A Sunset Cruise

–on the Seine

I’ve been living in Paris six years now, and I’d never seen it from the river. Always thought it must be just a tourist thing.

I was wrong.

It’s a different perspective on the familiar, a reminder of just how beautiful this city is, and a great way to spend an hour at sunset. Next time I’m going to upgrade to a boat with cocktails.

Ile St. Louis

All photos were made on the iPhone 13 Pro. I wasn’t paid to say that, but I’d be happy to boost the share price.

Towers of the Conciergerie
Pont des Arts
Notre Dame Reconstruction
Eiffel Tower and the Pont Alexandre III

And you can never have too many pictures of the Eiffel Tower.

Eiffel Tower

© 2022 Ron Scherl

SEBASTIÃO SALGADO

The World’s Most Important Photographer

Salgado Exhibit at Paris: La Défense

A bamboo hut designed by Colombian architect Simòn Vélez sits in the middle of the most commercial quarter of Paris. Inside is a collection of photographs by Salgado joined by the theme of water, the most precious fluid on earth. They are art of the highest order, shockingly beautiful. They are an appeal to the world’s conscience and they are a wake-up call.

At the age of seventy-eight, Salgado continues to travel the world, bringing light to earth’s most remote locations, calling attention to the fragility of our ecosystem and the responsibility of humanity to preserve the natural world and the indigenous communities threatened by encroaching industrialization. His photographs are gray scale (black and white), because color would make them pretty. They’re not, but they are beautiful. And frightening. And informative. And most of all, powerful.

This is photography at its best: beautiful images that strongly convey an unambiguous message. Living on this planet is a privilege, and if we are to continue we have the responsibility of stewardship. We cannot continue to exploit resources without replacing them. We cannot continue heating our homes and powering our vehicles with the fossil fuels that are destroying the atmosphere. And we cannot continue to support and accommodate corrupt politicians who profit by wielding power over beneficial legislation. I’m looking at you, Joe Manchin.

Salgado and his wife Lelia, a Brazilian writer, have devoted their lives to this call for action, and taken their commitment beyond photography with the creation of an NGO to revive the forested land owned by their family.

Our non-profit organization, Instituto Terra, has planted more than 2.7 million trees belonging to more than 300 endemic species. […] The return of this tropical microclimate has attracted birds and animals that have not been observed there for several decades.” – Sebastião Salgado

If you’re in Paris before September 22, see this exhibit. If not, buy one of his extraordinary books. Then pour yourself a glass of water and think about how lucky you are.

Salgado Exhibit Venue La Defense

©2022 Ron Scherl

Orwell’s Roses

I’ve been reading Rebecca Solnit’s Orwell’s Roses, a book about the importance of beauty in our lives. In 1936—before leaving England to join the battle against fascism in Spain—George Orwell planted roses in his garden. It seems at first to be an unremarkable occurrence; after all roses were and continue to be extremely popular plantings in ornamental gardens and the English have always been fond of gardens. But Orwell was a man who dedicated his life to the struggle for human rights and was willing to put his beliefs on the line as a soldier for the POUM, one of many factions who took up arms against Franco’s forces of repression. Solnit uses Orwell’s garden as a metaphor for the human need of beauty, especially in perilous times when the battle against totalitarianism is pitched.

Do I hear an echo of today’s headlines?
Putin, Xi, Bolsonaro, Orban, Duterte, Trump. The world is once again faced with the rise of dictators and wanna-bes.

Hotel Des Bains, rue Delambre

In 1936, Spanish Fascists backed by Nazi Germany and Italy, staged a dress rehearsal for World War II with a violent overthrow of the elected Republican government of Spain. Republicans expected the west—France, Great Britain, United States—to come to their aid, reasoning that surely these democracies would recognize the need to oppose Hitler. It didn’t happen. Roosevelt’s isolationist policies, Chamberlain’s belief that Hitler could be appeased, Leon Blum’s brief tenure as French president, contributed to keep the west sidelined. Franco’s professional military and Hitler’s arms destroyed the fractious defenders whose anarchists, Stalinists, and Trotskyites wound up fighting among themselves in the pursuit of ideological purity. Wounded and disillusioned, Orwell returned to his English garden.

