𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓸𝓷 1, 𝓔𝓹𝓲𝓼𝓸𝓭𝓮 12.25
Paris Bryant Releases New Single: “Mad Mad”
Presenting a different perspective altogether for the game, buzzing Maryland-born and Brooklyn-raised rapper Paris Bryant makes his official debut with the single and music video “Mad Mad.” Additionally, he announces his signing to Cinematic Music Group in partnership with Geffen Records. Watch the music video HERE. Distinguishing himself right out of the gate, the 17-year-old budding talent…
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Wandering around Paris...
This doesn’t have a title. It lacks coherency. I kind of don’t care. Sophia being snarky gives me energy.
Enjoy an interpretation of a famous Meryl Streep and Anne Hathaway scene, with an AU of RITD.
Sophia disliked press days.
But especially so on days where they were putting finishing touches on a show and hanging most of the pieces in a new venue.
Working in Orsay again felt...bizarre.
The angle of the article was to see the process from start to finish and so far, talk about how art history saved Paris. At least the writer was tolerable to work with. Standoff-ish, American, clearly didn’t take the assignment seriously. Audrey Kingsley was something more of an investigative journalist; she wrote the expose on the entire Flood, from Sophia’s understanding. To have a journalist of her caliber stuck writing a piece about an American-In-Parisian-Artworld was somewhere between surreal and a waste of talent and time.
The latter seemed to be especially the case but Raphael Laurent himself assigned her and that was that.
She could deal. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen press outside the art world thrust into assignments they didn’t like.
Sophia keenly felt as if she was on stage, rather than the artwork itself as expected, when going about her process for this necessary step.
Vincent lingered, his keen eye welcome when called for, but he always left this up to her now.
“A salon feel could be interesting in some sections,” someone chimed in. “Force viewers to juxtapose pieces and find out minute differences between them. Many of these are sets; it would be a shame to break them up.”
She hired for passion and she didn’t pay them on commission. The words were simultaneously business-based for the artist but from the heart. Hard to contend with.
“There are a lot of works, we could put everything out and re-arrange at a later date for the closing show. Feels like clearance to do that though, it’s an insult to the time they took on this collection.”
Sophia looked at the pieces lined up against the wall and then picked one, walking over to it and plucking it from its place to then bring it to another wall. The color in another would offset very well and she picked that one next, giving it a home next to its brethren.
“The entire collection tells a story, out of order. The artist gave us liberties to arrange as we see fit. The story we see. A salon hanging could confuse the viewer if a pattern isn’t used and it could result in a traffic flow problem. Which…” Sophia picked up two paintings and placed them in different sections before returning to the stockpile. “...we have anyway because of the bar. Let’s try this.”
She reminded the staff of the motif the artist used, how that tied back to their theme and the collection as a whole, as well as the historical significance of turning that motif on its head. She tried not to think about her words being recorded, about being observed as if she was teaching a class and her entire career laid in the balance.
One piece of the puzzle was missing for one wall, though. A narrative bridge. And there were several different variations to choose from.
Someone said as much and in the silence that followed, a scoffing laugh covered as a cough echoed in the gallery.
Sophia turned to find the journalist covering her mouth with her free hand, her Go-Pro strapped to her shoulder and her recorder still in her other hand, blinking red.
“Is something funny?” Sophia asked, resisting the urge to clip her tone and instead opting for something more earnest.
It was impossible to miss Vincent’s smirk as he watched, peridot eyes dancing with amusement.
Well, at least two people thought this was entertaining.
“They...look so similar, does it really matter which one goes where?” Audrey asked, something of a self-righteous air mingling with her words. “They’re all paintings.”
The unspoken words rang in her ears. This isn’t saving Paris by symbolism; is everything truly that deliberate? Does it matter? You’re not part of this museum anyway.
Sophia took a deep breath, eying the postcard collection and museum catalog peeking out of the journalist’s bag near the bench.
“Interesting. So, you think this has nothing to do with your experience with art? With Parisian culture?”
Audrey stammered, shifting her grip on her recorder.
The brunette found herself greatly disliking one painting in the lineup now and walked over to it, pulling it out and taking the one someone else-Eugene-was already carrying. Vincent likely saw what she did and intervened before someone kicked a hole into a canvas.
“You come to Paris and you decide, oh I don’t know, to go visit the Louvre because you would rather have the tourist experience of French culture and you decide the postcards in your bag would make a nice souvenir…” Sophia started, placing the piece eye-level on the wall, looking at the way the lighting glossed over the paint; perfect.
“But what you don’t know is that behind that entire machine of the Louvre are not just paintings and sculptures. Not just tour guides. But actually, art historians on all different levels and all different career paths.”
She pulled a pencil from her pocket, marked the wall where the hooks were on the frame, and placed the painting back down gently. They would have to adjust the hanging system as well. Unfortunate and time-consuming, but doable. With a little help from her husband, perhaps. At least he didn’t need a ladder.
Sophia glanced over her shoulder to find the journalist shifting her weight but listening respectfully. Good.
“And you’re evidently unaware that the umbrella of art history covers archivists, conservationists, curators, appraisers, tour guides, receptionists, maintenance mechanics who are all part of that process; science and physicality blending perfectly with art to tell the history of culture, of our very species…”
She plucked one of the two paintings still being held from her assistant and definitively placed it at the end of the first wall’s row of works. Darker. A little more gruesome. Darkness first, before the hope that followed.
“They determine and uphold the Canon that’s been set by centuries of art history and each city has their own shining beacon. Paris has the Louvre, Orsay; New York, the Met and MoMA; Mexico City has Palacio Nacional; Japan has Ota.”
Sophia stood back, appraising her work, before she turned and walked over to the journalist.
“Art historians determine who wins out, and it all filters down to you, where you pluck that postcard from its display in the Louvre. However, that postcard represents centuries of history, of eyes gazing upon it and generations of art historians caring for it and it’s sort of comical that you’ve made a choice for a souvenir that’s based upon an artist’s technique, use of mystique and motifs, when the only reason you even know who Da Vinci was, is because The Mona Lisa was made valuable by art historians who preserved its legacy after its theft. From a pile of paintings.”
The journalist backed down first, breaking their clashing gaze. She had no right. Some people found the idea of communicating through paintings absurd, archaic; it certainly didn’t have a place in 2017. But it was what led to a murder, to a Flood, to a cycle of vengenance that needed to be, and was, broken.
Broken by the person curating this show. Audrey’s question and ignorance were insulting.
Sophia looked away to find Vincent hiding a laugh into his coffee, shoulders shaking at her buried heels and fiery defense.
The article would no doubt paint her as a shrewd, sharp, American, out of place in Parisian culture. But the journalist was just as sharp, just as rough, and just as out of place.
All was fair, she assumed, and she didn’t necessarily care. She had solidified her place, her career, her life.
She made a mental note to never bother with press tagging along for future projects. Especially one Audrey Kingsley.
Le Pont de L'Europe (1876) by Gustave Caillebotte (French, 1848 –1894). Musée du Petit Palais, Geneva. Large painting - 125 cm × 181 cm (49 in × 71 in). Pedestrians in the Place de l'Europe in Paris. The well-dressed gentleman may be a self-portrait of the artist.