LAST DAY

I tried to think of a way to say goodbye.

To walk and write my farewell messages in the streets.

To leave on a poignant note.

But,

on waking up on this last day i realised that that was unnecessary.

Paris is not about the Hello's and Goodbye's, they are to frequent, the comings and goings.

It is about the time spent.

The is no no need for a dramatic end scene, a final embrace or to be dragged of screaming.

Paris is at a level of performance that these fancies have no place. everyday life is performed within such close proximity that you couldn't deliver such speeches without being interrupted by a scooter on the pavement or a sudden surge of pigeons.

I will say goodbye like i would to a friend

we will walk

nowhere particularly special or memorable

we will see the women in fur coats and the globes in the shop window

and then when it gets rainy, or busy, or cold, or dark, or time, or late, or boring, or sad we'll stop.

I did write a postcard, as a final extraction from Paris, a final sample to take to the lab, one more that the postman might read, one last poem for my collection....

I start my last documented meander by Anvers metro - on a bench is a woman wrapped in a blue and white patterned cloth, she turns to reveal a bright yellow headscarf and a black face, she is young and her legs her surrounded by suitcases.
Old women where fur coats and the papeterie sells globes of all sizes, they glow in the window next to the leather satchels.
I can see all the way to the tall towers, they rise up like shark fins in still waters.
In Franprix they have sprayed the corners of the windows to make them look frosty.
The faucet has been turned on and water spits up over the grid.
In the bakery there is one pear tart and one peach tart left.
Inside four people sit at separate computers, the room is warm and dark, and their faces are individually lit by desk lamps.
On the balcony they have blue pots with tall green plants.
i walk by the lampshade shop, with skeletons hung up high, and the photocopying shop, which i never noticed before.
In the laundrette a man and a woman with a dog on her lap are having a chat.
On rue des matryrs the man in the fish shop is scrubbing in the sink and three children stand on silver scooters. later they shoot past me, as this street goes down hill.

My maps all have beginnings and endings, these are moments of decision or intention - when the pen is on or off the paper. The real map of my time spent here is a swirling spaghetti junction.

The Russian Influence (side projects)

At Jardin Luxembourg it says;

The Russian icebreaker kaptain khlebniov penetrates into an Antarctic ice shelf. Even when its 22000 HP, this powerful icebreaker only passes through the ice at a rate of 4 to 5 km per day.

Under the Russian city of khatanga, the liedniks are cellars dug directly into the permafrost. They are prime examples of the inhabitants amazing adaption to their environment. The temperature remains constant at more or less -18 c

In Russian she is answering the question; Describe Paris as if it were a person..

i will not give you her answer, as the reason i filmed it in her mother tongue is i am interested in this area of not understanding language, in response to my own two months of not understanding french.

other answers on the other hand;

- she is a young woman whose appearance is chic, she wears a wide brim hat and a coat. she is impulsive and does things on a whim but in general her mood is good and she smiles a lot. she wears light make up to show her natural beauty

- he is a young man in a beige suit who smiles at who he chooses

- she is an old woman in a fur coat and stockings with many wrinkles on her face, she is bitter but drinks enough red wine so that she doesn't care

I found everyone (so far) had a different gender/age for Paris, but i understand the choices of each one even if it is not similar to my own. I asked this question i had noticed much of the literature i had read about Paris uses this personification heavily, usually she is a woman...i wanted to see what other people would say. It rose discussion into how Paris is incredibly easy to talk about as a person, it seems more difficult to describe Berlin, London or Moscow...but i haven't really tried

due to cutting of just above the elbows, i decided to pay a little attention to the other half of the body;

In my world of not understanding conversations when on the metro i often cut out the faces that chit chat and focus on hands and feet.

(these two videos are not staged)

walking as narrative technique...and more maps

It has come to my attention that 'walking' is a well used writing tool in novels...the narrative of a walk for descriptive sections or to reveal a situation have occured various times in the novels i have recently been reading...

'I cautiously dressed and left to engage in one of my favorite pasttimes: night walking...just walking until i dropped. out on the street, dutch youths guzzled beer from big mugs. They had torn holes in garbage bags to make raincoats. Stout bars blocked the way to the grotto, but at intervals i saw the glow of hundreds of guttering candles. much later, my wandering brought me back to the street with souvenier stores. In the fourth window, an identical Mary had taken the place of ours.'

The diving bell and the butterfly, jean-dominique bauby, page 67

'He contined to walk. He passed small, dry fields, patterned in rising terraces. With the drought, the planting season had yet to begin, and the soil was turned up in hard, dry clods. The houses were raised at varying heights, their walls like those of the camp buildings, interlaced strips of bamboo woven to create geometrical patterns. The road was empty except some scattered bands of dusty children...it was hot, so hot that even the best soothsayers had failed to forecast that today would be the day that the rains would come again to the shan plateau. The men and women sat and talked in the shade and couldn't understand the Englishman who took walks under such a sun... They walked and followed a trail that rose over a small hill. They passed a house that Khin Myo said belonged to a old woman who had an evil eye, and she warned Edgar to be careful.'

The Piano Tuner, Daniel Mason, page 233

It is also possible that my current occupation of walking increases my awareness of these passages. like when you think of red balloons.