Magnolia

The Retirada began. At least 500,000 Republican survivors trekked across the Pyrenees, expecting to be hailed as heroes in France. Instead, the French imprisoned them in relocation camps, another WWII dress rehearsal, this time for the Vichy government’s treatment of Jews.
In 1936,George Orwell planted roses.
In 1939, Pablo Casals went to the internment camp at Argelès, France and played Bach’s Suites for Unaccompanied Cello for the hungry, displaced inmates.
Last night, I went to the Théâtre des Bouffes du Nord to hear Sonia Wieder-Atherton play the same music while Charlotte Rampling recited a number of Shakespeare’s sonnets.
Ms. Wieder-Atherton is an extraordinary musician. Ms. Rampling is, of course, a marvelous actress. Bach. Shakespeare. Magic. Seventy minutes of beauty that banished the fears and nightmares of the world outside.

Théâtre des Bouffes du Nord

©2022 Ron Scherl

Winter Light

Yesterday the sun came out, and Parisians were quick to follow. Saturday, the 18th of December, the last weekend before Christmas, but when the sun appears in December, shopping can wait. The last few weeks have been gray. Not cloudy, not much rain, just a dull gray roof sitting there like an absence of inspiration.

I finished (until the next revision) my novel. I actually typed “The End” for the first time. The next day, the sun appeared. Now that’s what I call a good omen. I picked up my phone, left the apartment, and became a photographer again. And what better place to go than Le Jardin du Luxembourg.

Paris: Luxembourg Gardens Winter Light

The iPhone camera is a marvel. When I started out in photography, (Attention! the following text contains geezer reminiscences. Young people are advised to avoid) every workshop speaker offered the same advice. It was phrased as either: “F8 and be there” or “The best camera is the one you have with you.” Technology made F8 irrelevant, Steve Jobs took care of the rest.

Paris: Luxembourg Gardens Winter Light

A few more words about the novel. The working title is A Small Betrayal, and I realized while writing that many of the scenes grow out of images that stick in memory. That’s a good thing and reason enough to revive this blog. It may take a while because WordPress has evolved in the time I’ve been away from it. I have some learning to do.

Paris: Luxembourg Gardens Winter Light
Paris: Rue Vaugirard Winter Light

ENVIRONMENTAL ART

A wise and dear friend of mine invited me to a showing of a film called Legacy by Yann Arthus-Bertrand. https://www.yannarthusbertrandphoto.com
Legacy is a compilation of five films and still photographs he has made over the years assembled into a 360 degree immersive projection experience. The images take us from an imagined fiery birth of the earth to the all too real present days of over-population and over-consumption.

Legacy: Yann Arthus-Bertrand Photo:©2020 Jess Holmes
Legacy: Yann Arthus-Bertrand Photo:©2020 Jess Holmes


It is a spectacular testimony of concern for the planet and its inhabitants, a warning, and a message of hope. It is also the crowning achievement of a brilliant career dedicated to the preservation and rehabilitation of our environment.
Arthus-Bertrand’s genius lies in his extraordinarily skillful and artistic aerial and terrestrial photography and videography, but also in his ability to take an idea from concept to fruition. What elevates great visual art to the realm of genius is Arthus-Bertrand’s commitment to the preservation of the planet.

Legacy: Yann Arthus-Bertrand Photo:©2020 Ron Scherl
Legacy: Yann Arthus-Bertrand Photo:©2020 Ron Scherl


And what translates commitment to action is the Good Planet Foundation that grew out of Arthus-Bertrand’s work. https://www.goodplanet.org/fr/
Legacy was initially an exhibition of still photographs and video, now a projected environment of images and extraordinary music by Armand Amar playing as part of the Jam Capsule program of videos at La Grande Halle of La Villette. https://lavillette.com/programmation/jam-capsule_e882

AND MORE

Alexander Brinitzer Photo:©2020 Ron Scherl
Alexander Brinitzer Photo:©2020 Ron Scherl

Paris is, of course, chock full of environmental art but there’s always room for more and Alexander Brinitzer is doing his part. With the approval of M. Sack, the proprietor and cordonnier, Alexander has livened up our little corner of the 15th and put smiles on the faces of our neighbors. At least I think so. It’s very hard to see smiles beneath the masks.

