I was doing some Olafur Eliasson research and found this article briefly describing his Icelandic glacier ice exhibition and the words used to describe the pieces of ice brought to New York by Ned Beauman caught my attention. He described these chunks of ice as “individual and real and lost.” But why lost?
Just because they’ve been displaced, just because they’re not where they should be naturally, just because their home is temporary and their environment hostile to their constitution. They’re not lost, these ice chunks have been found.
It’s not often a stranger asks you to come to Paris. Too bad, I tried to play down the gesture, wrapping it in the trappings of the casual when I wanted the romantic but felt like an idiot for wanting it. Lessons learned and if a next time ever comes, I’ll do things differently. I didn’t take any good photographs that day, too consumed with myself and the person I was with. I willfully missed the Henri Cartier-Bresson exhibition at Centre Pompidou losing much respect for myself as a professed photographer and my fucking favorite one. To my credit, I had no idea that the exhibition was EPIC.
The next day was a French National holiday May 1st, everything was closed and it was raining. My shoes got completely soaked. I was told I was lost, conservative, judgmental, and gloomy. I ate the saddest two little crêpes for lunch. Why do people try to give you life advice when they don’t want to be apart of your life? Why would they ever think I would listen to their advice? After I was told I was lost, I physically did get lost, missing the stairs down to the RER train and exiting right out. In the airport, running frantically around trying to get back to check-in from security check which was confusing because I had to go through baggage claim which gave me the impression I really was lost even though everyone kept telling me this was the right way.
The day before I got to kiss a beautiful boy in Paris. But then I got the next day and in bits and pieces the story of his Great Love, the girl he was crazy about… With no one to talk of myself, I just gave random, meaningless anecdotes of my one male friend, FAR from being my great love. When asked point blank if I had ever experienced mutual love, in which I had seen the lowest point this person could reach and still loved them, my answer was no.
For all the emotions I felt that day, from longings of romance to idiocy, happiness to reality and despair in the first degree, these are the few images from that day.