VALLE AND VILLE

November 18 2013We’re on the TGV train, heading back to Bonnieux after 5 dizzying days in Paris, and it is one of those moments when one wants the journey to last forever; the lulling rhythm of the tracks, the scrolling countryside out the window, the quiet of an almost empty carriage, a cup of green tea and some devilish chocolate and my loved one sitting opposite.From here the world seems timeless; the gentle fields and valleys bordered by stands of trees clinging to their autumn rags of rust and ocher and gold, and every once in a while, a cluster of a village, its medieval houses and barns romanticized by this traveler who likes to think that the farmers and their livestock are well and happy to be living the pastoral life.And then there was Paris, in all its splendor, hanging on still to its artisanal nature; the old-fashioned butcher shops and tiny florists, the seafood stalls and patisseries, a chocolatier on every block, a baguette in every other hand. All of this, woven in between the majesty of architecture, museums, parks, the haute couture and haute cuisine the banks of the Seine as uniquely left and right as ever. A joyous, user-friendly city, even on the greyest of days.We spent a good chunk of each day at Paris Photo where, among the hundreds of galleries, Joel's, (Howard Greenberg Gallery) was, along with showing his vintage work, debuting a huge new work, and it was great fun to watch collectors and photography lovers stop in their tracks to look at it and then to hear their surprise when they saw who had made it, for surely one would never guess it was a Joel Meyerowitz. It was a gamble with a high price tag and…ta dah!...it sold on the third day.For me, apart from being a proud spouse, this fair was a new experience, one that I was able to open up to, I believe, as a result of this year of feeling our way around. I normally loathe fairs and leave them to Joel to work. I don’t like crowds, I don’t like the glad-handing and I don’t like trying to take in that much visual imagery, partly because it gives me a headache and partly because it pisses me off to see a lot of bad and pretentious crap parading as art. But this year I’ve been trying to let go of habitual judgments and re-examine old beliefs. And so it was that I found myself completely caught up in the great swirl of positive energy that was in abundance at this year’s Paris Photo. As a result, I found my “schmooze” gene, one that I had thought I was missing. It was fun to intuit connections and help facilitate them and in fact, good practice for me as I ready to send my novel out into the world.What was particularly heartening was witnessing how many people are passionate about photography and also how many people with great wealth genuinely want to do good things with it. The wheeling and dealing, which, as always, is about making money was also combined, here, with a greater motivation towards creativity and assuring photography’s place in the arts.In between the busy business we found time for macaroons from Pierre Herme and shared an afternoon tea at Angelina’s with grieving friends, one of whom recently lost a spouse, the other having just lost a son, the two of them sitting across from us, showing us how it is possible to weep with sorrow while enjoying two pitchers of hot chocolate and a plate of pastries. Another night two young friends took us to dinner in the Pigalle district where we all let go of the numerals that we think describe our age and became four wacky teenagers having fun.And just when we thought we had not an ounce of energy left we went for broke, joining two dear friends from London for dinner at Brasserie Lipp, the French-iest of French-ness. There, the four of us worked our way through leeks and sausages, celeriac and herrings, daurade and haricot vert and tart tatin and ice-cream while conversing about everything from the Battle of Agincourt to spiritual warfare. Mon Dieu and alors, biensur et amour. Viva La France, le baguette, le pomme frites et Le Louvre.And now the city fades into the mist as the train nears Avignon. A quick stop for groceries and we should be home in our beautiful valley in time for tea by the fire.