Alexander Brinitzer
Alexander Brinitzer Photo:©2020 Ron Scherl

Check out the work of this talented young man:

@alexanderbrinitzer and @akbshead

Blame it on the Stones

Mick and Keith
  1. Brown Sugar
  2. Bitch
  3. Rocks Off
  4. Gimme Shelter
  5. Happy
  6. Tumbling Dice
  7. Love in Vain (Robert Johnson cover)
  8. Sweet Virginia
  9. You Can’t Always Get What You Want
  10. All Down the Line
  11. Midnight Rambler
  12. Bye Bye Johnny (Chuck Berry cover)
  13. Rip This Joint
  14. Jumpin’ Jack Flash
  15. Street Fighting Man
  16. Encore:
  17. Let It Rock

I’ve always thought that my hearing loss was due to three nights of Rolling Stones Concerts at Winterland in 1972. Here’s the set list according to setlist.fm. Who knew there was such a thing. If it weren’t for Facebook, the internet would be a wonderful thing.

A great night of music.

Jagger


I was working for a small ambitious publication called The Night Times. My friend, Joel Selvin was the editor. We met when we were copyboys at the Chronicle: Joel went on to a music column for the Chron and several well-received books on the music business. I went on to San Francisco Opera and a freelance photography business centered on the performing arts that lasted to Y2K (another blast from the past).
I now live in Paris (France) and am looking for a good deal on hearing aids. Blame it on the Stones. No really. Three nights in front of mountainous speakers, my ears were ringing for a week and my hearing has never been the same.
I shrugged it off for a long time, Sir Mick, but now it’s getting serious. I’m having a very difficult time understanding the French. This puzzles me, Keith. I should be better than this. I’ve worked hard, studied for a long time, spent lots of time here and have lived here for the last three years.
So I began to investigate hearing aids, actually, I started that a long time ago but lost the one I had, so the search began anew. Today, I had a hearing test that asked me to repeat recorded words and it quickly became apparent that I was mishearing many sounds. When an “S” sounds like “F”, it becomes very difficult to learn a language. I’ve lost all the edges. Everything in the upper register sounds like it’s wrapped in an Arctic parka. Sounds on the lower end simply don’t penetrate.
I’m not really blaming you, Charlie. I didn’t have to stand there, although if my paper had a little more clout, I might have been onstage next to Jim Marshall, but Jimmy’s dead and I’m still here so it’s hard to say that would have been better. Of course, I was never as aggressive as Jim so I probably wouldn’t have been there anyway, but let’s not sweat the details, Bill.
It’s late, Ronnie. I’m going to bed. I’ll finish this tomorrow.

There’s really not much more to say. I’m sure you guys were worried about me, but really it’s not a problem. It’s only rock ‘n roll.

A Few Days in the Perigord

And a few days away from the problems of my fictional photographers.

Danny and Hago by the Vézère River

Hago and Danny arrived for a brief visit and we took off for the Dordogne, which we all knew only from Martin Walker’s Bruno series of detective novels. Bruno’s almost superhuman wisdom, compassion, and perspective are a bit unbelievable, but the sense of place Walker evokes is tremendously inviting, so off we went: TGV to Bordeaux, rental car to our base in Sarlat.

Bruno lives in the fictional village of Saint-Denis, which exists only in Walker’s imagination, but he creates the place with bits and pieces of regional towns including Sarlat, Les Eyzies, Beynac, and Saint Cyprien.

The Village of Sarlat

Sarlat Store Display

The Village of Beynac

We arrived too late for the Saturday market and left before the Wednesday edition, but there’s no problem finding good food in Sarlat—if you like duck. Magret, dried magret, gizzards, confit, any way you want it.  But there’s also goose, beef, pork, and, thank heavens, fish. They grow a lot of corn around here but most of it goes to feed the ducks and geese; other vegetables make rare appearances, except of course potatoes, which Bruno—who can be found in the kitchen when he’s not chasing bad guys or coaching rugby—fries in duck fat. Just writing this is hardening my arteries and generating a craving for lettuce.

Fois Gras and a Glass of Monbazillac

We did occasionally push away from the table and do our touring duty by exploring a cave and boating on the Dordogne River. Cave access is limited. We didn’t arrive early enough to get into our first choice—did I mention the lovely Bergerac wines?—and second place was a letdown. The visible etchings were underwhelming, although my vision may have been less than keen after the third time I hit my head. This is not a great adventure for people over six feet tall with aging knees. The boat ride was more relaxing; I might better describe it as nap-inducing. Not at all a bad thing.

Dordogne River

For me, the best parts that didn’t involve eating and drinking were just walking through the villages. There’s a distinctive architectural style of light stone or masonry walls, peaked roofs clad in brown stone tiles and turrets capped with witches’ hats. It’s charmingly traditional and pretty consistent until you get to the main street of Saint-Cyprien.

