Posts in PARIS



"She is there, and she is silent. 
She has stood the test of time, too long a time, perhaps.
She stands there proudly, but she stands there still
Waiting only to fly, with wings that  never will.
She never hesitates, and she never withers,

And thus, her skin will never age.
She'll remain eternal, now and always,
Waiting, until the very end of days."

                                                      Angel, Angel of Mine - MM.



It was hard to contain my excitement while walking through the streets of Le Marais, eager to capture the beauty of the century old cobblestone streets on my way to the musée Carnavalet. Drawn to its Renaissance  architecture, and hidden in the very centre of one of my favorite cartiers in Paris, it took little effort to entice my curiosity. Hidden, being the key word, as this is how it would remain to me. As I arrived at the iron gates of this medieval palace, I realized it had been closed off to the public, and that it would remain so for quite some time. Despite the authorities' attempts to keep it hidden from prying eyes, a glimpse of light escaped from the otherwise covered gates. And as I glued my face to the barely-there breach, there she was. 


Propped up in the center of my view - almost as if on purpose - was a centuries-old angel cast out of stone.Emerging from the shadows, she stood there proudly, as if to mock the harsh test of time. It was after my encounter with this locked away creature, that I started noticing she was far from the only hidden treasure within the streets of Le Marais. A maze of dark corners and secret courtyards, I quickly realized, flooded these mysterious streets.  But why so eager to remain in shadows, I wonder. Their mystique the most powerful of flirts, after all. Or maybe that's exactly it, the flirt, like a lover's play, schemingly put in place to fabricate the hunt for a faint touch of hand, a kiss stolen in shadows. Oh Paris... How I love you...

PARISMats MeyerComment
PARIS, JE T'AIME | LE MARAIS: Take Me To Haussmann

Words and imagery created by Mats Meyer.


My story begins,
as that of so many other hopeless romantics,
in the city of both light, and love.
In the city of Haussmann, of kings and queens,
but that of wandering vagabonds, too.

My story begins,
as that of so many others in search of inspiration,
on the banks of the river Seine, and the skirts of Le Marais.

Yes, my story starts here,
for where else, if not at the beginning?
Knowing only that it will be one, of a very great many.

                                            - The Beginning, Mats Meyer



"Paris... Of course it had to be Paris," I laughed to myself. Where else could it have been?  Paris, whose creme-colored facades can't help but flood the cobble-stone streets with all-consuming light. Perhaps that's why people love Paris, even in the rain. It rained that March, too. And God knows, it didn't matter. I had been to Paris many times before, but how could it be - I asked myself - that it took  me this long to finally appreciate it in all its glory? It was right then and there, that a certain feeling, seemingly long-lost to me,  returned as I found myself on Haussmann's doorsteps. A certain peace, perhaps? I'm not sure.

Ironically, it was here, in this, the City of Love, where I lost my heart for the very first time. It was taken from me in between secret kisses at that little cafe right around the corner from le Tour Eiffel. The one whose name I just can't seem to remember.  Ten years have come and gone since that blissful afternoon. Yet here I am again, awe-struck and tongue-tied, left wondering whether I'm about to lose my heart a second time. Or if perhaps, it just took this very same place, to finally find it back again.