Time

Time
seems to move a little slower in Barcelona and Paris. Going
into this trip I was unsure what the focus of my photography would
be, but soon I was transfixed by the vibrant life of the streets
and how they contrasted. It only seemed appropriate to capture
these moments organically on film. On my previous stay in Europe I
spent most of my time stopping strangers and taking intimate
portraits. This time around I found it more captivating to sit back
and observe without interruption. I focused more on the
architecture and colours of the cities, which made me appreciate
the occasional local stumbling into my frame.

Paris is magical. It can be pouring with rain and the city is
still a dream. Actually, there is nothing more liberating then
standing on a terrace looking out over the rooftops in an early
evening storm. This was my second time visiting and it took me five
years to return. I was happy to find the streets in spring still
smelled like cigarettes and roses. I can’t stand the smell of
tobacco but for some reason I don’t mind it there. In fact, I don’t
seem to mind anything when I’m in Paris. The streets are a work of
art, the people elegant and mysterious. There is a reason that café
chairs sit side by side on the pavement – sit and watch the world
drift by. I prefer old Paris with its effortlessly beautiful
neighbourhoods full of tiny chimneys and crooked staircases.
Exteriors are painted in perfectly muted tones, the colours faded
and worn with time. We wandered aimlessly for hours every day
during our stay. Right when you think that you’ve seen it all, you
stumble upon a new alley that opens to a square of cafes and shops.
It’s easy to romanticise Paris. The streets leave you drunk on life
and new beginnings.

Before we landed my knowledge of Barcelona didn’t stretch
farther then tapas, flamenco and the legendary Gaudi. Most of my
outlook was foolishly based on the Woody Allen film, Vicky Cristina
Barcelona and I wasn’t sure what to expect. My first thought when I
stepped outside was that the sun was warm on our winter skin and
that the air felt different. It seemed that summer had began early
in Spain. Lemon trees grew wild outside of our temporary home,
which was hosted by a local sculptor. The house sat on a cliff that
overlooked Barcelona and the La Sagrada Familia. I was eager to
explore and the real excitement kicked in when we delved into the
tiny winding streets below. The local neighbourhoods reflect an
old-school charm with laundry lines billowing from the windows and
flags waving proudly above the streets. For an American girl, it’s
pretty wild to walk down roads that outdate your own country. Mixed
in with the humbling history, the streets overflow with modern
inspiration and beautiful people. The edges of the buildings are
undefined and the city glows in vibrant colours. As you go further
into the city, you start to smell the fresh salt of the
Mediterranean and remember that you are by the sea.

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