My summer vacation has just commenced, and I am overwhelmingly ready to begin the next chapter of my life. After working as an intern in the curatorial department in a local university's art museum this summer, I will leave Texas and embark on a year-long adventure en France-- Paris, more specifically. I have awaited this experience for as long as I can remember and plan to use this medium of expression as a way to capture and share the experiences of my life thus far as well as all that lies ahead of me in Paris and beyond.
In order for you, the reader, to become better acquainted with me, my writing, and my passions for France and architecture, below is a little piece I recently wrote for a beautiful and gorgeously written blog, GrandsAmours, by an equally wonderful woman, Sara, who I had the great fortune of meeting several years ago in Nice, France.
I look forward to sharing my thoughts and stories with all of you as well as wish you bonne nuit and happy reading!
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L’euphorie—a feeling that can only be felt in Paris. The architectural grandeur, the cuisine and, bien sûr, the general atmosphere that radiates off the hidden streets and winding pathways all create an experience unlike any other. I generally shy away from clichés, but Paris truly is magical. As a French major, I have learned that it is one thing to love French and quite another to love la France. And furthermore, admiring Voltaire or Flaubert is not the same as admiring le jardin du Luxembourg or l’Eglise Saint-Paul-Saint-Louis—one of my all time favorite churches on rue Saint-Antoine in the quatrième. While I have only been to Paris twice, the self-discovery I have achieved in these two contrasting experiences is indispensable to my identity.
During my first stay in Paris, I was participating in an academic program, which culminated in a four-day trip to explore as much as possible in as little time as possible. No time to sleep, even less time to eat, and a regrettable avoidance of the métro made for a stressful “séjour,” but we somehow managed to fit visits to les grands musées—the Louvre, Musée d’Orsay, and Musée Picasso, to name a few—as well as Notre-Dame de Paris, Sacré-Coeur, the Tour Eiffel. Yet our chaotic itinerary left little time for self-reflection. I could appreciate the unmistakably different way of life. Clearly, the glory of the Tour Eiffel and built environment of the city were moving, but I found myself unable to differentiate between the feelings of being impressed and being inspired. But by the time my understanding began to flourish, I was on a chartered bus en route to Charles de Gaule where a flight to Dallas/Ft. Worth awaited me. I resented my return to reality—of that I was sure—and anxiously awaited my next trip that would not come for three more years.
Upon returning to Dallas just in time for my senior year of high school, I immersed myself in French, Paris, France—anything and everything I could get my hands on. I dreamt of a life in Paris, a love affair with Guillaume Canet, and of acting in a Jean-Pierre Jeunet film. As time passed, I continued to feed this unquenchable desire for la vie à la française. The most important contribution to my passion for la France was architecture. I began to study architectural history when I arrived at university. My research projects focused on the cathedrals of France, leading up to my greatest research endeavor: the study of imperial architecture in Paris and Algiers during the reign of Napoléon III. It was during the rule of Napoléon III—aka, Louis-Napoléon—that Paris as we know it was formed. Following a comprehensive makeover and the “necessary expulsion” of les pauvres de la ville, iconic landmarks like Notre-Dame de Paris and l’Opéra Garnier were intentionally framed by the newly organized streets of Paris, thus creating a city that spotlighted the strength and expertise of France’s architecture as well as the urban planning orchestrated by architects like Baron Haussmann. While it is certainly not necessary to view Paris from an architectural perspective, for me, the ability to merge these two passions—architecture and France—contributed to an unparalleled experience during mon deuxième séjour.
Victor Hugo once said, “Architecture has recorded the great ideas of the human race.” As a writer who relied greatly upon architecture—both in its literal, physical form and its role in constructing a novel—and who serves as one of the great literary representatives of France, it is hard to deny the truth of Hugo’s words.
I returned to Paris this past summer and was fortunate to stay with my best friend, Juliette, and her family who live in a remarkable 18th century flat in the seizième. Juliette worked four out of the six days of my stay, so I prepared myself for the second round of adventures on which I would be embarking. Naturally, I made it a point to visit the more “touristy” places I had yet to see, but I also formed a list of every chapel, church, and cathedral in Paris and was resolved to visit as many of them as possible—if not all. I am not devoutly religious (and neither is France, for that matter), but the religious monuments of Paris communicate a spiritually impressive experience unlike any other city I have visited. From the overwhelmingly ornate design of la Sainte-Chapelle to the more modest façade of l’Eglise Saint-Séverin, each of these sacred settings emphasize the mystical qualities of Paris and prove—either by the views of the city landscape or the exquisite artwork and stained glass of the interior—that Paris is, in fact, a city that will change your life.
As I sat in one of the pews at l’Eglise Saint-Paul-Saint-Louis, the last religious site on my checklist, I began to sketch my surroundings, moved by the design and its attention to detail. A man standing beside me slowly bowed over to remark, “C’est formidable, non?” I enthusiastically nodded and added, “C’est la plus belle église que j’ai vue de ma vie.” He introduced himself as Thierry and proceeded to ask me why I believed so, and I tried to explain my reasons in architectural terms as best I could. He was curious to know why I did not prefer the Sainte-Chapelle with its grandiose stained glass and ornamentation or Notre-Dame de Paris with its breath-taking view of the cityscape. I was a bit taken aback when Thierry’s question made me realize that l’Eglise Saint-Paul-Saint-Louis matched none of the criteria upon which I had been taught to consider religious architecture. Quelle ironie! There is just enough light to sufficiently light the interior of the église and certainly a generous amount of ornamentation—carvings, gold, and embellished chandeliers—yet there was a distinct and almost-perfect balance of overall grandeur and the inwardly focused personal experience on a human scale. And it hit me that this realization encompassed, for me, the meaning of Paris.
Paris generates euphoria. For me, this state is inspired by the architecture. For others, it is provoked the boutiques, the pastries, or simply the act of being un flâneur, an idler with no intention other than aimless exploration. Architecture tells the story of a place and its people and, in doing so, creates the identity that evokes such feelings as freedom, amusement, or inspiration. Winston Churchill (though not French) noted, “We shape our buildings; thereafter they shape us.” The built environment shapes who we are and the experiences we have throughout our lives whether they are as memorable as one’s first visit to le Tour Eiffel or as quotidien as a quick trip to the marché. There are multiple reasons that Hemingway, Fitzgerald, and numerous American writers flocked to Paris; however, the one that is most important—and that I most intimately understand—is the craving for a different setting that would kindle inspiration, evoke new feelings, and contribute to one’s identity in ways that would forever change one’s outlook on life. A place that would summon l’euphorie—Paris.
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