Sous le Ciel de Paris
I found myself romanticizing life
Victor Hugo, Marcel Proust, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and many others have captured the essence of Paris in their writing, and numerous poets have used this city as their muse. For artists and creators, Paris is a city of sensations, of layers, of contrasts and defies easy categorisation.
Walking the streets of this city, I felt all the hopes, aspirations and fantasies that are often excluded from my conscious personality in everyday life come alive—the determination never to be disappointed by life, to see only what is beautiful, good and kind.
I had strangers smiling at me and that lively “Bonjourrrr”. I admired Parisians going about their daily lives, running up and down the path beside the Seine. I watched a group of French women having their passionate intellectual debates in a restaurant before going to their yoga class. I watched people wandering through the Sunday flea market in search of the perfect vintage garment. I have admired femininity and the art of true seduction, the very definition of naked couture at a cabaret show, reminiscent of a simpler time when natural beauty was cherished.
For artists who have often felt left out or like they don’t belong because their upbringing or culture doesn’t support the arts or embrace creativity, Paris is a breath of fresh air. Going to a country where the government itself has a history of supporting the arts and culture makes you feel seen and understood.
Sous le ciel de Paris, I was reminded that what I do matters, and for the first time I didn’t feel that my romanticism was being challenged or stifled. I didn’t feel at war with myself.
I felt at peace.
