a world of artists

I love living in the Marais. Not simply because of the designer boutiques and trendy bistros on every cobbled corner, or the multitude of galleries exhibiting art from around the world. The ambiance of the Marais is unique. It’s one of the most historic neighborhoods of Paris, encompassing the 3rd and 4th arrondissements of the right bank. I can easily spend many a late afternoon carousing the streets, joining the masses at a random art opening and ending the evening with a glass of red wine upon a cafe terrasse. 

Most of all I love the many hidden courtyards of the Marais, revealing enchanting worlds, such as Village Saint Paul. Today I discovered another one, one which spoke of art. Our afternoon was spent in search of artists part of Nomades 2010, a parcours culturel et artistique du 3eme, taking place all weekend in the Marais. We followed our feelings, with an event map in hand, and there it was, a hideaway of artists and ateliers, la Cité Dupetit Thouars. I was in heaven!

How had I not found this bohemian paradise amidst the land of the bobo’s sooner? We walked in and out of ateliers, meeting artists, learning of their trade, feeling inspired by the these talented few who followed their dreams and ended up sharing them with those who took the time to find them.

What a privileged insight into the lives of artists! We first met a carpenter who designs furniture from all types of wood, creating what I tend to call ‘functional art’. Patricia was hidden behind a mountain of tools and wood, barely could we find her. I’m certain I will return one day to commission a coffee table. 

The next character we met was Yves Prince, a true artist in the traditional sense. He has had many a woman pose in his studio, as is evident by the wall of nudes hanging in his atelier. In his warm and welcoming manner he was proud too, to show us the many film posters he has designed, impressive! 

Fashion is often considered art. Here we found one such fashion artist, Gwen van den Eijnde, sharing his unique and magical world of fabric and form. 

One of the most inspiring artists we met was Michele Adrien, a framer. Not at all the typical framer you would find to simply beautify your artwork, her frames exhibit a work of art in themselves. She uses the endless resources of her conceptual and creative mind (plus, she was once a mathematician so her measurements are exact), to complement the art in question, using materials such as lead, glass, foam, wood, copper, even a milk carton. My engineer is now convinced that he too will become an artist. 

Never again will I pass this little street in the Marais, la Cité Dupetit Thouars, without smiling at the unique world of artists existing behind each unassuming door. 

For the creative souls living in Paris, there are several morning and evening courses in painting/design/sculpture offered within one of these hidden ateliers: www.terre-et-feu.com

passion for travel

There are certain passions or interests, that bond people. Whether it be friends, companions, or those you choose to share your life with. One such passion (the word ‘interest’ simply does not fit here), is my love for travel.

Some of my dearest friends share this passion, leading us to have collected quite an array of travel stories through the years, which we reminisce and laugh about as often as possible. (Beware those not part of the travel clique!) One such story begins in Amsterdam on the eve of the millenium and ends in a castle in Scotland just last week…

Since my first trip to Poland at the age of 2, before my lips could properly utter sentences in either Polish or English, my eyes became larger and more curious. For this I thank my parents. I became fascinated with foreign tastes and sounds, even those as simple as wild strawberries from my grandmother’s garden, and certain vegetables I still can’t find anywhere else in the world. I began to love the energy of movement, being able to play with time, as you pass from one time zone to another. As a child, and even up until a few years ago, I dared not sleep en route, in order to savour the sacred anticipation prior to arrival or reflection upon departure. Now I am more than happy to sleep and wake up rested. (Older or simply wiser?)

When I first met my Italian, aside from the short and sweet exchange that caused a lengthy conversation to ensue (it wasn’t simply his sexy accent that did the trick), we spoke all about travel. As fate would have it, during my around-the-world trip I had spent a memorable 5 days in the village of his birth, Monterosso, and was very pleased to express my enthusiasm for this ‘paradise found’. This village has since become my second home. It was in fact his sense of adventure, having arrived to NYC for a holiday, that led our paths to cross. It was not yet our time during my stay in Monterosso. Yes, patience is a virtue.

Our most memorable (and first) trip to date was Corsica last June. We explored the southern region of this enchanted island, also known as the Île de Beauté. A perfect mix of natural wilderness in the form of uninhabited beaches and needle-shaped mountains. Most spectacular was Bonifacio with it’s majestic cliffs and old town overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. Surely a place in which to lose yourself in a myriad of natural landscapes. The dream of Corsica shall soon continue as we are planning to explore the northern region this summer.