The Village of Saint-Cyprien

The War Memorial of St. Cyprien

I cannot explain this. I asked a street sweeper if there was a fête going on and he told me no, that’s on the first of July. So I asked if the town was always decorated like this and he decided to have a little fun with the tourist rube, telling me it was the work of fantômes. I thanked him and looked for the tourist office but it was closed for lunch.

Saint Cyprien Art

The Louvre

Family in town so we’re doing the right things. Today was the big museum with the pyramid and the lady from the DaVinci Code novel. She is there. I know because I’m tall and my camera is bigger than most.

She is there

This is some really athletic art appreciation, something like a rugby scrum. I know nothing about rugby but I imagine it takes strength, determination and some sharp elbows to work your way through the scrummy thing, which is exactly what’s needed to get to see the lady in question. But all I really need is to get close enough to get a picture, so I’ll always have the memory.

Somewhere

I used to think people took pictures of pictures to have the memory and avoid the gift shop, but here’s the thing: It’s not the art, it’s the experience. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt.

Paris ☑Louvre ☑What’s her name ☑

Big Museum. Big Paintings

Don’t worry. I’m not going to get all snobby about this, wonder why people do it, and then blame Facebook. Not me. I live in the real world and I’d rather blame Facebook for much bigger crimes.

I see nothing wrong with people taking pictures of art. I’m glad they do it. Glad they support the museums with their tickets and glad the museums have wised up and allow it. I’m not sure what people take from the experience, but it certainly can’t hurt.

Shoot Pictures. Not People.

©2018 Ron Scherl

Weather

All those years in San Francisco, I forgot about the weather. In winter it rains, except when it doesn’t and, twice a year—spring and fall—there’s a heat wave. Good lord, it’s 900, who can live like this? But the fog returns after a few days in hiding and we’re back to normal 60 and freezing tourists buying sweatshirts at Fisherman’s Wharf.

Then I moved to France and suddenly Weather became the most used app on my phone. In Maury it was 1000 before summer even started and I was miserable for the next six months. I’d check the forecast and raise a glass to days when it wouldn’t rise above 90. I’d look longingly at long pants, sweaters, and people huddled under blankets at Giants’ games. So I moved to Paris and the rains came in Biblical volume, flooding the Seine, and showing no sign of retreat—until it got cold and, of course, the snow arrived. Funny how that works.

I grew up in New York and went to college in Maine, so I’m no stranger to winter, but all those California years stripped away the insulation and left me with a thin skin and chilly bones. Or maybe that was just the years and California had nothing to do with it. “Buck up,” you say. “Get a grip, buy a hot water bottle, wear your socks to bed, and, please, stop your whinging.”

Good advice. Thanks. After all, I came to France for the challenge of something new, and Paris is beautiful in the snow. Enjoy.

Place du Général Beuret

Jardin du Luxembourg

Statue of Marguerite d’Angouleme, Reine de Navarre Luxembourg Gardens

Jardin du Luxembourg

Jardin du Luxembourg

Jardin du Luxembourg

Jardin du Luxembourg  

©2018 Ron Scherl

 

Paris, 31 March

I can’t walk two blocks in this city without stumbling into someone’s photo- op.

Place des Vosges

Paris hasn’t changed very much. Armed soldiers on guard at major monuments but no one seems to be paying much attention to them. Parisians go about their daily business and populate the cafes after work as they always have. The crowds seem younger but that’s probably just my aging perspective.

Déjeuner au Seine

I’ve been looking at the ads in the windows of realty offices and while it’s hard to tell much about what’s really available, it appears that rents are just a little more than half as much as San Francisco apartments. I saw what looked like a lovely large studio on the Rue Jacob in the 6th for €1250 per month. If such places truly exist, I’ll seriously look at moving here. Always loved it, always felt at home here. Carried that a little too far yesterday when I gave some tourists very iffy directions to the Pompidou Center in my best French accent. They may have found it by now.

A few noticeable changes: there seems to be an alarming proliferation of bagel shops, and it appears Prius taxis now outnumber Mercedes. I haven’t found a connection yet, my investigation hindered by a preference for baguettes and the Metro, but I will continue independent observation and check in with David Lebovitz on the matter.

I take this picture every time I come to Paris. From the same spot on the Pont des Arts, different hours of the day, different times of the year. It always pleases me but always seems to lack a special quality of light that define the best images of Paris. Henri Cartier-Bresson has a version that’s really special. I’ll keep trying.

Ile de la Cité

Ile de la Cité