Invisible Paris

Brutal Bercy, the concrete coffin

2012-01-29T21:51:00.002+01:00

On December 11th, a group of mayors from France's Auvergne region organised a protest in Paris against the transfer of their trains from the Gare de Lyon to the Gare de Bercy. Smartly dressed and wearing their stripes of office, the mayors were also carrying a coffin, a sign that - for them - this move represented a ‘burial’ for their region.

"Les Auvergnats sont déprimés de devoir arriver dans une gare qui ne procure aucun confort, aucun hôtel, on a l'impression d'être traités comme des gens arriérés, comme des ploucs" (the Auvergnats are depressed about having to arrive at a station without comfort or hotels, and we feel as if we are being treated like backward people, like hillbillies), said Claude Malhuret, the Mayor of Vichy. But is this train station really so bad?

What is true is that it is difficult to find. It is hidden away up on a plateau, with no direct links by Metro or bus. Access by foot is along a busy road, under a succession of dark and noisy railway bridges.

In reality, the station is simply an annex of the Gare de Lyon, built in the 1970s specifically for the 'auto-trains' service that ferries cars across the country. It replaced a simple goods station, where wine production from across France would arrive, before being stocked in the famous nearby Bercy 'chars'.

Arriving in front of the station, the lack of any distinctive design is immediately striking. There is no neo-classicism from the railway's golden age, only 1970s functional architecture. The ensemble is curiously colourless. Apart from the sparsely decorated Christmas tree in the car park, nothing justified the use of colour photography.

Inside it is the image of a small, provincial station. There is no buzz of arriving and departing trains, but rather small groups of drowsy and listless passengers. There are no shopping arcades to keep them amused, and they sit in rows, their eyes sweeping the room in search of a single decorative feature that they might focus on.

Above there is a second level - another rather sinister waiting room, with plastic chairs and plastic plants. A door offers access out to the car park, where vehicules wait before being loaded onto the car trains. A group of youths are sit broodingly on a wall, but whether they waiting for a train or for life to catch up with them is not clear.

For a brief time, perhaps the station's glory years, it had a touch of glamour. It was the Paris home of the night trains to and from Rome and Venice, trains that I took myself on several occasions. In the evenings, the station was filled with the multilingual agitation of international travellers. Early mornings, the same travellers arrived back in Paris, bleary eyed and fuzzy brained. This service ended last year, but a new one has now begun - departing from the Gare de Lyon of course.

All that is left - beyond a sprinkling of slow regional trains, is the auto-trains service. The thick slabs of dark, heavy concrete that make up the infrastructure give it a film-noir atmosphere, especially when it is empty. Indeed, it seems entirely natural to read that a member of the ETA Basque separatist movement was spotted by police here then trailed to his point of arrest.

Finally, what seems to typify this station is not disdain, but instead a heavy feeling of ennui. Rather than a burial, it is in reality more like being relegated to the second division, or losing your triple A rating. Renovations are promised soon, with - for the first time ever - real public transport links. Perhaps then it will finally be adopted as a home by somebody.

Le Déclin and a fall from grace

2012-01-24T20:42:00.000+01:00

Flicking swiftly through hundreds of vintage Paris postcards at a fair recently, my finger was stopped dead by a singularly melancholic picture. Paris is a city that people boast of visiting, but here was a sculpture of two miserable looking figures entitled 'Le Déclin' (the decline), with behind them a thoroughly working-class city vista. Dating from the very beginning of the 20th century, it was as far as possible from the standard image of Paris, and therefore definitely worthy of investigation.

Some information was given on the postcard, but several other mysteries remained. The sculpture was by the artist Clément Leopold Steiner, and was situated in the Square du Père Lachaise. The statue is not one that I had ever seen before, and I wasn't even sure where the Square du Père Lachaise was situated - understandable, given that it is today known as the Square Samuel de Champlain (a small park probably best known for being the site of Moreau-Vauthier's 'Le mur aux victimes des Révolutions').

Information on the motives and tastes of the postcard sender can often be found on the rear of the card, but here there was just a laconic 'bonjour'. Why was a postcard of this sculpture made, and why would anyone at the time choose to send such a picture to friends or family? The answer can perhaps be found in a brochure printed for the Societe national des beaux-arts exhibition at the Galerie des Machines on the Champ de Mars in 1898 where Steiner's sculpture was first presented.

"Le déclin, de Léopold Steiner, est bien, très bien. Ces deux vieillards simplement assis au soir de la vie, forment un groupe des plus remarquables dans la section de sculpture de la Société des Artistes français."
(Le déclin by Léopold Steiner, is good, very good. These two old people sitting simply in the twilight of their lives, make up a remarkable group in the sculpture section of the French artists' society.)

Clearly it was a sculpture that had artistic merit, and was of the tastes of the day. Sadly for Steiner, he didn't live to see a slow decline into graceful old age himself, and died in 1899 - the year after the presentation of the sculpture - aged only 46.

The sculpture was purchased by the city of Paris, and placed in a new garden directly opposite the Père Lachaise cemetery. The couple were perched at a height that enabled them to look directly over the wall and into a possible future place of rest (and away from the city of Paris), but whether this was a deliberate decision is not known!

The sculpture was seemingly quickly adopted by those in the vicinity of its new home, and looked at more closely it is easy to see why. The couple are not sad, but merely physically tired after a life of labour. They are obviously not wealthy, but contented that they have been able to grow old in each other's arms, something that would have been an aspiration for many people in this working class part of the city. It was positioned on the top of a series of steps, which people would sit on, as another charming postcard I found online shows.

In more recent times though, another mystery has arisen. By all accounts the sculpture was no longer standing in the garden, but where was it originally situated, and where is it now? The only way to find out was to visit the garden, postcard in hand, and investigate.

In my postcard, the only clue was the spire of the Notre Dame de la Croix church in Menilmontant, which is clearly visible in the background. All other visual clues have been demolished and replaced by taller buildings. Fortunately a more recent picture of the sculpture existed which gave me all the evidence I needed.

Somebody who had known the sculpture in better times was surprised and saddened to return to the garden around 15 years ago and find it painted and covered in grafitti. This photo was a rather sad and pathetic sight, but at least it showed me exactly where the sculpture had sat in the park.

In its place today is a rather spindly rose garden. Nearby is a bench, but the discarded cans of beer in the vicinity show that this is not somewhere that families come to relax, nor old couples in their twilight years.

The sculpture has therefore been removed, but where is it today and will it ever return or find a new home? To find out, I contacted the Marie du 20eme arrondissement who informed me that the statue had been removed in 2002 following a period of damage and deterioration. More importantly, they also told me that there were no plans to bring it back to the park. Today it sits - probably with many other damaged and discarded creations - in the city of Paris's art collection storage space in the suburb of Ivry.

Looking at my postcard again I can see why else it attracted my attention. It's a simple image, but one that finally says much about Paris. The background is a city that has changed beyond recognition, but the picture also tells us about changing tastes and changing behaviours. It's a postcard with a story - albeit a rather unhappy one - and one worth saving from the dusty box of memories.

An interview with Glynis Ridley, author of ‘The Discovery of Jeanne Baret’

2012-01-20T19:30:00.000+01:00

I was recently sent a review copy of ‘The Discovery of Jeanne Baret’ by Glynis Ridley, a fascinating investigation of the life of the first woman to circumnavigate the globe. The story is made even more remarkable by the fact that Frenchwoman Jeanne Baret came from an impoverished rural background, and disguised herself as a man in order to join the global expedition.

Glynis Ridley’s investigation is not the first time this story has been told, but through a mixture of groundbreaking research and a certain amount of supposition, she has managed to flesh out Jeanne Baret’s life, and give her a more three-dimensional identity.

We discover a very determined woman, who through her intense knowledge of herbal medicine managed to transcend her roots, and eventually receive official acknowledgement from King Louis XIV. Ridley’s account though does not glamourise the tale, and instead details how Baret gave away her only child, suffered mistreatment from her partner, and was very possibly raped when her true identity was discovered.

Here I talk to Glynis Ridley about Jeanne Baret, and about the story behind her book.

Who, in just a few words, was Jeanne Baret?
She was a Frenchwoman of very humble origins, born in 1740, who, in her twenties, became the lover of one of France’s most celebrated botanists, and hatched an audacious plan to disguise herself as a man so that she could follow him to sea on the first French circumnavigation of the globe. Women weren’t allowed on board French naval ships at the time.

What originally attracted you to this story, and what did you feel you could bring to the tale?
The expedition commander, Louis-Antoine de Bougainville, wrote a 500 page bestselling account of the circumnavigation on his return. And he devotes only one paragraph to Baret, though she worked tirelessly in all weather conditions, from the Strait of Magellan to Tahiti, to try to maintain the charade that she was a man. We remember lots of explorers but few people have heard of Baret. This seemed wrong and I wanted to see if she could emerge from the historical shadows and be given some credit.

Glynis Ridley

Do you feel that your background as a Professor of Literature gave you more freedom to tell this story, in comparison to an historian who is tied by the obligation to rely solely on empirical evidence? Do you feel that this has brought you closer to the truth?
Oooh. Where to start with that question! Can I begin by challenging the assumption about historians and their reliance solely on empirical evidence? Historians disagree as much as any other group of researchers about what was a policy failure or success, and about historical cause and effect. One of my favorite historians is Simon Schama and in his marvelous book Dead Certainties he tackles the question of what historians can truly know and what they do. My book, The Discovery of Jeanne Baret, is non-fiction, and I’ve adhered to the same standards of proof as any history writer. My period of specialisation is the 18th century, so everything I say about literature of the time has to be grounded in a completely accurate historical context. Sometimes, in literature classes, professors will find students who think that they can just say a text means anything – I promise you and your readers this isn’t how literature professors conduct themselves – we have to have evidence in the material under consideration for everything we say. You can probably guess by now that this is something very dear to my heart and I could get into a long account of how ‘literature’ and ‘history’ are not that different really. But I think you get the idea.

The only known image of Jeanne Baret, with revolutionary cap.

The title of your book seems deliberately ambiguous. What is implied by this title?
It is deliberately ambiguous. It’s about what Jeanne Baret herself discovered – about the world, and it’s about her crewmates’ discovery of her true identity, but most of all I hope it is about the reader’s discovery of her.

You are sometimes very hard on Baret’s companion, Philibert Commerçon. What brought you to this conclusion about a man who also took enormous risks to his personal and professional reputation by smuggling a woman on board the ship?
I certainly didn’t set out with this as a deliberate strategy. There is much I find admirable about Commerson. He had a passion – for botany – and he chose to pursue that, even though it brought him into conflict with his father. He was smart, and could obviously be enormously good company (that’s why I included the information on how Commerson impressed Voltaire, because it proves that Commerson could be truly engaging when he chose). But I think I disagree that he took risks in smuggling Baret aboard ship. At no point did she implicate him in the scheme and, since he expressed himself as surprised as anyone by the revelation of her true identity, and since no one on the expedition had any means of investigating Baret’s and Commerson’s life together before the expedition, all he had to do was insist he was innocent of any subterfuge and no one had any way of disproving this. Put crudely, Commerson was not an obvious target for physical assault in the way that Baret was. And had he wanted to make her both comfortable and respectable (in terms of the morals of the day) he would have legitimized their relationship by marrying her.

How easy or difficult was it to research this story, and to find new information? What was your most satisfying find?
It would actually be possible to write a whole bookshelf’s worth of non-fiction (or fiction!) about the Bougainville expedition, given all the journals that survive. The most difficult thing for me was making sure I was progressing the story, while simultaneously providing enough context for readers to understand the hierarchy of life aboard ship, or the status of women in the natural sciences, while also trying to keep the focus on what things must have been like from Baret’s perspective. My most satisfying find was undoubtedly MS884 in the Commerson archive in the Museum national d’histoire naturelle. It is the ‘Tables des plantes medicamenteuses’ – the list of medicinal plants, that I assign to Baret for the very first time. Realising that this notebook contains precisely the sort of folk wisdom about the healing properties of plants that herbwomen kept a closely guarded secret was one of those amazing moments researchers dream about. I thought, “this is Baret’s notebook”.

What mysteries remain from Jeanne Baret’s life? What information do you wish you could have found?
On the cover of The Discovery of Jeanne Baret, readers will see the only known image of her. But as I point out in the book, the image is something of an oddity because she is wearing what came to be known as the red liberty cap of the French revolutionaries, and she is dressed in a striped fabric that those who research the history of clothes can tell was not popular with sailors until the 1790s. When I was writing the book, I chanced to go around the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford and I saw an illustration of the first curator of the Oxford botanical garden, Jacob Bobart, represented holding a sheaf in his hand – just like Baret is in the illustration. The caption of the Bobart illustration at the Ashmolean said that such poesies were a symbolic shorthand for the medicinal value of a botanical garden. So whoever produced the mysterious illustration of Baret wanted to link her with the French revolution, the sea, and the healing power of plants. They knew more about her than any printed source at the time could have told them. I’d love to understand the French Revolutionary connection.

What do you think is Jeanne Baret’s legacy?
Since the book came out, University of Cincinnati botanist Eric Tepe has kindly named a new species of Solanum (the genus that includes potatoes and tomatoes) in her honor: Solanum baretiae. This is the first time in nearly 250 years that a plant name has been published in honor of Baret. I think that if learning her story inspires more research into the history of neglected historical figures, that would be marvelous – especially if those individuals have been written out of history because they weren’t from the class of history writers. If her story inspires just one person to think that the seemingly impossible may in fact be possible, then that would be quite something. And on a personal level, after completing the biography, I try to grumble less about days when I get cold and wet, because no one is asking me to go and clamber about on the shores of the Strait of Magellan in bitter cold, knowing that tomorrow will probably be more of the same. Baret endured so much. I think her story is inspiring.

Click here to purchase ‘The Discovery of Jeanne Baret’ by Glynis Ridley if you are in the US, here if you are in the UK, and here in France.

