a memory of the smell of smoke

i have this thing that i always do...
enter these contests to win trips to wonderful getaways,
like barcelona and paris.
the entry forms usually include a bit to offer your own quip
of the city and why you want to visit it.
i always take a decent amount of time and conjure up something
completely over the top about the locale and my recent
bit for the YSL parisienne contest was no different,
actually, i deem this one the most blown up yet...
i think its quite funny.
it started from my entry last year for a flavorpill trip to paris
(which i did not win)

the pale lights and mysterious darkness of Paris cast a
glow and haze over its sights. The ambiguity of both the
soft sparkle and shadow, high and low of everyday Parisian
life inspire my work in photography and painting. From the cafes
to the catacombs, I aspire to explore the light, dark and all the
rooftop shades of grey in between. Paris leaves its lovers with
a glint in their eye and a melancholy in their hearts. I'd like to be
one of them and take my journey to inform my creative palate.

now for the YSL Parisienne bit...


Soft Sparkle and Shadow, the Fragrant Air of a Charmed Life

The pale lights and mysterious darkness of Paris cast a
glow and haze over its sights. The ambiguity of both the
soft sparkle and shadow, high and low of everyday inspire the
Vie Parisienne. From the cafes to the catacombs, there is a light,
dark and all the rooftop shades of grey in between. Paris leaves its
lovers with a glint in their eye and a melancholy in their hearts,
a never-ending longing for the city of light and spirit.

Every time I leave Paris and travel to other cities, I can feel the
essence trail behind me. I have sat in cafes in Prague, looked out
rooftop windows in New York and walked quiet winding streets in
Sevilla and felt the lingering air of Paris. It is as if the zephyr Parisienne
has flowed and followed me in every locale since my last stop within
its walls. This current forms a constant aroma that embodies and invites
all in its path, but is forever Parisienne.

The spirit of Parisienne is like an old suitcase for a truly chic lady traveler.
The make is of no concern, it is beautifully crafted of dusty worn leather
and has stamps from its exotic destinations, some a bit faded, while others
are barely visible. You see it has made loops around this world, but holds its
true refinement so steady. It has a classic origin, a history, a charm, but is a
persuasive individual of its own. I take this suitcase, this experience around
the world with me and place it at my doorstep upon my return to my own
city of New York, where the experience Parisienne also lies.

There is a jazz bar in Brooklyn I go to on weeknights. I can sit and
have an aperitif and watch the smoky shadows of its mysterious interior.
I can tap my Tribute heel to a beguiling rhythm and the room melts into
the one I was once in St. Germain. A beaten bar beneath the street,
one you would never find, but you are inexplicably led to by chance.
A night of dancing and vin rouge, an evening so unforgettable and
one you blissfully remember with such simplicity.

Seated in front of a steamy cafe au lait at Balthazar in Soho in the
early morning winter copper haze. The place is nearly empty save
for an early bird businessman and maybe some writers of sorts. It is easy
to slip into this moment and enjoy the soft sights in the antiqued mirrors.
It is effortless to lose yourself and look through the glass and set your eyes
on a calm morning in Le Marais.

The experience Parisienne is busy with the beat, loving and longing, a fragrant
air that twirls a charmed life together.

love you, like i do

this song and really this entire animal collective album
played endless into my ears during my time in barcelona this past june.
i cannot separate the images and colours of my walks in the city,
through the moderisme and late at night along the beach on my way home,
with the wild romance of this music.
i swear these tunes were created to play in the catalan capital.
'in the flowers' makes me want to dance and scream, i love it.

in the flowers, official video, animal collective

be brave

view from my private cove on the costa brava

in the nuns bathhouse

when i was half looking, i found caelum. its a wonderful, old school, victorian cafe 

set on site of an old jewish bathhouse. all the treats and sweets served are made 

by nuns and monks all over spain. 

i have to admit, the first time i went, hung out with jasmine tea and corozones coookies,

i seriously thought, 'maybe being a nun and making marzipan cookies and rose elixir in

the mountains of spain is a good gig'

planning to stock up on my return trip.

