On Paris and Learning to Honor What Is
« A beauty is a beauty is a beauty. » ~Gertrude Stein
A week ago, I was in Paris with my mother-in-law and dear friend. The weather was perfect—blue skies, crisp air, warm sun. I had not planned to be in Paris this fall, but work in London conspired for me to serendipitously join them. When one is in London, one goes to Paris.
On Sunday morning, we walked through the Marché aux Oiseaux (bird market) in Île de la Cité on our way to the Marais. Rows and rows of caged birds tweeted their songs as people lined up to take photos. A pair of wild pigeons on the rooftop looked upon the market as a pair of identical caged grey pigeons (aka rock doves) caught my eye. I wondered what they might all be thinking as I admired their iridescent wings before catching sight of two white Frillback pigeons in the next row. I gasped at their ornate feathers, like fine lace. One of the attendants walked toward me to help.
« Es vous intéressé? » he asked.
« Non, non, je ne parle français, » I stammered, pointing at the birds. « Très beau. Très belle. »
« Comme toi, » he said, playfully and platonically placing a finger on my chin with a smile. So French.
In that moment I felt a whoosh through my body, a sense of connection to the birds (caged and free), the market, Paris, this unexpected trip with my mother-in-law and friend, this moment in life, everything that has happened over the past three years, that man who seemed more like a family member than a stranger 3,676 miles from New York, a brother. And with that connection, I felt myself let go of something heavy inside. A few moments later when I tried to buy a delicate palm-sized wicker bird nest, I was motioned away with two words, “un cadeau.”
There is a commitment to beauty in Paris, even in the more rundown corners of the city most tourists like me never visit. Celebration of beauty as religion. Beauty as breath. Nourishment. Joie de vivre. And in that a sort of Zen, an acceptance of what is, an acknowledgment of your part in the cycle of life and a commitment to practice acts of beauty as a salve.
I later met a young woman named Sussan Shokranian whose sustainable clothing line is all about finding beauty in what others would discard. She takes “forgotten” luxury fabric, called dead stock, and transforms it into works of art—perhaps a beautiful lace blouse like the one I bought or a delicate handbag adorned with flowers. There is something deeply poetic in making something beautiful from what is left, rescuing innate beauty before it is lost.
I feel it when walking along the Seine on a rainy day. I am always struck by that same kind of defiant beauty in a city that has seen war firsthand—gilded columns, opulent lions and stone gargoyles on the Beaux-Arts buildings proudly bending the light while seeming to say, storms will come, but we will always shine.
Back in New York, nature was in its full glory this weekend as we drove up to the house. Between traveling and one of the busiest Septembers that I can remember, part of me just wanted to stay in bed in Inwood all weekend, but I needed to see the trees.
My ears popped as we climbed up the mountain toward our house. Chartreuse leaves shimmied like jazz hands at the roadside before the view opened to the mountainside looking like someone had sprinkled paprika across its hills. It reminds me of the manic end in a favorite opera, the heroine jumps out of bed, ecstatic with love and song before collapsing from consumption: Celebrate life, all of it! After years of working through hating the end of summer and dreading the cold, I’ve learned to love this part of the season, even though I know it portends winter.
The colorful leaves are a triumph. As the days get darker and the temperature drops, trees stop producing green chlorophyll in order to conserve energy at the trunk. The technicolor effect is a celebration of life, one that marks what has passed and one that heralds what we hope will come next spring. In this time of constant change and uncertainty, or this time of heightened awareness of that change, the beauty and message of the leaves bring me comfort. We are part of a natural and mystical cycle. We are not alone. We are what is. Un cadeau.
I love your magic with words.
Nothing better to read on our Sundays. Thank you, Carla <3