For more information, and further discussions, visit Glynis Ridley's author site on Facebook: www.facebook.com/authorglynisridley

Challenge 7: Curious figures on the Avenue Daumesnil

2012-01-18T00:39:00.003+01:00

Reader Karen was walking along the coulée verte, the disused railway line in the 12th arrondissement, and spotted a building that caught her attention. She sent me a picture, simply stating that she “would love to know more about this building”.

The building will probably be familiar to anyone who has taken the same walk as it certainly stands out in its prosaic residential surroundings. It would probably be one of the most photographed items on that particular walk, but just what is it, and what is the story behind it?

Despite looking vaguely art-deco in form, the structure was actually designed by architects Manolo Nunez-Yanowski and Miriam Teitelbaum in 1991, and houses the Commissariat de Police du 12ème arrondissement (the local police station).

Although the curves of the building are merely derivative, what makes it really noticeable are of course the sculptured human forms jutting out from the balconies on the top floor. Sometimes labelled caryatids in descriptions of the building, these are actually telamons or atlantes, as the figure is most definitely male! In fact, the figure is based on Michelangelo’s dying slave sculpture which can be found today in the Louvre.

Manolo Nunez-Yanowski is very much a postmodern architect, and unsurprisingly worked with Ricardo Bofill on several projects. Indeed, two of their most well-known creations can be seen alongside each other in the town of Noisy le Grand to the east of Paris. The Arènes de Picasso for Nunez-Yanowski (sometimes known as the camembert), and Le Palacio for Bofill.

Nunez-Yanowski is something of a renaissance man, having studied history and archeology, then art, before finally qualifying as an architect, so it is perhaps no surprise that he should choose to feature sculptures by Michelangelo on this building. What is more of a surprise is that this building should be used as a police station. Indeed, the upper levels of the building incorporate apartments for police officers, with these – somewhat camp – figures acting as dividers between the balconies of these apartments.

The sculptures certainly do not give the building a very intimidating air, but then the intention probably was to make the commissariat seem more convivial. It is not known what the police officers who live and work here think about the building though!

Challenge me!
Seen something in Paris that has caught your eye but remains a mystery, or ever wondered about obscure people or events in the city's past? Challenge me to find the answers!

Paris Face Cachée - How to do it yourself

2012-01-13T22:00:00.000+01:00

The Paris Face Cachée event was seemingly such a good idea that the bookings website crashed on day of launch, and all 10,000 places available were snapped up within 48 hours. However, those who were not able to book places (myself included) need not miss out, as many of the activities are available year round - if you know how to decipher the secrets!

The Paris Face Cachée organisers wanted to keep each location a secret, to be revealed only to those who book tickets, but now it seems also to keep the disappointed away! However, whilst I will not write a list here of all of the locations, nor how you can visit them, if you are interested in any of the 'experiences', send me a mail and I will hopefully be able to give you more information on what is behind it, and how you can recreate the experience another time!

Paris Face Cachée - celebrating the unseen side of the city

2012-01-12T16:08:00.000+01:00

A new initiative in Paris aims to show both visitors and locals alike a hidden side of one of the most well-known cities in the world.

Paris Face Cachée, a weekend long event being held on February 4th and 5th, is the result of a series of discussions between the city of Paris and an agency called À Suivre Productions. According to Sabrina Slimani, one of the event organisers, the initiative was almost a natural evolution from previous projects that they’d run together. “We have organised one-off events in so many fascinating places that it seemed a shame not to group them together somehow, and introduce them to the general public” she explained.

Over 50 activities (called experiences by the organisers) are planned in a wide range of unusual locations, nearly half of which half will be free. Partly in order to create a buzz, and partly to keep the curious away from certain sensitive sites before the event, all of the places remain a secret until you purchase (or reserve) a ticket.

According to Sabrina Slimani, the themes of the event almost suggested themselves. “After listing all the possible venues, we were quickly able to divide them into three themes; pénétrer l’interdit (enter the forbidden), expérimenter l’inedit (try something new), and rencontrer l’inconnu (encounter the unknown). The principal idea was to take people to places they would never be able to visit, or show them the hidden sides of the more well-known locations.”

So what will people be able to do during this weekend? Well, if they are interested in the forbidden, they can visit the printing plant of a newspaper, the control centre for the city’s traffic lights, or enter a bunker under one of the principal railway stations in the capital. For those looking for new experiences, there are tours of cemeteries and artists’ studios, and people seeking the unknown can meet up under a motorway flyover or in secret parts of the Metro system.

Is Paris Face Cachée a one-off, or the start of a new annual event? For Sabrina Slimani, the desire is there to make it a regular rendez-vous, and the city certainly does not lack potential sites. “This year there were many places where, for one reason or another, we couldn’t organise activities, so we have enough venues already for at least another year” she said.

Of course, the lifespan of the event will also depend on how successful it is this year, but already places are disappearing quickly. If you don’t want to take the risk of missing out, hurry up and book your places soon!

Reservations for all events can be made on the official website: http://www.parisfacecachee.fr/participer

Photos: Top, ©Pierre Meitivier, middle, ©Eau de Paris, bottom, ©Emilie Vialet

Travellers not welcome in chic 16th

2012-01-10T22:23:00.000+01:00

It's little more than a wasteland, a concrete patch between the end of a garden and the beginning of a car park, and yet it has become the scene of a bitter dispute. The Socialist-run city council wants to situate a permanent site for the travelling community (mostly Romani people) here, but local residents - traditionally supporters of parties to the right - don't like the idea one little bit!

In comments written following online news reports, it was interesting to read - among the standard claims that such installations would increase crime rates in the area - the contribution of one local contributor who stated that they had paid high market rates to live in this district in order to avoid such social necessities. The battle being fought here therefore is to discover whether or not wealth in Paris still buys such privileges.

Speaking on behalf of the city of Paris, Olga Trostiansky, stated that the creation of facilities for travellers is obligatory in all major towns and cities, and that in 2004 it was decided that space for 200 families would be made available in the city. The question remains where such facilities should be situated though. Not in my district has replied Claude Goasguen, the mayor of the 16th arrondissement, who has even launched a petition on his website.

After reading of these disputes, I decided to visit the location myself. Was it a deliberate and petty attempt to rile Socialist opponents in the area, or could it really be a serious proposition?

The site, at the end of the Square de l'Amiral-Bruix, opposite the Palais de Congrès, and in the vicinity of the prestigious Avenue Foch, offers little of interest. It is difficult to imagine 10 caravans here, let alone 200, although the site could potentially be expanded. What is noticeable, in comparison to more densely populated parts of the city, is that there is no real sense of community here. On one side is the busy périphérique motorway, and on the other an anonymous boulevard, principally housing smart office blocks. There is little in the way of housing, no schools or shops, and it is certainly not a place where local residents would choose to gather.

In essence, it is a lost space that serves no purpose at all, although it could be said that it provides a visual and aural buffer from the motorway. Cars are parked on the road alongside, but even these are not ordinary cars, with the majority displaying diplomatic vehicle registration plates. Nobody is here, not even a dog, and it retains the atmosphere that the plot must have had when it formed part of the fortif, the city's 19th century enceinte de Thiers protective barrier. Clearly it is a space in need of some kind of renaissance, and I see no reason why it couldn't be put it into use for the proposed purpose, albeit on a relatively small scale.

In reality, this facility has little chance of ever being created in this spot. With the city of Paris also including in its boundaries the Bois de Boulogne and Bois de Vincennes, the likelihood is that a suitable site for travellers will be found in one of these two locations - and conveniently far from any potential voters.

Disappearing Levallois: The Rue Marjolin

2012-01-04T20:00:00.002+01:00

Few places around Paris have seen as much demolition and construction as Levallois in recent years. The previously working-class town, considered once to be suitably welcoming by arch-revolutionary Louise Michel (who also chose to be buried in the town), and also under the control of Communist mayor Parfait Jans (once a taxi driver) until 1983, is now reinventing itself as a bourgeois dormitory town with the identity of a dreary pastiche ville nouvelle.

For a once radical town, opposition to this ripping out of its own heart seems surprisingly muted. The factories that once employed people in their thousands were pulled down several years ago, but now the local authorities seem intent on removing all traces of this industrial era, notably by demolishing the buildings that housed these workers. Nowhere is this more evident than on a stretch of the Rue Marjolin, where a dozen or so buildings are scheduled to be pulled down this year.

The buildings themselves may not be of the highest quality, but they also have an identity that clearly does not fit into the new town model. Compulsory purchase orders have been slapped on all properties in this stretch of the street, but apparently at rates that are below the market level in the town, meaning that property owners here will need to look outside of Levallois to purchase something of a similar size.

The local authorities say that the new structures that will take their place will be majoritarily social housing, and that they need to undertake this development in order to meet a 20% target for such housing in the town, but is this the most judicious way to work with urban areas such as this one? Estimates suggest that the operation will cost around €20 million, with around half that sum earmarked for the purchasing of properties and their demolition, but surely renovation would have been more economically and environmentally sensible?

Beyond the elimination of the town's previous identity, there are clearly human dramas being played out here too. One of the buildings in this strip is a small townhouse, built at the time of the town's birth in 1850, and one of the only remaining social links back to this era. Inside lives an 87 year old lady, a resistant who was deported to Germany during the Second World War, before later finding shelter back in Levallois. "This house may be modest" says a sign outside, "but many would love to live here". This lady simply wants to remain in a town where her husband is buried, but at current market rates it seems that this will be unlikely.

"A society that forgets and disowns its past and history, and which does not respect its elders, is a society without a future" says another sign outside the house. This is seemingly the only protest in this street, and a message falling on very deaf ears. Each building in the strip is different, each has its own size, shape and features, but all will surely be replaced by one block of fake marble blandness, the standard model today mushrooming across the town.

This was clearly once at the heart of the old town, a narrow street of cheap lodgings and commerces de bouche. Only one of these - a rusting and crumbling butchers shop - is still visible, but its fascinating facade is surely simply destined only for the incinerator.

Levallois is a town without a museum, and seemingly also a place that feels no need to display any traces of its past. It's the classic tale of the nouveau riche with a deep feeling of shame about its unprosperous ancestors.

But as the streets are scrubbed clean, and smooth, shiny, soulless buildings replace the lived in with their ragged facades and generations of simple histories, what will the town gain? Surely anything but an identity.

The Top 5 posts of the year

2011-12-28T14:30:00.006+01:00

As seems to be traditional at this time of year, here is yet another list. Rather than just simply present the top 5 posts though, I have also added a few notes to explain why I picked the subject, why I think it found an audience, and what has happened since.

Firstly though, on top of thanking everyone for visiting the site this year and for reading the posts, I'd just like to say how pleased I am that the list - which includes architecture, history, street art and a kind of diluted psychogeography - reflects the range of topics I try to present on this blog.

Top 5 most consulted posts of the year:

1. Stephen Sauvestre: The forgotten architect of the Eiffel Tower
http://parisisinvisible.blogspot.com/2011/07/stephen-sauvestre-forgotten-architect.html

When I began working on this post, I had no idea that there had even been an official architect of the Eiffel Tower. Stephan Sauvestre was just a name that I kept seeing etched into buildings in the 17th arrondissement, and the range of the creations he was involved with encouraged me to dig a little deeper. Discovering the connection to Gustave Eiffel was quite exciting, and it was clear that it should become the focus of the post. I had vowed to myself to never feature the Eiffel Tower on this blog, but this was an invisible angle that I couldn't resist. Finally, including the name 'Eiffel Tower' in the title of a post also obviously helps bring in new readers!

2. Peurs sur la Ville - "Paris is a battlefield"
http://parisisinvisible.blogspot.com/2011/01/peurs-sur-la-ville-paris-is-battlefield.html

I try to keep up to date with exhibitions in Paris, but it is rare that I choose to feature them on this blog. This exhibition though - a look at Paris as a battleground, both in reality and the imaginary - seemed worthy of investigation. I managed to get myself on the press list for the vernissage (perhaps because they somehow confused me with a journalist from The Guardian newspaper!) and found enough material for a post, possibly helped by the contrast between the sometimes gruesome pictures and the luxurious surroundings (including the champagne and petits fours at the vernissage)!

I was particularly pleased with the fact that this post made it onto the list of links of interest on BLDGBLOG, one of my favourite blogs, and that consequently many of the visitors came from that site (enough to send the post into the top 5!).

3. Noise Maps of Paris
http://parisisinvisible.blogspot.com/2011/10/noise-maps-of-paris.html

When I read an article in a newspaper about the launch of a series of noise maps of Paris, I knew that it would be a subject that I would have to feature on this blog. I was initially struck by the choice of word - 'bruit' or noise, rather than 'son' or sounds, which instantly transformed the maps into something that would be negative and slightly sinister. On discovering the maps themselves, I was then struck by how graphically interesting and almost beautiful they were, which offered a fascinating contrast to their declared role.

Despite the name of this blog, the subjects are almost entirely physical, so it was interesting to treat a subject that was truly invisible. This blog is also very much about keeping eyes open, but this was a reminder that our ears are also just as important, and that we cannot generalise about such topic and always equate noise with nuisance. This was demonstrated in one of my favourite comments of the year from a reader called Dom who commented that he lives "in the west close to the periph and rather than it being an intrusive 24/7 hated noise, I in fact embrace it as a monotonous, calming lullaby".

4. The Maison Galvani
http://parisisinvisible.blogspot.com/2011/03/maison-galvani.html

A house with a tree growing out of its facade cannot be anything but interesting, but what I particularly appreciated about this post was how a link I'd provided to the architect's website became a reciprocal link back to mine. Another of my self-imposed rules is that I avoid subjects that have been amply treated elsewhere, and whilst I was aware that this house was a staple of course material for students of architecture, I wanted to look at how it had changed since delivery.

The project seemed to demonstrate some of the tribulations of being an architect for private clients. The architect, Christian Pottgiesser, is clearly very proud of his creation, but once delivered it is no longer his baby. Following a slightly withering remark - "as far as we know, the ground floor has recently been transformed into a cellar. The two courtyards have been demolished, maximising square meters", there is now a link back to this page.

5. Challenge 1: The mysterious man on a ladder
http://parisisinvisible.blogspot.com/2011/06/challenge-1-mysterious-man-on-ladder.html

Over the three years that I have been running this blog, I have occasionally attempted to launch new features, with more or less success. I'm pleased to see that the 'challenge me' feature has made this year's top 5, as it is something I enjoy doing, and it also offers me a chance to interact with readers.

I had some hesitations about accepting this challenge. Uncovering the identities of street artists is not the done thing, but this artist seemed to be doing something a little different. His identity was not hidden as such, but it simply appeared that his creations had become more important than the person who had painted them. The artist is somebody who has had success in galleries and who had developed a certain renown, but he seemed to feel that his creations were in some way trapped by the limits of a frame, and had to move out onto the streets in order to survive. Unless of course it is simply a way to develop some 'street' credibility in order to better sell his more traditional work!

I have since published five other responses to challenges, answered a few others directly and failed with one or two. I have three others that I will answer at the beginning of the year, but always welcome any questions or challenges, so please don't hesitate to send them!

A Christmas message from Paris

2011-12-24T09:30:00.001+01:00

Street artist Michael Beerens has been given the freedom of a wall in my street over the last six months or so, and changes the creation displayed there on a monthly basis. This week, a rather sobering Christmas message has appeared (Merry Christmas to those who sleep outside).

Beerens uses his art to share messages, but lightens the sometimes heavy themes with humour and a wide range of fantastic animals. Although the message here is a reminder of our privileged positions at this time of year, I'd like to think that it can also be taken at face value, and that he is genuinely addressing those who sleep on the floor of the city gallery. Taken this way, it may seem slightly crass, but at least he is directly addressing those to whom most people turn a blind eye.

Things to do in Paris over the holidays

2011-12-22T18:30:00.000+01:00

I will be away from Paris over the holiday period, but for those who will be in the city during that time, I have posted a few suggestions of things to do on the Paris Weekends blog.

Magic, fairground attractions, spiders, kitsch musicals and sport - there should be something for everyone!

Wherever you may be over this period, I wish you bonnes fêtes. For me it is also a time to escape from all forms of digital communication (although I have programmed a couple of posts...), but I'm sure I'll be itching to get online again as soon as 2012 ticks round!

Introducing...Invisible Bordeaux

2011-12-19T18:15:00.017+01:00

Those with very sharp eyes may have noticed a recent addition to my list of favourite blogs - Invisible Bordeaux. The writing, research and photography make the blog worthy of recommendation in its own right, but it is also interesting because it is...the first blog to be inspired by and to adopt my Invisible Paris concept!

When I began this blog I had a very specific idea in mind - that there are many blindspots in our lives, and that what we see and remember is not necessarily the reality of our surroundings. Paris is my home, and so had to be the subject of the blog, but it also seemed to me to be the archetypal city of the invisible, purely because it has such a strong visual identity, even for those who have never actually visited the place.

However, I have always thought that cities all over the world are the same in some respects. Those that live in them are trapped in routines, or become blinded by over-familiarity, whilst those that visit are restricted by obligations to follow safe paths trodden by generations of previous visitors and simply don't have enough time to become absorbed into the place.

If there is an Invisible City concept then, it is the desire to hunt out the overlooked, and to recount the forgotten stories of your environment. Above all, it is about being curious and keeping your eyes open (and making sure you always have a camera, a pen and some paper with you!).

Tim, author of the Invisible Bordeaux blog, and faithful reader of this blog since its inception, believed that the concept could be adapted to his city, and he has already found quite a stock of material. Already featured in just the first month of its existence have been a hidden milestone, the secrets of the city's tramway, a city-centre race track and a Thai restaurant that was previously a theatre...and a place that once hosted sessions of France's upper parliamentary house!

Although I have not actively sought out acolytes, I would be delighted if one day I could make a claim like that of Eric Tenin on his excellent ParisDailyPhoto blog - the blog that started the City Daily Photo community. Blogs need an audience to survive, and bloggers need support to continue producing material, and what better way to ensure this than through the creation of a community?

Long life to Invisible Bordeaux, and if anyone else thinks their city might be invisible, let me know!

A ghost sign of Christmas past

2011-12-14T18:30:00.011+01:00

On the Rue Marx Dormoy in the 18th arrondissement is one of the clearest ghost signs in Paris, and one which is particular relevant at this time of year.

Those who have spent the winter in France may be familiar with 'Les Pyréneens', a seasonal chocolate that only appears in the shops during the Christmas period, but few will be aware of its history. This ghost sign gives us a clue to its origins.

The Rozan chocolate brand was launched in 1924 by Maurice Rozan de Mazilly. The company's headquarters were in Paris at 21 avenue Niel, but production took place at Oloron Sainte-Marie in the Pyrénées mountains. This information can be read clearly in the ad, but what is not so clear is the company's graphic identity, which seems to have been some kind of clown holding four bells. Who was Maurice Rozan de Mazilly though, and what was so special about his chocolate?

Born in 1893, Rozan de Mazilly did not come to the chocolate business on an easy route, but rather as a way of rebuilding his life. Originally from a working class family in Normandy, he began working at the age of 15 as a sailor, before signing up with the French army at the beginning of the First World War.

Although he survived the conflict, he didn’t escape injury. He received severe injuries to his face, which required a two-year stay at the Hôpital du Val de Grâce in Paris and over twenty operations to repair the damage. Despite the pain and suffering, this period gave him time to reflect, and his first act after leaving hospital was to become a chocolatier.

He managed to persuade a number of people to support him financially, including an American millionaire called Frank Jay Gould, but his success came after he discovered a new way to create chocolate. His inspiration came from the Austrian pastries he tasted during a visit to Vienna which ‘melted in the mouth’ whilst at the same time offering a sensation of freshness. He wondered if something similar would be possible with chocolate, and after two years of research and testing, he found a technique. In 1927 he launched the Les Pyrénéens brand, and his recipe for these chocolates (which should be served chilled from the fridge, and seem to melt in layers in the mouth) remains a secret to this day.

Above: the brand identity today. Below: where the inspiration for the packaging came from.

Rozan de Mazilly sold his brand to the Swiss group Lindt in 1956, but stayed on as ‘président d’honneur’ of the company, and was able to ensure that production remained in France, in his original factory in Oloron Sainte-Marie. To this day, the Les Pyréneens chocolates are sold only in France, and only when the snows begin to fall on the neighbouring mountains.

A Psychogeographic field report from the Palais de Congrès

2011-12-12T09:57:00.001+01:00

Wilfried Hou Je Bek, writer, psychogeographer and editor of the Cryptoforestry blog, has compiled a series of nineteen psychogeographic field reports and created 'The Zine'. I'm delighted to say that a field report I wrote after a 'dérive' around and inside the Palais de Congrès in Paris has been included in the collection.

It's an honour to not only feature alongside people producing genuinely interesting and challenging work, but also to be included in a creation that exudes a homegrown spirit. As Wilfried says, "the zine contains a varied range of approaches and styles, is a great read and has a crappy design that adds to the pleasure by not detracting attention from the natural psychogeographic flamboyance that is bursting from every page"!

Click here for information on how you can order a copy, and thanks to Wilfried for his hard work on this project.

The Tour Bois-le-Prêtre: making the social desirable

2011-12-07T20:00:00.007+01:00

The Tour Bois-le-Prêtre, standing alongside the périphérique autoroute on the very limits of the city, has recently been transformed from a crumbling outcast to an award-winning structure. Could it show the way forward for high-rise structures around the world?

Last month, architects Anne Lacaton, Jean-Philippe Vassal and Frédéric Druot picked up the Equerre d’argent 2011, an annual architecture prize awarded by the Moniteur press group. The judges saluted the way that the team had reimagined a structure that was originally built in the 1960s, transforming it from a banal concrete block to a sustainable building that is open to its surroundings and filled with natural light.

The architects' leitmotif is 'détruire, c’est gaspiller' (destruction is waste). For this project, nothing was removed, but 3500m² of space was added to the 100 apartments, mostly by adding 'winter gardens' and balconies. For the people living in the tower block - none of whom needed to be rehoused during the work - an additional 20 to 60m was added to their homes. On top of this, heating costs will be drastically reduced and noise pollution from the neighbouring motorway will almost completely disappear.

The tower when originally built, in its 1980s form and how it looks today.

The exterior of the building now looks like the kind of modern, smart block that would attract young professionals worldwide, but according to the residents, it is from the inside that the changes have been most noticeable. Looking at the slideshow on the website of the city of Paris, it is almost possible to forget that the building not only overlooks the motorway, but also the Batignolles cemetery!

Tower blocks are still the subject of great debate, particularly in Paris, but it is difficult to see how this particular project could be seen as anything but exemplery. Organisations such as SOS Paris claim to want to preserve the architectural heritage of the city, but exactly what heritage is there to save in these city-limit corridors alongside busy roads, cemeteries, factories and warehouses? If people have to live in these zones, shouldn't we at least give them the chance to rise up above their surroundings?

Another argument against towers is that they are community destroyers, but alongside the tour Bois-le-Prêtre, the city of Paris is currently creating an entirely new street (Rue Rebière) of mixed social and private housing - and the results are surprising to say the least!

The nine architectural agencies involved in the creation of these buildings worked together from the beginning of the project, in association with the city of Paris and local residents. In total, 180 new apartments will be available from 2013, 140 of which have been earmarked for those in most need of accommodation.

A far cry from sterile Haussmannian uniformity, each building on this street is different from the next, and each stands alone. And yet there are still very clear links between them all, noticeably through their playfulness and through the regular use of openings (balconies, terraces) that look out onto the street or towards neighbouring properties (see the M building for a good example of this).

There is one other feature they all share - they all back onto the Batignolles cemetery. Experimental housing perhaps, but at least we can be sure that there will be no complaints about noisy neighbours!

My Paris Soundlandscape

2011-12-04T20:55:00.013+01:00

I was very pleased to be invited by Des from Soundlandscapes to speak about my favourite place in Paris for a series of guest pieces on his blog. I chose the Hopital Salpêtrière which I have always found fascinating, and which is a place that has become personally important for me.

We recorded the piece on a sunny Saturday afternoon, and whilst it was a pleasure to show Des around my favourite spots, it was a little daunting to speak about everything from a personal perspective (something I generally try to avoid doing on Invisible Paris). I'm not sure whether I succeeded or not, but I least hope that I sound sincere!

As is the nature of these things, after recording stopped I instantly thought of hundreds of other things that I wished that I had said. At the same time, I am also happy that it will survive as a snapshot of one moment of reflection, which is a luxury that we don't allow ourselves very often. It was also a privilege to be able to capture these thoughts on top quality audio equipment and be part of Des's project.

Click here to listen to my thoughts on the Hopital Salpêtrière: http://soundlandscapes.wordpress.com/2011/12/04/paris-a-personal-view-2/

Yola: le Circle Vicieux

2011-11-30T18:30:00.002+01:00

Those who take the Line 2 of the Metro will surely have seen the monumental creation on an abandoned building between the stations of La Chapelle and Stalingrad, but the story behind the work is as interesting as the creation itself.

It is the work of a young artist called Yola (Jola Kudela), who is an atypical street artist for several reasons, and not only for the size of the creations. She's female and originally from Poland, although today she divides her time between London and Paris, and is a recognised compositing artist with credits including the special effects on one of the Harry Potter films!

She describes her work as 'photos mixed with graphic elements', but beyond the beauty of the piece, there is often a social element to her creations. This work, entitled 'le circle vicieux', is an update of a creation of the same name by Polish painter Jacek Malczewski, which dates back to the end of the 19th century. Malczewski was a symbolist who surrounded himself with his demons in the painting, but Yola instead chose to portray photos of people living in the community nearby.

The circle is an important theme in her work, and historically an important theme in Polish culture. She has linked this particular creation to the 'infernal circular dance' of people who have no nation, seeing in these faces the dreams, desires and frustrations of individuals who have come to Paris to find a a new life, or simply to survive.

The building has been empty for as long as I remember, and the work was first placed there to coincide with the Nuit Blanche event in October. Bringing life to abandoned spaces and linking them back to the community in which they are situated is also one of Yola's leitmotifs. "I don't want to vandalize" she said in a recent interview, "but to add something to a worn space".

She is also aware that her works are ephemeral, saying elegantly that "they are objects to live with the time, and they'll ultimately be destroyed by time".

Winter is beginning to fall on Paris now, and small corners of this creation are starting to peel away. Snow, frost and rain will probably remove the rest, if it is not bulldozers coming to pull down the building. From its ruins, something new will rise, completing the circle of city life.

More information on the artist can be found here: http://yolart.net/

Free, downloadable street art walk finally updated!

2011-11-28T16:47:00.010+01:00

Two years ago I published a free downloadable walking tour (in PDF format) on the theme of street art, the third of my Free Paris Walks. I've always wanted to publish others, without ever managing to find the time to see the projects through (those who have tried will probably know how much work goes into the creation of a walking tour), but the least I can do is ensure that those I have already published are still up to date.

This is particularly true with a theme such as street art, which by nature is something that is constantly changing. The area in which this walk is situated - Belleville and Menilmontant - is my home, so I know that many of the featured areas have remained vibrant spots, but I have now updated some points that have disappeared and changed several of the photos.

To download the new version of the walk (Walk 3), click here: http://freepariswalks.com/downloads.aspx

I recently did the walk again on a sunny Sunday morning to confirm the final details, and found that it's probably the best time of all to do the walk! Although street art is the thread that stitches the walk together, it is an interesting route for several other reasons, one of which being the market on the Rue des Pyrenées where you can get excellent Pasteis de Nata cakes! Several other points on the walk have also been featured on this blog, so for those who can't do the walk, here's an idea of what can be seen en route:

Enjoy the walk!

Note: There seems to be a problem downloading the PDFs with certain combinations of browsers and operating systems. If you do have problems, send me a mail and I'll find another way to get a copy to you. For those who have previously bought the app for iPhone or Windows 7, your updated walk will be available soon.

From the Archives: What is the significance of the Saint Catherine day?

2011-11-25T09:07:00.001+01:00

November 25th is Sainte Catherine's day, otherwise known in France as the day of the Catherinettes. On this day, young women aged 25 who are not yet married have the opportunity to wear a hat and go looking for a husband!

Although the event has little relevance in today's society and is no longer celebrated (apart from in a slightly ironic manner or as a family rite of passage), it was a historically important occasion, and this has been captured by a sculpture in the Square du Montholon in the 10th arrondissement.

The sculpture shows five young working-class women, most probably from the hatmaking or dressmaking trades (of which there were many in the district) celebrating the Sainte-Catherine. It was an important tradition in these communities in French cities in the 19th century, giving young working women the opportunity to break away from the harsh conditions of the workshop. They would put on their best clothes (and a specially made hat) and attend organised balls and parties, events that were sometimes considered their last chance to find a husband!

In this sculpture, the work of an artist called Julien Lorieux, you can see five women linked arm in arm, each wearing an extravagant hat (although not as extravagant as in the photo above!), with two or three of the women also carrying orange blossoms or papier-mâché oranges. These young women have probably been caught by the sculptor at the moment they left their place of work before heading off to the evening ball, an event that they seem to be very much looking forward to.

Julien Lorieux didn't live to see his sculpture being unveiled. As with many men of his generation, he was to die prematurely during the First World War, and although he had created the sculpture in 1908, and sold it to the city of Paris in 1913, it wasn’t displayed to the public until 1923.

By that time, was the tradition already beginning to seem like old-fashioned folklore? The event was off course originally a religious one. Girls were traditionally thought to be under the protection of Sainte Catherine, while Saint Nicolas looked after the boys. On November 25th, girls participated in devotion groups where they created a headdress to place on her statue. Young women left the group when they got married, and therefore taking part in the ceremony became synonymous with still being single after 25.

Although developments in society saw first the religious elements dropped, then the need to find a husband at an early age, it is still pleasing to see a popular tradition commemorated in this manner. So, if you know any unmarried 25 year old women, don't forget to wish them a happy Sainte Catherine's day on the 25th!

Socialism and Sects at the Square des Saint-Simoniens

2011-11-23T21:22:00.010+01:00

Near the summit of Paris sits what seems to be one of the quietest parks in the city, with little remaining to trace it back to its time as the centre of a curious - but very influential - social movement called saint-simonianism.

Today the park is surrounded by apartment blocks, including one large tower that dominates the eastern edge. In the morning sun, a small group practices tai chi moves under the bare cherry trees. Well wrapped children brave the dew drops in the playground, whilst a group of teenagers play football as seriously as if it were an important cup final. It is a scene of serene egalitarianism, and one the saint-simonians would no doubt have approved of.

The movement
Saint-simonianism was a kind of utopian socialism, inspired by the ideas of Claude Henri de Rouvroy, comte de Saint-Simon, particularly those in the journals he published in the early 19th century. His profound belief was that science and industry would liberate people from medieval theocracies, and that useful work would create true equality. To this end, he has been recognised as an influence to a diverse range of people, including Auguste Comte (featured here previously on Invisible Paris, and who was once Saint-Simon's secretary), Karl Marx, and John Stuart Mill.

Amusingly, one of his works, 'De la réorganisation de la société européenne' (On the reorganisation of European society), seems to predict today’s European Union, with the exception being that he placed the United Kingdom at the heart of the institution, rather than as a meddlar on the fringes!

Towards the end of his life though, Saint-Simon reverted back towards a kind of benevolent christianity, a move that led his followers to veer off in two different directions after his death in 1825.

Those still promulgating the power of science and industry were less visible than the other branch - led by the charismatic Prosper Enfantin - who twisted saint-simonianism towards what would be today classed as a religious sect. Enfantin declared himself to be the Père Suprême (Supreme Father) of the movement, and began making declarations such as the fact that ‘the tyranny of marriage’ would be replaced by a system of ‘free love’.

Enfantin always wore a badge on his breast displaying his title of ‘Père’, and was known by his followers - who were encouraged to wear a special uniform - as ‘the living law’. He gave some of his missionaries the task of finding him a ‘female messiah’ who would be the mother of the ‘new saviour’, but no suitable person was ever found.

With his activities becoming more and more bizarre, Enfantin began to attract the attention of the authorities, and in 1832, his offices in Paris were closed by the government. Following this, he chose to retire to the estate in Menilmontant his mother had left him (on the site of today’s Square des Saint-Simoniens park, but at that time a large country house conveniently far away from the city and the authorities). Joining him were 40 disciples, all men, who would jointly attempt to create a new defining text - Le Livre nouveau – which would reveal the truth through mathematical formulas.

On Saturdays and Sundays the community would open its doors to visitors (quite a trek up the hill in those days), but when this too began to attract too many people, Enfantin and his followers were arrested (strangely enough, by a ‘commissaire de Belleville’ called Maigret!). At his trial, Enfantin would not let his followers speak without his permission, and asked to be defended himself by two women ‘because the subject was of particular importance to women’. This request was refused and he was sentenced to one year in prison.

Prison though was no hardship for Enfantin. He continued to attract followers behind bars, and was even invited to dine with the director of the prison. Indeed, being 'retained' in a four-room apartment, he was even able to write to those outside that ‘nous sommes ici comme des princes’ (we live here like princes)!

In reality though, Enfantin was highly discredited by the trial and the imprisonment, and had become a figure of ridicule in the press. His branch of saint-simonianism died out at this point, although he himself continued to hold positions of responsibility and influence, for example in the new railway companies that were being created.

Other followers of Saint-Simon also took on posts of great importance, and the ideals of the movement lived on in many of the actions of the French state, as well as in the creation of a feminist movement. It is a movement that is still much studied today, with some claiming that it forms the basis of modern socialism.

The house and park
The Square des Saint-Simoniens park was created in 1937, and it is perhaps a little strange that it has kept the name of the movement, particularly as it was only associated with it for a short period in 1832. Little is written on what happened to Enfantin's house after his release for prison, but what is known is that he died in another house on the Rue Ballu in 1864. He was buried in the Père Lachaise cemetery, and you can still see his tomb - with a superbly bearded bust - today.

Although saint-simonianism is a much written about subject, Enfantin's house in Menilmontant seems to have not attracted much attention. However, from the sketch below - dating from 1869, 5 years after his death - it looks as if it must have been a very impressive place, albeit not especially egalitarian!

Perhaps it fell into ruin after Enfantin's death, but nothing else is listed for the site until 1925 when building permits began to be issued. Several constructions are listed for the site up until 1935, with the park being finished itself on the house's grounds in 1937. Nothing seems to remain from the original construction, but perhaps it had a typically saint-simonian ending. A space which contained just one large house which was home to one person is now filled with a mixed range of housing and a shared park for people of all ages, sexes and races!

Born free

2011-11-18T18:55:00.000+01:00

As an immigrant, my place of birth has taken great signification. Despite living in France now for more than a third of my life, I am still defined by my country of origin. Is it something that ever really leaves you?

One person who might be able to tell me is an old lady who was born in Paris but now lives in New York. Her place of birth was so important that there is still a plaque today on the very spot that she came into the world. Her name? The statue of liberty.

Like many other immigrants, she has become more closely connected with her country of adoption than her country of origin, even going as far as becoming a symbol of her new land. In truth, it was easy for her. She was welcomed as a star on her arrival, and went to a place which has always been defined by immigration, and where almost all its inhabitants can trace their origins back to other lands.

Artist Paul Joseph Victor Dargaud captures the birth of the statue of liberty, before she grew too large for Paris.

In France, the relationship with immigrants has always been more difficult, and there is no symbol holding out a shining light to welcome new arrivals (ironic therefore that she should be born in this land). I know that I am in a privilieged position to be an immigrant by choice and not financial or political necessity, and to come from a place that is seen positively (albeit with some suspicion!) in the country, but to my French friends, colleagues and family I will always be the Englishman.

However, there is no plaque at my birthplace. In fact my exact place of birth no longer exists - the hospital in which I was born was demolished several years ago - but I still have a paper, a language, an accent, physical traces and roots that refuse to snap.

A mystery - solved!
The statue of liberty was born on the Rue de Chazelles near the Parc Monceau in the 17th arrondissement. Like my hospital, the atelier (the foundry of Gayet where the casts were made) has been replaced by something else in what is now a very residential environment.

The question I had asked was who was Milt Forrest and what was his role in this initiative? Thanks to Philippa from the Parisian fields blog, I now have the answer. This Milt Forrest was a Hollywood businessman with a passion for stamp collecting. He just happened to be in Paris at around the 75th anniversary of the statue, and bought a special edition stamp - by chance from a shop opposite the studio in which the statue was built. After discovering that there was no permanent marker for this spot, he vowed to pay for one to be put up, something that was done a few months later.

Is this the same Milt Forrest? ('Milt Forrest, Hollywood advertising man and originator of the air mail postcard') I hope so because it's a great photo!

Collapsing dreams

2011-11-14T17:45:00.020+01:00

Middle-class Nogent sur Marne to the east of Paris is not the kind of place you would expect to find eastern-bloc styled architecture, but the suburbs of Paris are in fact liberally sprinkled with such designs. Although Nogent was not one of the 'banlieu rouge' (or ceinture rouge) towns, in another recent era it did apparently share some of the same social policies - and dreams - as its more left-leaning neighbours.

In the centre of the town stands pure concrete functionalism. Housed here is the town's market, with a larger sports centre looming above it. It reminds me of the buildings of Hungary, a country I lived in for a year, and everything about this structure seems familiar - right up to the font face (and colour) used for the sign on the sports centre.

A giant red 'municipal' - a word announcing public ownership, something that is becoming more and more difficult to find in a world of PPPs. Here is equipment provided for the town's population, good food, and sport for the soul. Healthy, happy people, the dream of all local authorities. Significantly, no fast-food or soft drink logos are visible inside or outside the building.

This 1960s vision of city life though is in steep decline. The structure is condemned, destined to be replaced by a new model. Few will mourn the passing of this installation, judged to be ugly and impractical today, but it should not be forgotten from which dreams this building was born.

Earlier this year I visited the Nogent town museum and discovered an exhibition - a short history of shopping in the Paris region in the last two centuries. Amongst pictures of 19th century market stalls and 1960s supermarkets, I was struck by one particular photo - a black and white image of a building crushed under the weight of exceptional snowfall.

I can find almost no evidence online for this event, and the photo now seems like something I dreamed. The only reference is two lines on a website - 'the market in Nogent sur Marne, built in 1912, suffered a terrible accident in 1942 and was demolished. The new market was built a little further north in 1970'. As I remember it from the exhibition, it was an accident that killed dozens of people, trapped during a simple shopping trip. Death and destruction stands out when placed alongside smiling market stall holders and brightly coloured fruit and veg.

1942 - 1970. Apparently it took the town authorities 28 years to build a new market building, but by the time it was built, the era had changed. People wanted solidity. Historical buildings were subject to fire and collapse, and new dreams were needed.

But how long do dreams last? All buildings begin with a vision, a sketch, an idea, a design that tries to fit with the desires of those that will use them. This building was hefty practicality, a functional strength that reassured those who still remembered war and disaster. Ironically, it is now labelled as unsafe itself, and not up to today's standards. Born the same year as me, it is now defunct. Will the new dream last longer?

From the archives: The First World War at the Gare de l'Est

2011-11-10T20:00:00.001+01:00

This post was first published on this blog three years ago (have I really been running the blog for that long?), but is still just as relevant today. As content sometimes tends to get lost on blogs, I thought I'd republish it for people who many not have time to waste sifting through the archives!

The eleventh day of the eleventh month is better known as the Armistace, the day when the First World War was finally brought to an end. Strangely, Paris does not have a monument to commemorate this conflict, but there is one place in the city you can visit which is still imbued with memories – the Gare de l’Est.

The war ended famously in a train carriage in the forests of Compiegne just outside Paris, but for many it also began in trains, at the Gare de l’Est. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers were sent out to the eastern front-lines from this station, and the Hall des Departs was a permanent buzz of comings and goings. Despite a recent renovation to welcome the TGV Est, this departure hall retains its original structure, and you can still imagine young recruits joking and laughing, couples saying tearful goodbyes and children waving to disappearing fathers. Most thought these separations would be simply an au revoir, but for more than 1 million French soldiers, it was an adieu.

The significance of this site is celebrated in a painting which still hangs today in the hall, although it now has to compete with the bright lights of retail outlets and flashing information screens. Most visitors to the station rush through, perhaps quickly grabbing a drink or a magazine before catching a train, but this immense, remarkable painting, entitled ‘Le Depart des Poilus, le 2 aout 1914’, deserves greater consideration.

The canvas, more than 60m2 in size, is the work of the American artist, Albert Herter. He presented it to the company running the station in 1926, but it was more than just a generous gift. Herter lost a son in the conflict, and the painting is a monumental tribute to his memory. Executed in soft, melancholic blues, greys and browns, it describes a scene which would have been a typical one in this railway location during the conflict.

When we investigate more closely however, we find that it contains not only universal themes but also intensely personal details. It is in fact a fantastic montage built around a triangular trinity of the father, the mother and the departing, soon to be dearly departed son. The artist/father is on the right-hand side, whilst his wife (the artist Adele McGinnis Herter) is facing him on the opposite side of the painting. Both seem to already be in mourning, with the father carrying a bouquet of flowers, hand upon heart, and the mother clasping her hands together. They seem elderly, certainly older than they would have been in 1914, and probably closer to their physical appearance in 1926.

It is the son, Everit, however who is the principal, central focus of the composition. At first glance he seems triumphant and unconcerned, with his arms held aloft whilst people at his feet weep and embrace. Look more closely though, and you’ll notice the flowers sticking out of the rifle in his hand and his head thrown back. With the knowledge of what became of Everit in mind, you may notice that his arms form a cross, and that he seems almost to be a Christ-like, sacrificial figure.

Everit Herter, like his father and mother before him, had chosen an artistic path, and had studied to be a painter. His privileged background offered him no protection, and indeed it was almost a rite of passage for the wealthy young men of his generation to sign up for this ‘just’ cause. His father had spent several years in France, and perhaps this explains why Everit signed up with the French army. Tragically, Everit was killed only months before the armistice. He was one of the wasted generation, but a spark of that youth is forever immortalised through the defiant figure depicted in this painting.

19th Century Paris: 'Elle coud, elle court, la grisette'

2011-11-09T18:29:00.003+01:00

The third exhibition with strong links to Paris in the 19th century that I am featuring is 'Elle coud, elle court, la grisette' running at the Maison de Balzac until January 15th 2012. The exhibition takes a look at one of Paris's historical cultural icons, la grisette, who although born in the 17th century, was particularly prevalent in the 19th century.

Here I talk to Nathalie Preiss, co-author of a book to accompany the exhibition, about the life of the grisette in Paris, and what we can learn about her through the exhibition.

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Who was la grisette?
NP: We can trace the origins of the grisette back to the 17th century. She typically worked in the textile industry, making or selling clothes, and was named after the grey material she wore. The name stuck, even if by the 19th century she was wearing far more colourful clothes.

The myth of the grisette grew thanks to the many representations of her that could be found in all media forms, dating back to La Fontaine’s ‘Joconde, ou l’infidélité des femmes’ written in 1664. Although there were grisettes in all French cities, the ‘reine des grisettes’ was undoubtedly the Parisian model!

Did the grisette really exist, or was she just the creation of male artists?
NP: She most certainly did exist, and we have a lot of archive material on her working life and what she did in her free time, as well as on her social and living conditions. However, it is also true to say that her image was magnified in society through the work of authors such as Auguste Ricard, and above all, Paul de Kock.

What is more difficult though is to pin the grisette down to one particular identity. Throughout her lifespan, what typifies her is how she is constantly evolving. We find her in many different trades, at many different hierachical levels, right across Paris, during the day and of course in the evening too. She is often elusive and always in movement. Indeed, she was often compared to a bird by contemporary observers.

What role did the grisette play in 19th century Paris?
NP: In many ways she represented modernity in society. She was completely implicated in the transformation of the textile industry, which was moving from small-scale operations towards the ‘grands magasins’ that were born in the 19th century, and which are of course still with us today. She also played many roles in the cultural and social life of the city, for example at the bals and guingettes, as well as at the theatre which was growing in importance.

Was the grisette a ‘soumise’, or was she instead the first truly independant woman?
NP: We can perhaps say that she was in a submissive position in her work, but even here that depended on her post. There was a distinct hierachy amongst the grisettes, from the ‘trottin’ who was the youngest member of staff in a shop, up to the skilled couturier who worked independantly at her home – which of course was still a small room under the mansard roof!

The grisette was never wealthy, but she was someone who tended to look after the man she loved, rather than be someone who was looked after. In her relationships with men she could be both sentimental and practical. It was often said that she had two lovers – an ‘amant métallique’ generally a married member of the bourgeoisie who gave her money, and an ‘amant de coeur’, typically a penniless student, whom she financed.

In the 19th century, there was also much talk about la lorette. What differences were there between her and the grisette?
NP: They were not the same animal at all! The lorette was invented by a journalist, Nestor Roqueplan, in 1841, and referred to women who lived around the Notre Dame de Lorette district. She dressed differently from the grisette, and certainly avoided all forms of work. She was the classic ‘femme entretenue’, linked to one wealthy man only, and she rarely ventured outside of her immediate ‘quartier’.

The grisette could of course become a lorette, but it entailed such a radical change in appearance and lifestyle, that she would have nothing of the grisette left in her at all!

How is the exhibition at the Maison de Balzac organised, and why was it organised in this particular location? Are there any links between Balzac and the grisette?
NP: She was often featured in the works of Balzac, for example in ‘Une double Famille’, where the married Comte de Granville seeks solace in the arms of grisette, so the Maison de Balzac is an entirely appropriate location in which to situate the exhibition!

What we didn’t want to do with this exhibition is offer a thematic path, showing only representations of her working and social life. We were more interested in capturing the fleeting nature of the grisette, and how she was constantly changing.

For this reason, the first rooms look at all the conditions of the grisette - mostly showing where this hard-working person was employed - and her ‘constellation’, in other words the kinds of people who surrounded her, and the possible evolutions she could experience - both upwards and downwards in society!

We then show how it was possible to recognise a grisette, and try to list and show all of the principal profiles she had. A room called ‘Les plaisirs et les jours… et les nuits’ shows how she enjoyed herself when not working!

We are very fortunate because the grisette was featured in so many different media forms. For this reason, we have been able to create an exhibition that covers a very wide range of supports, including literature, caricature and painting - and of course the clothes she wore.

One of the most important ways she was described was in the songs of the time, and we felt it was essential to feature music in the exhibition. Working with Le Hall de la chanson (nb - you can listen to some extracts here), we have been able to faithfully recreate the exact original melodies of the songs, so visitors will hear exactly the same music and songs as the grisettes themselves listened to.

When did the grisette disappear?
NP: Throughout her existence people were always announcing her death only for her to reappear again in another slightly different form. The lorette took over some of her roles in the popular imagination, and later words such as cousette and midinette begun to become more popular, but overall we can say that the grisette never really died - she was simply transformed!

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Until January 15th
Maison de Balzac
47, rue Raynouard 75016
Tuesday to Sunday, 10am - 6pm, except public holidays
Entrance: €3 - €6

Note: a very interesting catalogue to accompany the exhibition has been written by Nathalie Preiss, and is available both at the Maison de Balzac and in bookshops.

19th Century Paris: The Marché Carreau du Temple

2011-11-06T21:10:00.005+01:00

Sometimes, when walking through the city, you see something and know that you are witnessing a scene that has not been seen by generations before and will not be seen by those that come after. Such is the case currently at the site of the Marché Carreau du Temple in the 3rd arrondissement.

Alongside autumn leaveless trees, the market building has been stripped to its elegant bones. This is the original cast-iron skeleton that appeared first on this site in 1863, and reappeared during renovations for the Foire de Paris in 1904. Since that date, the structure had always been dressed, clothed in glass and brick, until work began again this year to transform the site into a centre for culture and sport.

What previously seemed functional and heavy now looks featherlight, with its frame as intricate as the threads in a spider's web. It would be difficult to imagine its purpose, and even more difficult to picture it filled with thousands of shoppers. However, from the beginning, it was a market that attracted large crowds, particularly those looking for cheap clothes.

Between the 1950s and 1970s, the market was home to over 1000 traders. By the 1980s that figure had dropped to around 360, and as a new century dawned, the total dropped further still. When it was finally closed to the public, the immense hall was only welcoming around 10 stalls.

However, although its usefulness as a place of commerce had long been in terminal decline, it did manage to survive an attack on its very existence. In 1976, the local authorities had proposed to pull down the building and construct a parking lot. Local residents fought the proposition, which was eventually abandoned, and the building was declared a protected historic monument in 1982.

Which explains why the skeleton is still standing today, ready for its new - more useful - body. This cast-iron frame, which had grown used to silence, will once again see large crowds under its carcass from 2013, a historic building reborn.

History though, hides history. This structure is a survivor, but beneath it, lies centuries of previous uses of this land. Churches, cemeteries and the walls of the Knights Templar's properties have previously stood here, all of which are slowly being uncovered by archeologists, at the same time as the market is recycled for new uses.

19th Century Paris: 'Le Peuple de Paris'

2011-11-02T20:38:00.005+01:00

The second of the three exhibitions I am featuring this week is 'Le Peuple de Paris' running at the Musée Carnavaet until February 26th 2012. It is a sociological investigation into the lives of the working classes in Paris in the 19th century, looking particularly at how these people and their lifestyles, were portrayed by artists and the media at the time, and provides an intruiging and original insight into an era that continues to fascinate us today.

I asked Miriam Simon, Chief Curator of the exhibition, about how the idea for the exhibition came about and what messages it is seeking to get across about a population and a period which is much misunderstood.

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How did this exhibition originate?
MS: The project stems from the fascinating graphic art collection we have at the Musée Carnavalet, particularly the fascinating and important set of caricature lithographs of the people of Paris. French historiography had, certainly until the 1970s, mainly studied the ‘people’ through the labour movement, so it seemed there was room for a more sociological investigation of this socio-economic category, which - taken in its widest sense - represented over two thirds of the population of Paris in the nineteenth century.

How different was life in Paris in the 19th century for the proletariat compared with earlier centuries?

MS: Paris was confronted by many fundamental changes in the nineteenth century, including the industrial revolution, the extension and transformation of the city, and a population explosion, all of which substantially changed the lives of the people - their rhythms, their working conditions, their housing, the way they moved around, how they were looked after by philanthropic societies or governments, not to mention the beginnings of mass culture and the consumer society. However, some features remained from previous centuries, or in fact became things to fight for, in resistance to what was often becoming a very brutal way of life.

Was there an improvement in the standard of living across the century?

MS: Despite the trauma caused by an industrial revolution that was even more violent than it could have been as protection for the people was very slow to be put in place, we can observe a move towards a better standard of living and an increasing search for intimacy.

What can we learn about the people of Paris in the 19th century from the exhibition?
MS: The exhibition challenges certain assumptions about lifestyles at the time, including the alleged mixing of social classes in the pre-Haussmannian city. In general, the documents - which were very largely produced by the elite - show the "people" in a way which was anything but neutral.

We felt that we needed a common thread to tackle a topic as huge as this, and the one we chose was the human body. The working classes are those who perform manual activities, requiring manual dexterity and - or - physical strength, which distinguishes them from other classes. In the nineteenth century, the working classes found themselves in ever increasing confrontation with the bourgeoisie, and this class - which controlled the media - chose to portray the proletariat in ways that differentiated them from themselves. To this end, the people were often qualified by their body, with historians such as Alain Corbin showing how the bourgeoisie often linked them to the odours of the city and the spread of diseases.

How is the exhibition organised?
An introductory room puts the 'people' in their chronological, spatial and symbolic context. After that, we present the most significant corporeality sectors, which, as we have discussed, was the major characteristic of the people. A large room shows the material living conditions, and also the modes of relaxation and recreation. The work of Daumier, who was a unique artist as he had working class origins and was the only artist to look at the topic of the 'people' from the inside, is also the subject of a special presentation.

Misery, poverty, and their treatment by the elite, are then presented in a section linking them together with the increase in health and social fears. This leads to the last room that ends the exhibition with an evocation of revolution. This subject, which in the collective memory characterises to a large extent the people of Paris of the nineteenth century, highlights the different forms and manifestations of this fear of the 'peuple de Paris'.

http://www.parismusees.com/le-peuple-de-paris/

Le peuple de Paris au XIXe siècle: Des guinguettes aux barricades
Musée Carnavalet 23, rue de Sévigné 75003
Open daily, from 10am - 6pm, except Mondays and public holidays.
Tickets - from €3,5 - €7

19th Century Paris: 'Gaz à tous les étages'

2011-10-29T19:45:00.004+02:00

Three very interesting exhibitions have recently begun in Paris, all looking at various aspects of life in the city in the 19th century. In order to get a little more information about each of these, I decided to talk to the curators about the stories behind the shows.

First up, the Gaz à tous les étages exhibition at the Bibliothèque Forney in the Hotel de Sens. The exhibition takes its name from the signs that can still be seen on many buildings around Paris today, and aims to tell the story of how gas arrived in the city and why it became so important. I spoke to Claude Mahuzier, President of COPAGAZ and one of the organisers of the exhibition.

When did gas first arrive in Paris?
CM: Gas was used for the first time in Paris when Philippe Lebon demonstrated his ‘thermolampe’ at the Hotel Seignelay in 1801, following a patent that he had filed in 1799. According to contemporary accounts, this demonstration was a great success, with Parisians rushing to see the rooms and the garden lit by gas. Unfortunately for Lebon, no one was ready to invest in his invention and he died bankrupt in 1804. Gas was brought back to Paris a few years later by a German, Winsor, who knew the work of Lebon and understood the interest it presented. In 1817 he created a gas plant near the Luxembourg gardens to light the Chambre des Pairs and the galleries of the Odeon. This was the real beginning of the adventure of the gas industry.

What changes did gas bring to people's lives? Did it also bring any problems?
CM: The impact on people's lives was considerable! Firstly, gas lighting brought them security. Gas lamps replaced inefficient oil lamps, enabling people to start going out in the evenings, to cafes and restaurants, which were also quickly lit by gas themselves. They also went to the theatre - where the footlights were gaslit - in the evening. As a result, meal times changed, and life was no longer dictated by the sun.

It also became possible, thanks to gas lighting, for artisans to work after dark, although such activity was banned for much of the nineteenth century. When they did work after dark, they took care to blacken out their windows to avoid being noticed, hence the term "travailler au noir"!

Cooking gas, which developed from 1855, offered a real advantage over wood and charcoal, both in terms of handling, and the odours and fumes that came from coal. When running water arrived in homes, after gas in about 1860, hygiene levels improved, even if such facilities were reserved for a wealthy minority. With stoves and gas heaters, people were warmer – at least a little bit!

We can't talk about gas without mentioning the pipes that distributed it. The major concern for cities was initially to manage the many projects launched by the gas companies, who were more concerned with serving the greatest number of customers – and demand was very strong – than in coordinating their work.

With the development of the gas industry, security concerns were also raised. The government quickly imposed safety regulations and although there were some accidents during the nineteenth century, none managed to put consumers off using gas.

How did gas change the face of Paris?
CM: It's thanks to gas that Paris became the ‘city of light’ in the 1900s!

How is the exhibition organised?
CM: The exhibition, in the beautiful surroundings of the Hotel de Sens, mixes objects, illustrations - including posters - and recreated rooms from this period. Our experience has taught us that using such settings, even very simple ones, multiplies the interest of the objects for our visitors.

The exhibition follows the principal developments of the gas industry. It begins with the invention of the industry, featuring gas plants, pipes, meters, then shows how gas lighting entered into the public and private world. Cooking Gas is shown through a recreated kitchen from the 1920s, and there's an art nouveau bathroom showing how hot water by gas changed lives.

Gas heating is explained in a living room, with a magnificent brass fireplace, and gas powered signs show how this medium was also very widely used over the years. Finally, there are two examples of professional uses. One is more traditional, but the other - an organ - is a little more "wacky". However, we wanted to include it to show how at the time people thought that gas could be used for everything!

Gaz à tous les étages
Bibliothèque Forney 1 rue du Figuier 75004
Entrance €3-€6
Tuesday to Saturday, 1pm - 7pm
Guided visits on Saturday at 3pm (included in the ticket price)

Where the Système Hennebique lives on

2011-10-22T11:42:00.001+02:00

I have already taken you to the eccentric home of François Hennebique, France’s first king of concrete, but the Paris offices of his company on the Rue Danton are equally deserving of investigation.

Built by the architect Emile Arnaud in 1901, it was one of the first buildings in Paris to use only concrete in its construction. The forms of the building reflect the Art Nouveau tastes of the period, but here everything is merely decoration. Hennebique wanted physical proof - in the form of a building - that his system could rival traditional methods and produce structures that were equally as handsome (whilst also being far cheaper to build!)

Make no mistake - Hennebique was a formidable businessman. His offices, centrally positioned alongside the Seine at Saint Michel, were attractive to potential clients, but also a permanent advertising structure. All of the ceramics on the facade incorporate the words 'Système Hennebique', reminding passers-by exactly what they were looking at.

The first slogan Hennebique used to sell his system was ‘Plus d’incendies désastreux’ (no more disasterous fires). Initially then, concrete was not seen as being cheap or easy to use, but rather something that was safe. Whatever the reasons, the système Hennebique was an immediate success, with several industrial buildings going up across France before the end of the 19th century. In 1899, he designed his first reinforced concrete bridge, the Pont Camille de Hogues in Châtellerault, a type of structure that would become one of the company’s biggest successes.

Celebrated at the 1900 Exposition Universelle in Paris, Hennebique’s company would just a few years later control 20% of the world market in reinforced concrete. It was a business that deserved prestigious offices in the centre of the city.

Hennebique had clearly second guessed the way the world would develop, but another significant aspect of his success was the way he organised the company. In each of the countries in which he operated, he insisted that local agents create their own offices and find their own staff to complete the projects.

By insisting on this organisation, Hennebique was able to ensure rapid growth for his company with minimal headaches for himself. It was almost like a franchise system, and at the company’s height – in around 1910 – the firm had more than 30 agents operating in over 20 countries.

It was the job of the local agents to identify opportunities, with the head office in Paris making tweaks and giving projects the final go-ahead (making sure that they always used all of the principles of the Hennebique system!). With this system in place, the group was capable of studying over seven thousand dossiers, and working on around 2300 of these during this period.

In 1914, Hennebique could count 25,000 creations across the world that had been built using his system, including 1,500 bridges. However, when war broke out that year, Hennebique’s model was brutally stopped.

Hennebique’s company continued after the war, but using a much changed model, concentrating almost entirely on the French market. The Hennebique company continued – still at the same address - until 1967 when it was finally wound up. François Hennebique himself had died in 1921, but not without leaving a solid mark behind him!

Signs of the times

2011-10-19T17:53:00.002+02:00

One of my favourite blogs is Lost City, run by the playfully named Brooks of Sheffield who chronicles the parts of New York that are slowly disappearing off the map because of "the ruthless real estate market and the City Fathers' disregard for Gotham's historical and cultural fabric", as he puts it.

The blog reeks of New York, and reads as if it is being spoken to you - by some gruff guy on a barstool who can't believe how far downhill his city is slipping. Posts alternately pan new builds that are 'ugly', and 'occupied by young couples who fight a lot', or mourn the passing of non-descript pizza joints. It is the journal of one man's struggle to preserve the traces that give his city its soul, and his raging against the implantation of chainstore logos and anywheresville aesthetics.

We have a tendancy to believe that time moves more slowly in Paris, and that the streets are covered with some kind of protective dust sprinkled by the museum-minded city fathers. However, when you attempt to count how many Starbucks are now installed in the city, and remember that McDonalds is more popular in France than anywhere else outside of the US, you realise how wrong this idea is.

Sure, the city is still home to a huge number of independant traders, but on a regular basis one of these survivors will slowly come to the end of its life. Its death is not necessarily a sad event, but - like on Lost City - it seems important to capture it before it disappears for ever.

L'Optique Michaud on the Avenue de Wagram is one of these places. Cameras and related equipment have been sold here for more than three generations, but its chunky vintage sign will soon be removed, probably to be replaced by the luminous blandness of a bank. Although times are tough in a market which has switched to digital and moved largely online, Philippe Michaud lived well enough from his business, and has now taken the opportunity to retire.

Nobody else would be able to take over the unit and install a similar business today in what is one of the most exclusive parts of the city. The public has moved on, and the city's face will reflect this.

The disappearance of the teinturerie on nearby Avenue Niel is more difficult to understand. Dry cleaning services are abundant in Paris, but also seemingly copper-bottomed even in times of financial hardship. Once the equipment has been purchased, it is a business that needs little in the way of fresh investment, and can survive with limited staff numbers.

The wonderfully preserved sign and polychrome frontage here seems to point to a unit that had not changed hands in a number of years, suggesting another retirement. Other owners may be found to keep the dry cleaning tradition going at this spot, but will they want to keep the vintage sign, or will they be looking to make their own fresh mark on the city?

In a few months time, I'll publish a follow up to this post, telling you exactly who has moved into these two units. I don't know what I'll find, but we will know what has been lost.

17 octobre 1961

2011-10-16T21:44:00.010+02:00

October 17th 2011 marks the 50th anniversary of an event which even today five decades later remains unexplained. The date is a significant one for many people, and several parts of Paris - including the Pont Saint Michel where this plaque can be found - are marked by the event, but accounts of what actually happened differ widely.

In 1961, France was a country at war. It had begun in 1954, when an Algerian uprising against French colonial rule led to a war that would last until independance was granted in 1962. Although the conflict took place on Algerian soil, it naturally increased tensions across France, a country which was home to many people who had been born in Algeria.

In early October 1961, the French government installed a curfew, stating that all people of North African origin should stay at home between the hours of 8.30pm and 5.30am. As a protest against this restriction, the Algerian community decided to organise a peaceful march through the streets of Paris on October 17th (although some reports state that the Algerian community was told to march by their leaders, the FLN, under threat of death if they disobeyed).

The details of what happened next have been debated ever since, and it is far too complex a topic for me to attempt to analyse. Nobody seems to deny that people died that day, but estimates of the number vary from 70 to 300, which is why the plaque says simply 'des nombreux algeriens'. Here on the Pont Saint Michel, protesters are said to have been trapped by the police and then either thrown in the Seine, or to have jumped there themselves in panic. Many others were reportedly killed later after their arrest.

The French state has never acknowledged responsibility for this event which is today known as the Paris massacre of 1961. Police actions during the day remain a state secret, although the city of Paris did place this plaque - which speaks of a sanglante repression - on the Pont Saint Michel 10 years ago for the 40th anniversary.

It seems incredible that a fully democratic country such as France could keep such secrets today. A march is being organised to mark the anniversary, but it seems unlikely that the full truth will emerge in the short term (particularly with Presidential elections looming in 2012). Behind the huge drama of this event though, are numerous smaller tragedies. What price a life if nobody can say when you died or why?

Louise Pétron - Resistant and Concierge

2011-10-15T10:25:00.008+02:00

There a some heroes whose story seems destined never to be told. This would have been the case for Louise Pétron, if a campaign to have a plaque erected in her honour in 2004 had not been successful.

The city of Paris eventually accepted the request, and the story of Louise Pétron joined 1200 others around the city, 900 of which - like that of Pétron - commemorate events that took place during the second world war.

Louise Petron was the concierge of a non-descript building stuck out on the edge of the city in the 17th arrondissement. It was a quieter post than her previous job where she'd been caretaker at the Moulin Rouge - at least until war broke out and Paris was occupied by German forces.

Her ground-floor home and office looked out towards la zone. Today this deep cutting is filled with the roar of the périphérique motorway, but in the 1940s it still remained empty as a reminder of previous conflicts, or rather previous attempts to keep them away from the city. This was the trace of the 19th century Thiers fortifications, and Pétron once again found that they offered no protection from invading forces.

It was a simple life, but one worth fighting for. The building was new, in crisp brick and gleaming stone, and there was an attractive shared garden surrounding it. It was typical of the social housing that was springing up around the city, and it was something to be proud of.

It is not clear how she became involved, but Louise Pétron's concièrgerie became an important letterbox for the Paris resistance movement. It was a clearly defined and recognised role (she is described as a sous-lieutenant on the plaque) and she performed it conscientiously. Far from the centre of the city and the eyes of the occupiers, she was able to pass on important messages with seemingly little regard for the danger it put her in.

She managed to stay off the radar for much of the war, but as the liberation of Paris drew closer, her luck was to run out. On July 17th 1944, the gestapo came to her home and arrested her in front of her terrified children. She was interrogated and tortuted, but revealed nothing about the network she was working for. With her husband ill and hospitalised in Paris she was sent alone to the Ravensbrück camp on the last such train to leave Paris, only days before the city's liberation. She died at the camp of typhus early in 1945, just months before the end of the conflict.

For many years she was simply another victim of the war, but in 2004, a date marking the 60th anniversary of the Paris uprising and liberation, a plaque in her honour was finally unveiled. Present at the event was her tearful son, his mind surely full of memories of the last time he saw his mother in this spot.

Of Sheep and Men

2011-10-12T21:07:00.010+02:00

Two new creations have appeared in the street in which I live - one by a relatively well-known artist, and one that will perhaps always remain anonymous!

According to a fascinating interview in Street Tease magazine, Michael Beerens changed artistic tack following a serious motorbike accident in 2007. Previously he'd just concentrated on graffiti, but during his 6 months in hospital, he decided that he'd like to bring his art more into the public domain and concentrate on animals, a subject that had always fascinated him.

"J’utilise les animaux car ils permettent de dresser un parallèle avec l’homme sans qu’il se sente montré du doigt. Ce qui me permet de traiter différents sujet sans notion de jugement. Un peu comme une fable, le lecteur y voit ce qu’il veut y voir" (I use animals because they enable me to draw a parallel to man, without anyone feeling singled out. It allows me to treat different subjects without a notion of judgement. Like a tale, readers see what they want to see)

This project, a creation produced in association with Les 3 Murs, is amusing and crisply painted (in a lovely blue!), and the sheep in wolf's clothing is a nice twist. For more details on the artist, see his official website: http://www.michaelbeerens.fr/works/accueil.html

The second creation is more of a guerilla production. I'm not sure if there are more of these busy little men around Paris or not, but this is the only one I have seen so far. Something tells me though that we may be in for an invasion soon, but who knows what other tricks they have planned for unsuspecting drivers?

Noise Maps of Paris

2011-10-09T14:04:00.003+02:00

“Noise is to sound what weeds are to flowers” said Des from the Soundlandscapes blog when we were working together on a project earlier this year. I had made the mistake of saying that we needed to record some ‘noises’ rather than ‘sounds’, and he quickly put me in my place.

However, as we began recording the sounds of the Jardin d’Agronomie Tropicale, it soon became evident that noise was in the air too. The périphérique motorway was in earshot, and its dull constant rumble was polluting the natural rustles and chirps of the garden.

The delicate distinction between a noise and a sound once again popped its head up recently with the launch of a new website in Paris: http://www.bruitparif.fr/en.

Offering live information on noise levels in the capital through a series of brightly coloured maps and charts. It’s almost like a child’s game, but the subject itself is very serious. “Noise is a very significant source of annoyance in Ile-de-France (the Paris region) due to the high concentration of housing and the exceptional density of transportation infrastructures” announces instantly the homepage of the site. “Among disturbances of quality of life” it continues, “noise is the first nuisance mentioned”.

The website was created by Bruitparif, a non-profit organisation which aims to fight against noise in the Paris region. Two kinds of maps can be found on the site. A static map which paints the historic noise hotspots across the city (the darker the colour, the higher the decibels), and a series of live charts from active captors in experimental zones (for example next to motorways and train lines, and more interestingly, near the bars of the Rue Amelot).

Walking through this polychrome city is an interesting experience, and one which offers many surprises. Seine-side apartments may be amongst the most expensive in Paris, but they are also situated in areas of deep purple. Indeed, it seems that the richer areas to the west and south are globally noisier than their more popular eastern and northern neighbours.

The périphérique is unsurprisingly a river of purple surrounding the city, and cemeteries and hospitals large patches of peaceful whites.

The message vehiculed by this site seems to be that all noise is bad. Nobody, it seems, likes a noise, but sounds – music, wind in the leaves, bird song, gently trickling streams – are universal pleasures. So when does a sound become a noise?

The French national organisation for standardisation (AFNOR) gives an official definition, stating that ‘tout son inopportun est un bruit’ (all inappropriate sounds are noise). However, this description seems both vague and arbitrary.

For Des, a sound obsessive who spends much of his time today trying to capture the most atmospheric of them around Paris, “noise is simply sound in the wrong place and usually in the wrong quantity”. It's an attractive, succinct description, but one that also seems to reflect his worries as a technician.

