Journal
Fragments of a creative life
A moveable feast
“If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you…”
Ernest Hemingway
“If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you…”
Ernest Hemingway
I travelled widely in my younger years, living in different cities, each leaving their own trace. Later, more mature, I arrived in Paris.
It didn’t feel like a beginning. More like a place where everything I had lived before could finally converge.
The city works for me as a container for memory and experience, quietly stirring them, letting them collide and evolve.
From that mixture, something beautiful sometimes emerges.
Fog
For me, fog feeds the imagination. It refuses to reveal the landscape all at once, asking you to trust that what has disappeared from view is still there.
For me, fog feeds the imagination. It refuses to reveal the landscape all at once, asking you to trust that what has disappeared from view is still there.
In a way, if you think about it, fog doesn't add anything to the world, it takes things away.
And, much like the finest paintings, it is through that absence that what truly matters begins to emerge…
True North
Glimpses of Canada's breathtaking wilderness, where black and white transforms the landscape into something timeless.
I still vividly remember a long walk along an old trail with my other half.
Glimpses of Canada's breathtaking wilderness, where black and white transforms the landscape into something timeless.
I still vividly remember a long walk along an old trail with my other half.
Surrounded by the silence of those vast landscapes, we followed abandoned railway tracks as a gentle rain began to fall.
The atmosphere was impossible to recreate, something quietly magical,
revealed only to those willing to slow down, to truly see, and to deeply feel.