Jamie Beck and Kevin Burg, Photography, Video, Cinemagraphs, New York City
You don’t have to think about Rodin to feel Rodin. Perhaps, even, it is what you feel first that stays with you after. How can someone sculpt the thoughts of man, the memories of love, the history of humanity with seemingly such ease?… take a walk through the Rodin Museum in Paris on a sparkling afternoon and find yourself haunted by the beauty of his immortalized humanity…
Another autumn has come and gone, another year of memories with fleeting snapshots from Paris to add to my archive. I love Paris in the fall, the dynamic sky, the ease of getting lost in the day just wondering and watching, and the romantic nights when she beings to sparkle like no other. With each passing year I always reset my eyes on this city of photographic love.
“There is never any ending to Paris and the memory of each person who has lived in it differs from that of any other. We always returned to it no matter who we were or how it was changed or with what difficulties, or ease, it could be reached. Paris was always worth it and you received return for whatever you brought to it. But this is how Paris was in the early days when we were very poor and very happy.”
― Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast
Up, up and away we go around the world. Here I am in Paris, a city of never-ending inspiration for me. The past month I have been to Bali, Maine, New York, Germany, Reims, Provence and my favorite city on earth ‘bien sur’, Paris.
There is something about her perfect corridors and boulevards that simply takes my eyes down an endless journey of dreams. There are so many reasons why I love Paris, but mostly it is because she can leave you feeling enchanted, eyes wide open, like watching a beautiful ballerina floating weightless, as if being held up by the dancing musical notes projected from the orchestra below.
In my memories of Paris she remains this white coral shell, precious and valuable and under the full moonlight, absolutely glowing. I stood on the balcony of my Four Seasons Hotel George V suite, jetlagged from my marionetting around the world, and watched her there, quiet and asleep, and completely translucent from the night’s light. It is a gift of travel at times to deliver an altered view of life, be it warped time or foggy daydreams, that puts you in a place you might not have ever been mentally or physically and all the sudden, you see the world in a way that is neither familiar nor dishonest. You see the truth in the beauty of where your body rests at that moment, a clearer present, observing through a mirror that which will again disappear with time. When the lost hours of airplane travel caught up to me, I drifted to sleep wrapped in a French dream of crown modelings, baby blue brush strokes of color and ornately draped curtains whose edges giggled with a can-can line of tassels.
I can’t even remember arriving to Paris that day, having travelled for 24 hours. Did a driver pick me up or did I Uber? I don’t know. The first thing I do recall however, was walking into the lobby of the George V and being hit like a tidal wave of beauty with a wall of flowers exploding in crimson and purple, unforgiving and spellbinding. I gasped, my eyes awake for the first time in hours as I took off my sunglasses and did a full 360 degree turn absolutely breathless at the beauty of this hotel lobby. There are not a lot of hotels that are beautiful enough to distract you from the alluring fact that Paris herself is waiting. This is one of the exceptions. Like only a handful of other Parisian hotels, she is so ingrained in the history and culture of this city that being here feels just the same as being outside. As decadently rich as French culture.
Built in 1928, the Four Seasons Hotel George V is positioned in one of the most luxurious blocks of Paris. A stone’s throw from the Champs-Élysées and the Effiel Tower, her location in the world is among the most prestigious. I felt like royalty swanning around her private balconies with the setting sun. Dining in her restaurants, the modern and feminine L’Orangerie, the elegant and traditional three Michelin starred Le Cinq with the most unforgettable “deconstructed French onion soup” paired with Madeira wine that imprinted my tastebuds so impactfully that I have literally dreamed about it since.
A moment ago I found myself in the glamorous world of the Four Seaons Grand-
I know what it feels like to be up early in the morning, the way the buildings are colder and stronger, the way the steam dances out of the street and off the chimneys of roofs so pure and innocent, untouched by the pollution of the day’s bullshit and congestion. I love that peaceful handoff, the glowing clock of night dimmed and sleepy passing on time to the sunrise of day. The bar flies finishing the last swig of beer, drunkenly caught between yesterday and today, already smelling of tomorrow’s disasters, hazily lost in this seamless transition that has been happening for an eternity. How small we are. How worried we get around the details of our seconds and the price of the ground we stand on. Just look at the sunrise and you will feel like one lucky soul in a moment that is already gone, floating on a place we call earth, that little blue dot among a whole universe of wonder…
Paris is so much to me…a constant source of inspiration, of light study, and beauty. When we stepped off the train from London at Gare de Nord, the smell hit me, that same familiar Parisian smell of coffee and cigarettes, and dusty old books in a garden of roses. The hotel, so quaint, with the Eiffel Tower framed between the walls of the street. We sat in cafes and drank wine, watching the people go about their day, their loves, their minds lost in their own thought. I wonder what they are thinking and have I thought that same thing before? We climbed the stairs of Sacre Coeur, danced with the states at the Louvre, and watched the sunset on Pont Neuf. On a poetic day we found ourselves on a train to Normandy, on a walk through the beaches of Omaha in silence, imagining the horror of war, looking up at the fate of too many. I always love Paris – it’s never goodbye but only I’ll see you soon…. and soon I did.
Have a dreamy weekend…
We have started a tradition of traveling to Paris in the fall. It’s my favorite time to be there. The saturation of colors, the excitement of light layering and new autumn jackets, the light of the day is still long and the temperature is perfect for endless walks. This time in Paris we were guests of Ralph Lauren, to bring light to the new renovation project at the L’École des Beaux-Arts, experience “An American in Paris” and celebrate with a gala as sparkling as the Eiffel tower at night… but the other nights we sat at Pont Neuf and drank wine while watching the sun set, we walked the cobbled streets to film the city as she is today – still so timeless and beautiful -, we picked up treasures for our new studio at the flea market, and we had many amazing meals with friends we have made, friends who call this place home and open their life to us so that we can dream the dreams of Paris….
we are safe to
tell our story here.
(for a week spent floating in Paris,
every year.)
structure,
she has structure,
tough as any skyscraper
though no building here
is more than a few stories.
she has lore.
she has a spirit
thousand of years in the making,
has a romance older than anyone’s memory,
anyone’s happy, lifelong marriage.
she has courage – our word that comes
from “coeur”, from heart.
she has dozens of parts,
arrondisements that speak to one another,
making something like a whole.
she has words
to spare.
she has
our complete trust.
Beyond the quiet cafés is another window into a beautiful world captured through endless walks and an old film camera. Paris, From Me To You:
