I arrived in Paris on Thursday afternoon local time, for a stay with side trips that will last until mid-November.
Since 2017, I've been making two two-month visits here every year except during the pandemic.
In the lead-up to my departure from Sydney, people ask if I'm excited. I don't say much because I'm not excited any more. I've become indifferent, though not in a negative way.
In the beginning, I was enthralled, acquiring my very own five-square-metre space in what many regard as the cultural capital of the world.
But now it's something that just happens. Like the sun rises in the morning and sets in the evening.
My routine includes attending a different cultural institution every day.
Sometimes it's planned, but often it's something I stumble upon. Like yesterday's independent publishers' book fair, Salon Lisons Libres!, at the Blancs Manteaux hall in the Marais, which I'm very familiar with.
I was subject to jet lag and struggling to stay awake, but I found it very stimulating and wanted to engage more with the friendly stall holders who seemed to want to connect with me.
I have my photos and a link to the exhibition website, but for the most part it goes into my bank of cultural experience, which has become an important part of who I am.
I enjoy all the fresh expressions of vitality. In this case, it's the creativity in the book covers and the steadfastness of the hard-copy independent book publishers. Their positivity does not appear dimmed in the face of the shift to online and short-attention-span forms of storytelling.
LINKS:
Salon Lisons
Photos