I made it. To Paris!
Yes, after all of my dreaming and planning and eating croissants (research purposes, solely...) I have made the Eurostar trip between Kings Cross and the Gare Du Nord, for 12 whole days of solo adventure, whereby I am totally alone and uninhibited to venture as I please.
As dreamy as it sounds, my first morning exploring alone was a terrifying prospect when I first awoke. In actual fact, I spent two entire hours procrastinating, pacing, and generally putting off the moment I would actually have to go outside and face the French! It seems silly, seeing as I not so long ago moved to another country for 7 months. But this was different - here, I am alone. No agent. No other dancers. No band. No venue staff. Just me, and Paris, facing one another.
So I shook myself off, and stepped out into the streets of Paris. And did an avalanche occur? Did cars crash into one another, at the shock of my presence? Did people stop, point, and stare? No. Of course not. And after many blushing attempts when asking for directions, I eventually found my way to the Metro station, bought a 'carnet' of tickets, and made my way to my destination, grinning to myself at my independent endeavours.
Since that morning, I have spent four days exploring big and little corners of the Paris I so looked forward to meeting. Happily, it has exceeded my expectations. I love the French language, and now I am surrounded by road signs, posters, newspapers, and conversations happening all around me to soak up and enjoy.
And then I encountered something I hadn't expected to meet at all. Something I never expected to meet, let alone in this Parisian hideout of mine.
Yesterday, I visited the Pompidou. I was extremely excited to be visiting their modern art collection, and it didn't disappoint. Full of colour, texture, sculpture, sketches, script and photography. I spent several hours wandering it's corridors, pausing sporadically to take note, sketch, write, or photograph. But then I turned a corner, and what I saw took my breath away. In one moment, the breath was deftly removed from my chest.
My eyes fell across a gigantic piece of sculpture that filled a wall, and suddenly all of myself in consequence. I met a vision of what my insides look like. An image of how my mind would appear if it were possible for me to draw it. It was sculpture that I recognised, and all at once I felt almost as if it had been stolen and planned ahead of me, as if whoever made it had been let into all my secrets, and run ahead with blue prints. I genuinely recognised the piece, as if it were an old friend of mine. Somehow, someone already knew something that I did not. How could this be?
My eyes filled with tears, and above the music I was listening to in my earphones, I could suddenly hear every crash and beat of my blood as it tore around my body. My senses, were suddenly overloaded, at the sheer impossibility of it all.
The piece was dark. Huge. Black. Calmly imposing. With rolling curves and textures, it had undeniably presence within the room it resided within. It was huge, and impossible to ignore. Yet amazingly, I observed hundreds and hundreds of gallery visitors wander past it without more than the taking of a photo from their mobile phones. It altogether occurred to me - is this how we see one another as humans? To me, this piece had halted me in my physical and emotional path quite literally. I was overcome with emotion at meeting its heavy presence. But to someone else, it was just an object. Just a thing.
I came to Paris on a mission to enjoy the Paris for what it is - the pretty details, the hidden treasures, the food! I wanted to experience Paris for all of its romance, and its offerings of arts and culture. What I had not planned upon, was coming across a piece of my history.
I did not make the piece. I did not craft it, or bring it to realisation from its planning stages, whatever they might have been to the creator. The piece does not belong to me by rights. Even it's design concept is inspired by a very different idea to what I saw within it. I do not even know the artist. But I do know that in that hour, I was suddenly given a visual reference from which to examine my own head and heart at this stage of my journey. So intoxicated by the sights and sounds of my travels, I had been carried away by an almost ecstatic feeling of happiness. Which was wonderful - but almost as if it was meant to be, something in me was drawn to find something that altogether abruptly brought me back to true vision and centre.
In these moments, I was lead, as I so often am, to think of Liberty's. And of human nature. And in that moment, I felt more strongly than I ever have that Liberty's will be a place that will endeavour to cultivate potential moments of discovery such as this for the people who come to its doors. As is so typical of the Montessori education I was brought up within, self discovery is a powerful weapon in the arts and in life. For me, my Saturday was altered due to the freedom I had to see art that moved me so completely and utterly. And as I am clumsily discovering, these are proving to be the strongest moments of the days I live.
The moments that don't change a person, but confirm their existence in amongst it all. Amongst all of it, even the parts you don't think people can or will see.
HV.
X
Yes, after all of my dreaming and planning and eating croissants (research purposes, solely...) I have made the Eurostar trip between Kings Cross and the Gare Du Nord, for 12 whole days of solo adventure, whereby I am totally alone and uninhibited to venture as I please.
So I shook myself off, and stepped out into the streets of Paris. And did an avalanche occur? Did cars crash into one another, at the shock of my presence? Did people stop, point, and stare? No. Of course not. And after many blushing attempts when asking for directions, I eventually found my way to the Metro station, bought a 'carnet' of tickets, and made my way to my destination, grinning to myself at my independent endeavours.
And then I encountered something I hadn't expected to meet at all. Something I never expected to meet, let alone in this Parisian hideout of mine.
Yesterday, I visited the Pompidou. I was extremely excited to be visiting their modern art collection, and it didn't disappoint. Full of colour, texture, sculpture, sketches, script and photography. I spent several hours wandering it's corridors, pausing sporadically to take note, sketch, write, or photograph. But then I turned a corner, and what I saw took my breath away. In one moment, the breath was deftly removed from my chest.
My eyes fell across a gigantic piece of sculpture that filled a wall, and suddenly all of myself in consequence. I met a vision of what my insides look like. An image of how my mind would appear if it were possible for me to draw it. It was sculpture that I recognised, and all at once I felt almost as if it had been stolen and planned ahead of me, as if whoever made it had been let into all my secrets, and run ahead with blue prints. I genuinely recognised the piece, as if it were an old friend of mine. Somehow, someone already knew something that I did not. How could this be?
My eyes filled with tears, and above the music I was listening to in my earphones, I could suddenly hear every crash and beat of my blood as it tore around my body. My senses, were suddenly overloaded, at the sheer impossibility of it all.
The piece was dark. Huge. Black. Calmly imposing. With rolling curves and textures, it had undeniably presence within the room it resided within. It was huge, and impossible to ignore. Yet amazingly, I observed hundreds and hundreds of gallery visitors wander past it without more than the taking of a photo from their mobile phones. It altogether occurred to me - is this how we see one another as humans? To me, this piece had halted me in my physical and emotional path quite literally. I was overcome with emotion at meeting its heavy presence. But to someone else, it was just an object. Just a thing.
I came to Paris on a mission to enjoy the Paris for what it is - the pretty details, the hidden treasures, the food! I wanted to experience Paris for all of its romance, and its offerings of arts and culture. What I had not planned upon, was coming across a piece of my history.
I did not make the piece. I did not craft it, or bring it to realisation from its planning stages, whatever they might have been to the creator. The piece does not belong to me by rights. Even it's design concept is inspired by a very different idea to what I saw within it. I do not even know the artist. But I do know that in that hour, I was suddenly given a visual reference from which to examine my own head and heart at this stage of my journey. So intoxicated by the sights and sounds of my travels, I had been carried away by an almost ecstatic feeling of happiness. Which was wonderful - but almost as if it was meant to be, something in me was drawn to find something that altogether abruptly brought me back to true vision and centre.
In these moments, I was lead, as I so often am, to think of Liberty's. And of human nature. And in that moment, I felt more strongly than I ever have that Liberty's will be a place that will endeavour to cultivate potential moments of discovery such as this for the people who come to its doors. As is so typical of the Montessori education I was brought up within, self discovery is a powerful weapon in the arts and in life. For me, my Saturday was altered due to the freedom I had to see art that moved me so completely and utterly. And as I am clumsily discovering, these are proving to be the strongest moments of the days I live.
HV.
X