THE REALM OF WALKING;

PHILOSOPHERS
WRITERS/POETS
PILGRIMAGE
PROTEST
MEDITATION
EXCERCISE
TOURISM
ART/PERFORMANCE

to name a few

MORE MAPS;

inspired by situationist psychogeography maps







An experiment into how to map 'encounters' (specifically about travel and nationality) - made from maps, red tape and a photography book on architecture across the world;



In this map - Paris, Greece (Athens), Germany (Berlin), Russia (Saint Petersbourg), Spain and Brasil (Soa Paulo)



In this map - Egypt, mexico, Germany, France

walking with the wrong map

A MAP OF KRAKOW, POLAND
i use the river and the cemetery as anchor points for the map in Paris, i use these to locate where my flat would be, i then walk from my flat in Krakow to the river in Krakow...

On my road, Kopernika, the hospital opposite my door is full of sausages and prostitutes.

I take the second left down Btich, passing the church, though the archway i can see a cafe and the taxi's driving through.

I take a right into grzegorzecka and follow it over the railway bridge which goes from the sfr shop to optic 2000.

I continue down dielta which is overcrowded with people, shops and cafes - small tables obstruct the path.

On crossing stradomska the Christmas lights are bright and a homeless guy plays with his dog on the metro steps.

On the last stretch of dielta the opera is revealed, the bus stops and people hop off and step on.

looking down sukienicza the tower is illuminated, on top is a statue of a man in shadow.

I continue on the most grunwaldki, the bridge that crosses the wisla (the river). There are postcards on a stand and truffles for 21 euros. I dont hear the river but i can see a large sailed boat approaching the bridge, behind which stands the eifel tower. This image rolls away to show a bottle of Vodka.

A MAP OF THE TOKYO SUBWAY, JAPAN

we walk with restriction and rules. the metro stops are port holes, points of change and decision, we change lines, we flip underground for overground, she becomes a filter, i am the navigator and she is my creative eye.

on finding a guide to tokyo

A MAP OF SAN FRANCISCO, USA

(anchor point - china town/porte de choisy)

If i were in San Francisco i would be walking up hill, and later down hill and smell the sea. My feet would most probably be dry and the streets busy and narrow next to a road of cars and picturesque trams. It is easy for me to imagine here as my surroundings are bland box flats that have been striped of all life by the rain - i was told that Parisians are even more miserable when it rains. China town is less of a town and more a gathering of restaurants, the streets are thick with the smell of sweet Chinese sauces, that i picture slipping off chunks of pork. It is Sunday - an empty day. I have been reading a book about monsoons in Burma, so this drizzle is irritating, it is no theatrical show of deafening noise where water pours of leaves like out of a jug, it rests silently on the pavement creeping into my boots. Using this map means i travel in straight lines, following is grid format, i am drawn down boulevards as i trust there straightness more than the side streets that can turn you around without you even knowing. When absorbed in a new map the rest of Paris disappears, i can separate this street, like a toddler i force together one jigsaw piece with a piece from a different jigsaw. It fits if you push hard enough. After becoming familiar with this city, i have a sense of direction, i have built a mental map in my head...these maps allow me to escape this mental map, by dislocating myself, by putting myself in the wrong place. It allows the right frame of mind for drifting as it frees me from decision if i stick to the rules of my new map. this allows chance and surprise. due to the visual obstruction of my umbrella i mostly see just wet pavement, but i do remember how the leaves were pasted to the floor, and a football landing in my path and me letting it roll by, i remember a small boy play fighting with a bigger boy like a puppy, and the sounds of the bells on the buses like the sound of San Francisco trams. This walk was an uncomfortable overlapping of two places, maybe uncomfortable as for the first time i would have rather been walking in San Fransisco with a Paris map, than here with this map.

Gare Du Nord - Train Station Art

A 5 HOUR STATIC DRIFT IN GARE DU NORD (1PM TILL 6PM FRIDAY 28TH NOVEMBER)

The Postcard;

The Gare du Nord is a beautiful structure, it folds out to a delicate archway of thin black lines forming geometrical patterns, reaching back with arms of semi-circle windows and pillar of pale green that branch out like outstretched hands on the roof. It is any lover of symmetries dream. The shell of architectural wonder is filled with all the necessities of modern travel. small yellow machines to validate you ticket..machines in rows of three or four..islands of cafes that support areas of silver chairs..the heaters - pillars of mesh protecting a red light that the travelers huddle by to keep warm. The station is incredibly cold. The homeless who base themselves outside come and hover by the heaters to warm up in short bursts. The travelers wait, looking up, over time the crowds gather, attaching themselves to a heater, flies on a stick of honey. From above it reveals a battle scene, crowds facing each other, separated by the old fashioned departures board, it kicks into action. The small number and letter plates flick over until the right digit is found, it sounds like a hysterical typist has finally cracked - the sound holds the station still until the platform number is released and everyone quickly disperses, marching together. Above this ongoing slow gathering and quick release stands a statue celebrating the opening of the tunnel, and below sits a boy tending to his newly bought train set, he sits on an empty platform once everyone has boarded the train.

Train Station Art (made with found objects, my own sketches and the stations facilities);

An exploration into how to spend time, how to document the spending of time, how to use a place, and the telling of tales of unfamiliar places.