A policeman’s diligently walking past a flat, whose entrance looks like a monster’s mouth. It’s just as if the devilish mouth was watering for the policeman. Clic. A butcher’s just finished carving a veal. Strangely enough, his apron is dashingly white, almost the same colour as the mouth of the animal, which is still lying on the work bench. Clic. Jardin du Luxembourg, in Paris, two wee little white-hooded girls are running after their mother, contrasting with the massive bulk of a statue in the foreground. Clic.
These are some of the scenes you can witness in Paris, and even more if, like me, you like photographs. Because these scenes I’ve just depicted are moments snatched from eternity by Robert Doisneau, certainly the most famous Paris photographer. Paris. Paris. Paris, cultural capital of the world. Paris, artistic centre of the universe. I’m not only being bombastic. Look, just think of Paris. I’m sure pictures are popping up in your mind. Now think of Paris, and think of a man who dedicated his life to taking photographs of Paris. Robert Doisneau is famous for his frank and often-humorous depictions of Parisian street life. You probably know his most famous work, which he entitled Le Baiser de l’Hôtel de Ville. In this picture, a young couple passionately kiss one another in front of the city Townhall. Right now I’m queuing... guess where? in front of the Hôtel de Ville. Supreme acknowledgment of Doisneau’s gift, it is hosting a retrospective retracing the photographer’s love affair with the city he admired.
I am here not only because it is free, but also because a Parisian myself for now 20 years, I couldn’t miss this exhibition. It’s ten to ten in the morning. Early dwellers are already here with me. Some of them are holding umbrellas. I’m standing there, oblivious to the raindrops that are vigorously crashing on my forehead. And I’m gently eavesdropping on my neighbours: “Robert Doisneau knew Paris like the back of his hand. The city was his muse,” a plump woman is saying to her husband. A connoisseur I think. That is my sole regret: I’m too young. I cannot say that I know Paris like the back of my hand; so that’s why I’m here now, to catch up with my origins. Still a few minutes to wait and I’ll be in. In some kind of temporal journey that will take me through 280 saynettes of Paris’ everyday life. 1934 – 1991, 57 years during which Robert Doisneau has paced Paris up and down, during which he immortalized the instantaneous, with the help of his camera. But Gosh I’m not alone, it’s crowded in the townhall, tourists are here as well. It is for them quite a clever way to get acquainted with Paris’ history indeed. I’m elbowing my way so that I can manage to peer at the photographs. Never mind. It’s like in a dream, all those Parisians in the pictures, they make me think of ancestors my mother has shown me, same hair style, same outfit. And of course, the photographs are in black and white. If Doisneau were there, he would take photos of us visitors: we are smiling, thinking, just reacting to what we see. I myself happen to giggle, for instance with the picture of this dowdy lady being horrified in front of an erotic painting, whereas her husband pretends to be looking somewhere else.
I’ve almost finished the exhibition, and I’m thinking that as soon as I get out of the townhall, I will be in Paris again. Perhaps my eyes will see Paris differently; perhaps my eyes will unravel some everyday life mysteries, the littlest things that you normally neglect. This retrospective is like an awakening, like a conversion. Last picture on the wall: other anonymous Parisians, this time a young boy and his mother, playing in the street with a stick and a hoop. All those anonymous Parisians are now part of Paris history, thanks to Robert Doisneau. Give this man a camera and he turns street life into unforgettable pictures. Doisneau, or the aesthetic conjurer.
These are some of the scenes you can witness in Paris, and even more if, like me, you like photographs. Because these scenes I’ve just depicted are moments snatched from eternity by Robert Doisneau, certainly the most famous Paris photographer. Paris. Paris. Paris, cultural capital of the world. Paris, artistic centre of the universe. I’m not only being bombastic. Look, just think of Paris. I’m sure pictures are popping up in your mind. Now think of Paris, and think of a man who dedicated his life to taking photographs of Paris. Robert Doisneau is famous for his frank and often-humorous depictions of Parisian street life. You probably know his most famous work, which he entitled Le Baiser de l’Hôtel de Ville. In this picture, a young couple passionately kiss one another in front of the city Townhall. Right now I’m queuing... guess where? in front of the Hôtel de Ville. Supreme acknowledgment of Doisneau’s gift, it is hosting a retrospective retracing the photographer’s love affair with the city he admired.
I am here not only because it is free, but also because a Parisian myself for now 20 years, I couldn’t miss this exhibition. It’s ten to ten in the morning. Early dwellers are already here with me. Some of them are holding umbrellas. I’m standing there, oblivious to the raindrops that are vigorously crashing on my forehead. And I’m gently eavesdropping on my neighbours: “Robert Doisneau knew Paris like the back of his hand. The city was his muse,” a plump woman is saying to her husband. A connoisseur I think. That is my sole regret: I’m too young. I cannot say that I know Paris like the back of my hand; so that’s why I’m here now, to catch up with my origins. Still a few minutes to wait and I’ll be in. In some kind of temporal journey that will take me through 280 saynettes of Paris’ everyday life. 1934 – 1991, 57 years during which Robert Doisneau has paced Paris up and down, during which he immortalized the instantaneous, with the help of his camera. But Gosh I’m not alone, it’s crowded in the townhall, tourists are here as well. It is for them quite a clever way to get acquainted with Paris’ history indeed. I’m elbowing my way so that I can manage to peer at the photographs. Never mind. It’s like in a dream, all those Parisians in the pictures, they make me think of ancestors my mother has shown me, same hair style, same outfit. And of course, the photographs are in black and white. If Doisneau were there, he would take photos of us visitors: we are smiling, thinking, just reacting to what we see. I myself happen to giggle, for instance with the picture of this dowdy lady being horrified in front of an erotic painting, whereas her husband pretends to be looking somewhere else.
I’ve almost finished the exhibition, and I’m thinking that as soon as I get out of the townhall, I will be in Paris again. Perhaps my eyes will see Paris differently; perhaps my eyes will unravel some everyday life mysteries, the littlest things that you normally neglect. This retrospective is like an awakening, like a conversion. Last picture on the wall: other anonymous Parisians, this time a young boy and his mother, playing in the street with a stick and a hoop. All those anonymous Parisians are now part of Paris history, thanks to Robert Doisneau. Give this man a camera and he turns street life into unforgettable pictures. Doisneau, or the aesthetic conjurer.
© Brice 2007
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