caelum

c/palla 8

barcelona

playa perfecta

a greatest pleasure to see these lovely faces on my way

whit and ken at poblenou playa, before the orxata

we drink, we kiss and say goodbye

A first round of faces that I have come to know on this journey
and now must depart from. Ramon. Raffa. Laura. Pete.

sing into my mouth

i was introduced to this cookbook during my wwofing experience in Andalucia
and had the chance to make a couple of the recipes,
including paella and pea soup with jamon
there is a concentration on dishes from Andalucia and especially those
with a Moroccan influence - it already has a place on my kitchen shelf

cadiz by the sea

flight paths

Timo, the Finn that surfs like he was born to.

death in this afternoon

(caution sign. this is an intense and descriptive depiction of what goes down during

a bullfight-so i would skip this one if you are uneasy or simply uninterested, i won't take offense)

because it was feria, the opening of bullfighting season and i was in Sevilla, where the substance

of the corrida was developed, my desire to witness a spanish bullfight had reached max capacity.

saturday morning in the centre, i found a taquilla and had a word with the hombre aqui.

he convinced me that evening there were tickets for prime viewing and i secured my seat.

on my way to La Maestranza, Sevillanos were gearing up for the rounds with with alcohol in

all the little bars in El Arenal. i picked up a striped seat cushion and made my way in.

of course, chaos spanish style. yo penso que they love acting a bit mad here.

the plaza de torreos was beautiful and the scene was unreal-ladies in their flamenco,

many and most in straw hats and nearly everyone with swatting fans.

at 18:30, we are introduced to the cast. tres matadors, their cuadrillas (helpers),

the picadores (on horseback) and banderillos parade in.

after a bit of paparazzi and fanfare, the saffron ring is cleared and things get under way.

the first bull, fiercely runs into the ring and is agitated by the banderillos with pink capes.

toro is getting pissed off and its obvious because he is chasing after the banderillos

and slamming his horns against the wooden barricades they hide behind.

a horn sounds and next up are the picadores and things get intense.

dos hombres on horses have long spear like sticks, known as picadores and their goal

is to stab the bull in the back of the neck to weaken him.

the banderillos coax the bull over and the picador takes his stab. the bull is bleeding

from the next and now trying to slam the horse into the wall. its hardcore and at one point

one of the horses has been knocked down and the picadore pulled out of the ring.

after a bit of this, another horn.

and its the banderillos go. each of three dudes have dos banderillas,

(little poles with barbed ends and colourful streamers)

they do a bit of preening, tip toeing and dancing around and then swiftly waltz up to

the toro and festoon him in the neck with these daggers. i imagine this must be a truly

courageous act, running up to an angry bull in your fantastic traje de luces,

(i quite fancied the naranja one!) and not much else.

another horn and its the real deal.

the matador with his pink cape comes into the ring. its just him and the toro and

things get quite mesmerizing.

the dance between the bull and matador is in slow motion and almost romantic.

each matador has a different approach-one quietly coaxes the toro to venga (come)

and lets the pink fabric fall over the bulls back, another lets the spanish machissmo

fly and juts his pelvis in the toros face and plum around for the spanish audience, who

are totally loving it. this matador did have the moves though, he literally jumped up in

the air and did this wild spin move.

so the matador has his flirt with the bull and then when he decides enough is enough,

he gets the sword. he has got to get the bulls head down and be directly in front of him

to make a smooth kill. matador in verde does just this, takes his cut and the bull staggers

and falls. i think he was deemed the winner, after his first round, the crowd was waving

little white kerchiefs in a sign of approval. (noone else got this, Sevillanos are notorious

for being hard to please in the corrida)

the bull is now tied to a band of horses and pulled out of the ring.

the whole scene happens five more times.

i found it to be fascinating and like nothing i have ever seen.

the spanish love it and are so visibly proud of this art.