In a city of 2 million people, our personal conceptions of sound will never be entirely shared. The sounds that give us the most pleasure in life - conversation, laughter, music - can also seep into other people's lives and become life-ruining noise. Finding the right balance is probably the most important cement of all in any city, and it is the job of this organisation to see where in the city the equilibrium is leaning dangerously towards noise. For if there is too much noise, nobody will be able to take pleasure from sounds.

Click here for the noise maps.

Click here for the Rumeur live measurement service.

Dancing Cranes

2011-10-04T22:17:00.002+02:00

On the site earmarked to become the athletes village of the always to remain imaginary 2012 Paris Olympics, two cranes are caught dancing across a reflective pond. It reminds me of writer and walker Iain Sinclair's description of construction at the London Olympics site; “The heron dance of elegant cloud-scraping cranes”*, a rare moment of poetry for a project that he has consistently labelled as a scam.

To his eyes, it is the clash of corporations against communities, the spectacular against the ordinary. Sinclair equates construction on the site in London’s east end to destruction, with old communities being moved out to be replaced by transient individuals unwilling or unable to create new communities.

“The first thing that goes...is any sense of place” he points out, describing the totality as “a series of losses – of allotments, football pitches, wildlife habitats”. Buildings appear, which “could have been designed anywhere for any purpose” on land yet to be completely cleared of decades of toxic industrial use.

The east of London, he points out, is “where everything disappears or is revised”. Such revisions though are not unique to events celebrating the power of corporations. Paris had the same dream as London, but that dream became the Parc Martin Luther King, site of the reflected cranes.

“It seems extraordinary that we can find money for something gigantic but not for something small and local” said Sinclair about the London Olympics, but in Paris - the supposed loser - something small(er) and local is slowly growing from the ground at the same time as the tracks and stadia across the channel.

"La Ville se reinvente" cries the Clichy-Batignolles promotional website, highlighting the changes being made on what was to be the Olympics site. It has been "conçu pour les Parisiens" on the "franges oubliées de la ville". Here the land has been reclaimed from the railway, eating up land previously used for the shunting and storage of trains. Progress is not moving but standing still, not producing power but creating a sustainable, carbon neutral environment. Green replacing brown on the map.

Without corporate sponsors to appease, Paris has been able to imagine a socially mixed utopia with the old alongside the young, the private alongside the public. 6,500 people will live in this new quarter, but will they really form a more closely-linked community than the post-Olympic dwellers in London?

The Parc Martin Luther King, the first truly visible element of this new community, is already a success, but it is also little more than an extension of the Square des Batignolles. This is not a radical reclamation of untamed wastelands, but rather an attempt to expand the city northwards. Alongside, a big hole in the ground will become an underground car park, and apartment blocks, named Lot E.1 or Lot N.3., are sprouting skywards.

It is difficult to compare London to Paris, to decide which has been the winner and which the loser. London won the games because it was felt that there was a greater chance of regeneration and a bigger legacy to leave behind. The Paris bid was seen as lacking in audacity, offering just cosmetic changes to the city fabric.

Losing perhaps gave the city the opportunity to dream of something better, but the community is still largely virtual today, happy families in an architect's sketch. Success for Paris would be bringing working class Clichy and middle class Batignolles closer together, but historical barriers are hard to break down.

The creation of all new communities begins with dancing cranes. Only time decides whether that dance will lead to the birth of a successful neighbourhood or not.

*From ‘The Olympics Scam’ an essay by Iain Sinclair published in the London Review of Books.

Nuit Blanche and black nights

2011-09-29T22:57:00.017+02:00

With a calendar overflowing with themes and events, it is not surprising to find occasions where two celebrations offer a curious clash.

This Saturday Paris will celebrate both the Nuit Blanche and the Jour de la Nuit, two events which promote radically different perspectives on city nights.

The Nuit Blanche, celebrating its 10th anniversary in 2011, is an open-air party, bringing thousands of curious citizens out onto brightly illuminated street stage sets.

The Jour de la Nuit on the other hand seeks to bring darkness back to our cities. As the promotional material proclaims, it is "une opération de sensibilisation à la protection de la biodiversité nocturne et du ciel étoilé ainsi qu’une prise de conscience du problème de pollution lumineuse" (an awareness campaign to protect nocturnal biodiversity and starry skies as well as an appraisal of the light pollution problem).

It is an event covering the whole of the country, but whilst there are some parts of the national territory that are already among the darkest parts of Europe, it is the city which is the real battleground. In Paris, the events organised this year are far smaller than the funfair of the Nuit Blanche, but they may be just as thought-provoking.

Near the Parc Montsouris, amateur astronomers will attempt to peer through the city lights and show Jupiter and its satellites to curious passers by, but perhaps more interesting still will be a night walk through the Parc Montsouris itself. The Nuit Blanche gets people away from their beds, but through actions that turn night into day rather than through initiatives that help them to discover life after dark. Organisers of the night walk though will show how an urban park changes at night, pointing out the fauna and flora that come alive when the sun goes down.

This weekend, Paris lets you choose your own vision of the night; festive and artificial, or natural and hushed. Unless you decide to take a trip through both worlds.

For a list of suggestions for the Nuit Blanche, see my post on the Paris Weekends blog.

Invisible Buildings

2011-09-29T10:07:00.016+02:00

On the Boulevard de Courcelles, opposite the Parc Monceau, there exists a little piece of the twilight zone. As you walk up along the street you may notice that the number 72 has for neighbour ... the number 78! So just what has happened to the numbers 74 and 76?

The buildings at 72 and 78 seem to be of a similar size and vintage, so when did they eat up their neighbours and remove them from the map? The answer seems to be stranger than we might at first imagine.

According to the 'plans parcellaires' of the area dating from the end of the 19th century (which can be viewed online on the city of Paris website), there was at the time a 72, 74 and 76...but no 78! What seems to have happened therefore is that at some point after this the 74 and 76 were demolished and replaced by a single building which was given the number 78, but why this should be the case remains a mystery!

Such cases are not actually very rare, but normally the gap between the two numbers can be explained, for example, by the presence of a newer road which has cut between them. Even more common still is the newer, larger building which takes the place of several smaller demolished structures, adopting all of their previous numbers.

In London, a famous example provides the flip side of this phenomenon. Two houses at 23/24 Leinster Gardens were demolished in the 1860s to provide ventilation space for the newly installed Metropolitan Railway, but as this was something of an upmarket district, the residents insisted that the space be filled with a fake facade. These 'dummy houses' still exist today, and of course have been the address given by many scammers over the years!

The city, with its constant destructions and reconstructions, is riddled with wormholes. By nature, its history is non-linear, so should we be surprised to find such inconsistencies in its labelling?

The homes of Auguste Perret: Rue Raynouard

2011-09-26T21:49:00.008+02:00

Perhaps it is because the sky is throwing down greasy streaks of rain on the day I first visit, but there seems to be something slightly sinister about Auguste Perret's second self-built home in Paris.

Situated on an elevated plateau around 500m further west from his Rue Franklin home, the Rue Raynouard apartments, built at the beginning of the 1930s - are a reflection of an architect who now had a total confidence in concrete. Whereas the Rue Franklin building had the material covered by decorative tiling, here it is naked and raw.

Is this what gives it a sinister air on a grey and humid day? Concrete and wet weather have never made a good mix, but it is also immediately obvious that this building is in a worse state of repair than his previous home, despite being 30 years younger. Standing alone on the crest of a hill with a smeared and cracked facade, it is a brooding hulk, dominating the pedestrian below.

Auguste Perret's concern though was not so much how his building would look from the ground, but rather how the world outside would be visible from his building. He placed the offices of the family firm on the ground floor (or first floor from the rear of the building), but placed his own family's apartment on the top floor from where he would be able to survey Paris. Clearly Auguste Perret felt that his personal affairs had changed and that by moving family and firm from Rue Franklin, he would also show that he had 'moved up in the world'.

The apartment "is filled with sunlight from dawn to dusk" he wrote, and looking at photos you can see clearly how Perret wanted this building to open out onto the city around him. The apartments on each floor - each of roughly around 250m² - offered panoramic views of Paris, as well as balconies and small terraces. With its concrete as polished and shiny as marble, it must have been anything but sinister when it first appeared on the city skyline.

(Photos taken from "100: one hundred houses for one hundred European architects" by Gennaro Postiglione)

After making a name for himself with the Rue Franklin apartments, Perret garnered further acclaim with his Théâtre des Champs Elysées (1913) and Notre-Dame au Raincy church (1922-1923). Beyond this esteem though, the Perret family had also been able to accumulate wealth by acting as architects, constructors and even suppliers of concrete. This build on the Rue Raynouard was a celebration of this fact, and the family and business would stay here until the death of Auguste and the winding up of the company.

To the rear and side of the building, two unusual features can be seen. The wall of glass - a rarity for a Perret building - brought light into his architectural studio, and to one side, a glass lift shaft which gives those going up and down fantastic views across Paris. Perret, who had already built the revolutionary garage Ponthieu (sadly demolished in 1970), also included ground level parking space to the rear of the building. Interestingly, with the best apartments being situated at the top of the building, the staff quarters here were placed between the garage and the company offices!

Another interesting feature is a sculpture called "Deux amours luttant" by André Abbal, situated just above the entrance to the building. Weatherworn and wind-beaten, it is though - like much of the rest of the building - showing signs of its age.

As the sun comes out, the building offers another perspective. It is not sinister, but just in need of a little more love and attention. The place where Perret lived until his death in 1954, deserves better, and with the secretariat of the International Union of Architects (UIA) in the building (in Perret's old apartment) it is even more difficult to understand the cracks and craters. Even stranger still when you see that the union has a photo of Auguste Perret on the homepage of their website.

This building is located at 51-55 Rue Raynouard in the 16th arrondissement, M° Passy.

The Perret apartment, still in its original condition and with many of its original furnishings, can be visited by appointment with the UIA.

The homes of Auguste Perret: Rue Franklin

2011-09-23T18:30:00.007+02:00

I have written previously of the works of architect Auguste Perret (particularly his Mobilier National building), but not as yet of his two creations that also became his offices and homes. As these buildings are separated by 30 years (and around 500 metres!), it is also interesting to note how tastes and techniques changed in this period.

His first self-designed home, on the Rue Franklin in the 16th arrondissement, is also a building that is considered to be one of the seminal constructions of modern architecture. It was built in 1903 when Perret was only 29, and although it owes much to his upbringing and the comparitive success and wealth of his family, it also clearly showed the genius of the family's oldest son.

The Perret family, mother, father and five children, were evidently very close, choosing to live and work together throughout their lives. The father - Claude Marie Perret - was a stonemason and later a builder, and was determined to bring up his three sons to learn the trade.

Whilst working for the family firm, Auguste also continued his studies, eventually choosing to specialise in reinforced concrete (although he would never gain a full diploma in architecture). Together they were able to form a company called 'Entreprise Perret et Fils', which was capable not only of construction, but also of designing buildings and of providing the materials.

For this particular project on the Rue Franklin, the Perret family owned the land. Situated alongside the Trocadero and opposite the Eiffel tower, it was already a very desirable location, and although it was a speculative build (apart from the family apartments and offices on the ground floor), any design would probably have quickly sold in such a spot. Nevertheless, Auguste Perret - now acting as the firm's architect -, chose something radical and previously unseen.

Throughout his life, Auguste Perret would be obsessed with making buildings as organic as possible. He saw the framework of a building as being the equivalent of a human skeleton, and although the structure he produced on the Rue Franklin could have been made with wood or iron, he was determined to test a new process - reinforced concrete.

Interestingly, Auguste Perret was one of the first architects to apply the Hennebique (our friend with the 'Concrete chateau' in Bourg la Reine) system on a residential property. Nevertheless, for this first attempt, he was very unsure about how it would age over time. The building was covered in tiles, not so much for decoration, but more because Perret believed that the concrete would be damaged by the weather and start to decay (some people today may still argue that this is the best way to treat concrete!). As he said, "one must never allow into a building any element destined solely for ornament, but rather turn to ornament all the parts necessary for its support."

The ceramics of Alexandre Bigot on the facade of the building though are one of its most remarkable features today. If you manage to crouch down to almost floor level (as I did for these photos), you can see the signature tiles, but what is particularly noticeable is the graceful restraint of the work. This was the height of Art Nouveau period, but here the ceramics are almost monochrome, and in a pattern that is repeated over almost the entire building.

The family's move to this building was however not initially a happy one. Claude Marie, the father, died in 1905, leaving Auguste at the head of the family. The building though was a success, and Auguste was delighted with the results that the reinforced concrete had given. To reflect these changes, the family company became known as 'Entreprise Perret-Architectes-Constructeurs-Beton Arme', and soon flourished.

Thirty years later, the Perret offices and Auguste's family home moved 500 metres down the road to a new building, but that's another story....

This building is located at 25a Rue Franklin in the 16th arrondissement, M°Trocadero/Passy

Read more about what makes this a great building, including some of the original plans, in this PDF document.

Challenge 6: A Shaggy Dog Story

2011-09-19T21:03:00.014+02:00

A dog may be man's best friend, but people have nevertheless always found it difficult to share cities with their hairy four-legged mates. However, with an estimated 200,000 dogs in Paris, a number of rules and associated street signs have slowly been put in place to ease this cohabitation.

Ariel, a Spanish student in Paris, sent me the photo above, and wondered what this particular curious dog sign could mean. "What is the purpose of these signs?" he asked. "Did they mark special places to attach dogs outside shops? Did they ask people to walk their dogs on the opposite sidewalk? A special place for dog poo?"

I had my idea, but firstly I had to see if I could track down one of these signs myself. In fact they are relatively common, but often difficult to spot as they are slowly being worn away underfoot. The one I spotted below though, in Rue Jean-Pierre Timbaud, was still a well-groomed dog, and its purpose was immediately obvious. The sign is directing dog owners towards to gutter where dogs were supposed to deficate.

