Lettres d'un inconnu
You know those days where you find yourself on a blog and suddenly its words and subjects and life recounts has you wrapped around it's little finger? Suddenly it's 10:48PM and you've forgotten all about the rest of the world in search of it.
That happened to me this evening. Night crept up on me, the lights in my little Parisian dwelling are all off and have been since the night before because I did not notice the sun follow Big Dog to bed. I was too wrapped up in the gorgeous new insight I was getting into my new home, the city of lights and love, to notice the actual city change it's hue.
It was, however, all worthwhile. So much new urban discovery to experience first hand as soon as the sun rises, and tomorrow, a Sunday, is the perfect time to do so! The city is in siesta mode all day and it's just me and the returning warm weather (thank goodness - the way the weather suddenly changed last Monday was so off putting. I felt like we'd never see a dry sidewalk again!) to enjoy each others company. It will be a perfect opportunity to give my camera a new lease on life and breathe in the air of the city in places I never knew existed - until now.
Tomorrow there is a food truck fiesta down along the Seine which I will refuel at in the late afternoon, but in the morning I will take myself to Promonade Plantée (or La Coulée Verte) to be a regular flaneur Parisienne and walk the 5km old rail-line-turn-continuous-garden and just chill out. How odd it will feel to be walking alone a suspended rail line through the urban metropolis of buildings with trees gracefully nodding to one another. I am looking forward to this complete Parisian paradox.
One other thing I came across this evening was something completely wonderful. Letters written to you from a total stranger. Their 'slogan' if you will use that term is "Since when haven't you received a beautiful letter?" And that is exactly right. I mean, apart from debt collectors arranged notices from that Bruce Willis DVD you rented from Blockbuster several months ago. That isn't beautiful by any means... (my personal suggestion for such a situation is to leave the country and avoid all financial responsibilities).
I do believe a Zine in Newcastle, Australia has something called Y.O.U. which follows a similar theme, where by they address the reader as "you" and trail off with some story of their visit to their parent's place or something completely irrelevant yet soothing. When I first moved to Newcastle it was one of those things about the place that made me love it even more, and I can say the same thing about this little idea.
Lettres d'un Inconnu is a brilliant way to engage more people with the delightful pre-iMessage time of communication - getting lost in words rather than reducing yourself to a 140 character limit. If not keeping those company with it's gorgeous words, it inspires people to enjoy receiving, and sending, letters to people - whether they know them or not. The moment you rip open an envelope you are instantly transported to an inner-mind montage of images, memories and goodness.
I have signed up and cannot wait to get my own letter from a stranger, and maybe send one myself.
That happened to me this evening. Night crept up on me, the lights in my little Parisian dwelling are all off and have been since the night before because I did not notice the sun follow Big Dog to bed. I was too wrapped up in the gorgeous new insight I was getting into my new home, the city of lights and love, to notice the actual city change it's hue.
It was, however, all worthwhile. So much new urban discovery to experience first hand as soon as the sun rises, and tomorrow, a Sunday, is the perfect time to do so! The city is in siesta mode all day and it's just me and the returning warm weather (thank goodness - the way the weather suddenly changed last Monday was so off putting. I felt like we'd never see a dry sidewalk again!) to enjoy each others company. It will be a perfect opportunity to give my camera a new lease on life and breathe in the air of the city in places I never knew existed - until now.
Tomorrow there is a food truck fiesta down along the Seine which I will refuel at in the late afternoon, but in the morning I will take myself to Promonade Plantée (or La Coulée Verte) to be a regular flaneur Parisienne and walk the 5km old rail-line-turn-continuous-garden and just chill out. How odd it will feel to be walking alone a suspended rail line through the urban metropolis of buildings with trees gracefully nodding to one another. I am looking forward to this complete Parisian paradox.
One other thing I came across this evening was something completely wonderful. Letters written to you from a total stranger. Their 'slogan' if you will use that term is "Since when haven't you received a beautiful letter?" And that is exactly right. I mean, apart from debt collectors arranged notices from that Bruce Willis DVD you rented from Blockbuster several months ago. That isn't beautiful by any means... (my personal suggestion for such a situation is to leave the country and avoid all financial responsibilities).
I do believe a Zine in Newcastle, Australia has something called Y.O.U. which follows a similar theme, where by they address the reader as "you" and trail off with some story of their visit to their parent's place or something completely irrelevant yet soothing. When I first moved to Newcastle it was one of those things about the place that made me love it even more, and I can say the same thing about this little idea.
Lettres d'un Inconnu is a brilliant way to engage more people with the delightful pre-iMessage time of communication - getting lost in words rather than reducing yourself to a 140 character limit. If not keeping those company with it's gorgeous words, it inspires people to enjoy receiving, and sending, letters to people - whether they know them or not. The moment you rip open an envelope you are instantly transported to an inner-mind montage of images, memories and goodness.
I have signed up and cannot wait to get my own letter from a stranger, and maybe send one myself.