Along with this passion for travel which has surely bonded us, comes our affinity for foreign foods, natural beauty, ancient history (more him) and various forms of art (more me). Am I missing anything?

melancholic air

I often feel like an optimist living in a world of pessimists. In other words, an ex-pat living in Paris. At first, and even second glance, Parisians do not appear a happy bunch. They rarely smile or laugh and formality is evident in their manner of speech and body language. Is this attitude contagious? Will I become more serious and less smiley in time?

What is the reason behind this seemingly grim outlook on life? Perhaps this pensive look is a facade, meant to imply depth and intelligence. The French highly value knowledge and like to question almost anything. And anyone, for that matter. This is all in high contrast to the ‘light and happy’ approach to life Americans are known to possess. (I tend to live somewhere inbetween.)

The French are lucky, given the expansive healthcare system and 35-hour work week, not to mention the haute cuisine, enchanting landscapes…I could go on. France is a country often rated number one in terms of ‘Quality of Life’. There is no reason not to feel the joie de vivre. Unless there is a secret I have not been privy to. 

Perhaps we can blame the weather for this ‘melancholic air’. It’s currently Spring and the temperature rarely exceeds 60 degrees fahrenheit. More often than not, the sky is filled with clouds releasing torrents of rain. I can sulk beneath the varying shades of gray, spend late afternoons at a local cafe plotting a protest, or debating Carla Bruni-Sarkozy’s socio-political role in French affairs. Or any number of philosophical musings.

Or I can continue to search for that and those which make me smile. And simply enjoy what is. Aware that after the rain the sun will shine, and I might even catch a glimpse of a rainbow.


love in a day

Today marks my anniversary of love. Not the day I met this handsome man so serendipitously on the street, nor the day I arrived to Paris to begin this grand adventure, but the day somewhere inbetween when we both knew our childhood dreams of love had finally been realized. I remember it all so well. The soundtrack to these defining days includes the Cinderella Opera at Lincoln Center followed by a live performance by my most revered blues singer Etta James. At Last! Can it get any more romantic than that? Most of all I remember the words spoken and the feelings shared. The promise of forever, a word that should never be taken lightly, nor ever taken for granted. 

I think about all the days leading towards this one. The act of falling in love, the many  steps along the way, most taken without hesitation or looking back. When something, in the form of someone, feels so natural it is impossible to walk away. In my experience, as the romantic that I am, you must simply allow yourself to be taken, confidant that the who is much more relevant than the how, where and why. The when becomes the day you look back upon and smile, knowing there was no other path.

Love cannot be summed up in a day, or even in a lifetime. Each day should be uniquely cherished and celebrated. How the years will unfold remains a mystery, which days will stand apart from others, making their mark upon the calendar of our lives. Regardless, May 7th will always be our day.

Everyone has their own unique story. Some have yet to experience it (my advice: enjoy the journey until that day finds you). For those willing to tell, which day most symbolizes love for you? (No, Valentine’s Day does not count.)

the journey of success

These days I think a lot about my life, what I have done, how I have done it, and what I have yet to do. The word success comes to mind as my ego struggles to come to terms with a life in which I am currently undefined by work or social status. Does ‘open-minded ex-pat from NYC’ count? 

Success is defined as: the achievement of something desired, planned, or attempted. By definition I consider myself successful, having desired a career in advertising, planned a trip around the world, and attempted love. All of which I have achieved. The latter of which I consider the most important and most difficult to succeed in. (Perhaps why such an emphasis is placed on career, it’s much more manageable than matters of the heart.)

Why then am I struggling with the destination, the who and what I will be in the context of this new life, when it’s in fact the journey that causes us to become, and eventually to succeed. As I have become before and will become again. Can I not revel in the role of a girl in love staring at the sky? It just happens to be a sky I am not accustomed to, above a world lacking definitions. Perhaps I have become programmed after so many years of over-stimulation and professional endeavors in a society where success has no limits and is often measured monetarily. It was much more about the doing than the being. I tended not to agree with this mentality but I was indeed a part of it.

Along the way, did I lose sight of the simple pleasures in self-discovery? In the fulfillment of personal achievements that are exclusive of the ego? Of what, and more importantly who, is truly significant in life? Now, as it’s presented to me every morning in the form of a smiling face and anticipatory eyes, I understand that this, by all accounts, is the truest measure of success. Achievement in it’s most pure, simple and gratifying form, love. The journey has only just begun.