I use the past tense because times have changed. Whereas dog owners in Paris could previously just encourage their pets to squat in the gutter then leave the waste behind, since 2002 they are obliged to clean up after their pup, even if it has done its business in this spot. Failure to do so can cost owners €35, so it's as well today for them to carry around a little doggy bag.

This particular sign is therefore a relic of a bygone age, something which explains its rather dated (but quite cute) form and the fact that so many of them are being left to disappear.

However, the gutter is far from being forbidden to dogs today. The city of Paris has even made a helpful little film, informing owners that it is still a good idea to use the 'caniveau', but above all to make sure they clear up the mess afterwards! Something that is surely a good idea all round!

Another Dog Tail
Ariel also runs a very interesting and eclectic blog called 'Papirofilia', and this particular dog sign seems to have inspired an amusing creation!

Challenge me!
Seen something in Paris that has caught your eye but remains a mystery, or ever wondered about obscure people or events in the city's past? Challenge me to find the answers!

City Snapshots: Bus Rides

2011-09-16T14:00:00.009+02:00

Luxury - in the city - is having no particular place to go, and no particular time to get there.

Put up your feet, but keep your brain engaged, and take random buses across the city on a psychogeographical drift. Bend the criss-crossing arteries and multi-coloured lines of fixed schedules to your will, and chase the setting sun.

If something - or someone - catches your eye, ring the bell and jump off at the next stop. Another bus will always be available to pick up the narrative.

You may not know where you are going, but you know where you'll end up. In a situationist playground, the bus is the merry-go-round.

Some suggestions for the Journées du Patrimoine

2011-09-14T21:42:00.005+02:00

The Journées du Patrimoine (heritage days), being held this weekend, need not just mean long queues to the city's principal political and cultural institutions. The event, featuring over 300 sites across Paris, also offers many out of the ordinary locations where access is only given during this weekend.

You can find my suggestions on the Paris Weekends blog.

If you are elsewhere in Europe, don't forget that the heritage days event now extends to 50 countries across the continent. The full list of events per country (as well as the local dates) can be found here: http://www.coe.int/t/dg4/cultureheritage/heritage/ehd/National_Events/map_en.asp

A Concrete Château

2011-09-07T18:44:00.003+02:00

In Bourg-la-Reine almost by accident, I spot a building that makes the detour seem worthwhile. As I pull out my camera and start taking pictures, a window opens behind me and out pops a head. “Do you know what that building is?” it asks.

The head belongs to an ancient lady, perhaps as old as the building itself. I shake my head, and she begins to tell me its story.

The house was built by an entrepreneur called François Hennebique at the beginning of the 20th century, and was possibly the first such private residence to be built using reinforced concrete. It was designed to be not only a home to his extended family, but also to act as a showroom highlighting the many possibilities offered by concrete constructions (and therefore by Hennebique's own company).

Hennebique was passionate about the material, famously declaring that ‘on peut tout demander au béton armé, et il peut tout reproduire’ (you can ask anything of concrete, and it can reproduce everything). He may not have been the original inventor of many of the procedures he employed with concrete, but he was most certainly the best businessman in the field and also a fine marketing man.

As will become quickly clear, he was also a man of many snappy catchphrases, and this house was the key to one of those – “Travailler en ville, se reposer à la campagne” (work in the city, relax in the country) he said, describing his reasons for building a home outside of the city in which he worked (nb – a future post will deal with the Paris offices of his construction company).

Difficult as it is to imagine today, this house was indeed originally a country residence, albeit one which – importantly – was situated close to a train station, and thus accessible in less than 30 minutes from Paris. Built alongside the railway line, it also acted as a permenant advertising structure for people passing by on trains.

Despite Hennebique’s claims about wanting to relax in the countryside, perhaps his real reason for building a house in Bourg-la-Reine was to escape the rigid and restrictive planning reglementation in Paris. Hennebique wanted to build something extraordinary, and this house is certainly an eccentric construction.

The rule he most wanted to bypass was the one restricting a building’s height, principally to incorporate the 40 metre high water tower that still stretches above the building today (known locally as ‘the minaret’). The tower was not just an extravagant folly, but also a fully functional feature, and was used to water the crops on the various terraces which would supposedly help the home to become partially self-sufficient.

Along with the tower, other features such as the curved terraces and cantilever beams seem to exist only to show off the possibilities of concrete. The rest of the design is in accordance with Hennebique’s motto – and another catchphrase - "fleurs, lumière et aération" (flowers, light and ventilation), with the large windows and rooftop terraces bringing it into line with other hygienist constructions of the era.

“There, you’ve had a personal guided tour” says the old lady, before carefully shutting her window. She’ll return to her quiet life, waiting for the next curious visitor to stop outside, whilst I’m left to ponder on what has become of the building today.

In truth, though striking, the building is not a complete success, and is even ugly in parts. It is of course no longer a single home, and has been divided into apartments, apparently some of the most sought after in the town. To give an idea of the scale of the original property, one article reports that an entire family today lives in what was Hennebique’s dining room, and another is lodged in his living room.

The building was finally given protection in 1972, but not before a shamefully ugly extension was added at the front in the 1960s. Perhaps this addition, more even than the decline of Hennebique’s own construction business, shows how low the stock of concrete had fallen at the time. His house still remains to show the heights it can attain.

La Maison Hennebique
1, avenue du Lycée-Lakanal
Bourg-la-Reine, 92340
RER B, Bourg la Reine

What happened on the Quatre Septembre?

2011-09-04T14:23:00.003+02:00

France is a country of many significant dates, but only one is commemorated in both a street name and a Metro station in Paris. On this September 4th, I ask this question - what happened on the quatre septembre?

This particular date is not as well-known as July 14th, November 11th or May 8th in the country's history, but it is still a fondly remembered date in some circles. Of course though, there is also a certain controversy attached to its remembrance and celebration.

This particular September 4th was in 1870, and it marked the moment that a group of individuals in Paris proclaimed the beginning of a new Republic (the third) following the capture of Napoleon III by the Prussians in Sedan.

This proclamation brought to an end France's second empire, but as it also coincided with the invasion of France by the Prussians, its constitutional laws weren't actually voted until 1875. The September 4th date is therefore a purely symbolic one.

So why is it a controversial date to remember today? Firstly the third Republic ended in failure 70 years later in 1940, when once again France was invaded by a German army. Today France is under a 5th Republic, but nobody celebrates the date this one was proclaimed (October 4th 1958). More importantly, the third Republic began with the overthrowing of the Commune in Paris in 1871, when around 20,000 people were killed in Paris by Government forces. Many people today believe therefore that the country should not celebrate a date which is linked to such violent repression of a popular uprising.

However, given the fact that this date is known mostly today as being the name of a city-centre Metro station, it is unlikely to disappear from Paris street maps anytime soon!

A street for servants

2011-08-31T17:59:00.021+02:00

A narrow staircase snakes its way between the blank facades of several towering bourgeois buildings. Here there is little in the way of decoration and embellishment, and walls are of the most basic brick.

According to the nomenclature of the city of Paris though, we are standing in a street. Technically this is a continuation of the Rue des Eaux, a road that wraps itself around both the Rue and Square Charles Dickens in the 16th arrondissement.

But when does a passage become a road? In the 16th arrondissement of Paris, territory of many private parcels of land, the difference isn’t always entirely clear. This particular passage offered only private access until the 1980s when it was opened up to the public, but who used it and who was it designed for?

The answer can be found half-way down. This rather sinister passage is situated in one of the wealthiest parts of the city, but where there are rich people, necesarilly there are also those that serve them. An iron sign alongside a door indicates firmly that this is the ‘Service’ entrance, the access point for deliveries and for the staff who worked in the large apartments in this district.

Above and below are the broad and richly decorated entrances for the residents of the apartments and their guests, but an important consideration in the design of these buildings was to ensure that there was as little contact as possible between the owners and their staff. We can imagine the housekeeper standing at the door, checking the quality of the goods that the tradesmen had just carried up the hill, but it is unlikely that the employers would have ever passed by here and witnessed the scene.

Challenge 5: A mysterious white cross

2011-08-28T19:13:00.000+02:00

Sometimes the city slips past us so quickly that we don’t have time to pick up all of its tiny details. Even if we take the same routes each day, there are parts that never become entirely solid to us, and we forever wonder what role they play in the overall fabric of the place.

On a train journey this is even more true. A reader of this blog, Richard, was travelling between Bagneaux and Bourg la-Reine (a few kilometres to the south of Paris) on the RER line B when he saw something that appeared to be a grave near the railway line.

“It takes the shape of a white cross with what appears to be a name plate where the arms of the cross join; there also is a small brick surround at the foot of the cross” he explained, before going on to ponder just what significance it has; “Is it the grave of someone killed by a train, a railway worker who loved his job so much that his wish was to buried near his workplace? Or is it the final resting place of a French resistant executed for sabotage during the war?”

This is exactly the kind of challenge I like. Online research leads nowhere and there is no alternative but to go out and discover the object for myself.

Richard positioned the cross quite precisely, but on a moving train I feared that it would still be a tricky job to locate it, and even more difficult to read any words written on its arms. Fortunately, two things helped me. Firstly, the cross is situated just outside of the Bagneux train station meaning that the train didn’t have time to pick up much speed, and secondly I have very good eyes! In the fraction of a second I had to make sense of the object, I was able to read the inscription – André Ox, FFI.

With a name, everything becomes easier, although some aspects of the story will seemingly forever remain mysterious.

André Ox, was born in Moscow in 1925, but soon afterwards his family moved to France. They lived in Bagneux where André later began work as an ‘ouvrier’ (a vague term that could mean factory worker, construction worker or even a craftsman). At the beginning of his adult life though, the overriding fact of his daily existence was that he was living in a city occupied by Nazi forces.

As a young man he had three choices; collaborate, keep his head down or join the resistance. He chose the third option and became the interpreter of a Russian captain who had arrived in the area after escaping from a German prison camp. Although risky, it is likely that his daily existence was quiet until the allied forces began to march towards Paris in the summer of 1944, and the local resistancy cells began their own uprisings.

On August 24th 1944, a clash between a group of German soldiers and a barricade manned by a group of resistants (calling themselves the FFI) in Bagneux led to two soldiers being shot dead and another being seriously wounded. The situation was apparently calm following this, and Ox, perhaps the youngest or the most daring of the group, was sent from the barricade to go and collect the weapons from the soldiers.

Appearences were deceptive though, and when Ox arrived allongside the bodies, shots rang out from another hidden group of soldiers, and the young resistant was hit in the head by a bullet. He was picked up by other members of his group and taken to a nearby school, but the situation was hopeless and he died shortly afterwards – apparently the last person from Bagneux to die before the town was liberated. He was just 18 years old.

Two elements remain mysterious though; exactly where André Ox was struck down, and who built his commemorative cross and placed it alongside the railway line. Some reports place the incident a couple of streets away from the tracks, but if this were the case, why would the cross be positioned in this unusual spot, particularly as André Ox seemingly had no links to the railway?

Most sources seem to confirm that the cross was originally the work of an employee of the railway, and that this person continued tending the site until his retirement many years later. The cross was originally a simple dark one with no inscription, as this photo, from as late as 2004, confirms. Clearly it has recently been renovated and is still being looked after. Although André Ox was not buried at this spot, it manifestly marks an event that was of great significance, and continues to play an important role - that of making travellers reflect during their daily commute!

Challenge me!
Seen something in Paris that has caught your eye but remains a mystery, or ever wondered about obscure people or events in the city's past? Challenge me to find the answers!

C'est beau une ville la nuit

2011-08-24T19:00:00.002+02:00

C'est beau une ville la nuit - especially when that ville is Paris, and the night falls in the month of August. Step away from the boulevards where the traffic continues to rumble and summer visitors hunt in packs, and you'll find a city that has slowed down but is far from being asleep.

As temperatures softly tick downwards, there are few things more pleasurable than walking across the city, following your senses down nameless streets as the sky above veers from cobalt to sapphire. When it becomes an almost black neon-streaked canvas it is time to stop, but in the space between daylight and darkness, there is a whole new city to discover.

In windless streets, sounds drop heavily from the wide-open windows. Everywhere are tiny fragments of invisible lives - laughter from a television, a baby's cries, cuttlery scraping on porcelain, one-sided conversations on telephones.

But where are the people? They are alongside, but slide in and out of view like a mirage. Couples holding hands across restaurant tables, families gathered around street benches as if in some Tuscan piazza, smokers out walking their dogs, and grocery store owners listening to football matches on the radio. The only people who look your way though are the beggars asking for money.

At night, it is the city itself which is the most important character. Physically it is not the same. Shadows transform angles, and streetlights bring unexpected corners into focus. In our minds, this city is transmogrified by previous experiences - drunken walks home, desperate hunts for late-night pharmacies - out of the ordinary episodes that turn the streets into anxiety-provoking arteries.

From menace comes beauty. There is no real danger, but the electric buzz of the warm air heightens the senses, and brings significance to the insignificant. It's almost like sleepwalking. The messages are mixed-up, but don't look for answers from the street communicators. Just walk and decide for yourself if it is better to wake up, or simply to continue dreaming.

The Homeless World Cup

2011-08-21T21:37:00.012+02:00

Starting this afternoon (August 21st) and running for one week, the Homeless World Cup brings together 64 national teams for a street soccer tournament on the Champs de Mars.

Under the watchful eye of a large iron tower and a burning sun, the players - both male and female, some very young, some a little more experienced - began the tournament with energy and great spirit. Some teams clearly seem to be better prepared and more skillful than others, but for once the results here don't seem to be the most important factor.

Pre-match team talk for Argentina

According to the tournament's website, the vast majority of participants, all of whom are homeless and socially marginalised in their countries, "go on to rebuild relationships with family and friends, overcome addictions and find accommodation, education and employment" following their participation in the tournament.

So although the Korean team may have lost their first match 19-0 to a (very well supported!) team from Palestine, they still played the game with a smile and shook hands with their opponents afterwards.

Perhaps the most important of all is the ceremony before the match. As with most other international tournaments, the two teams line up whilst the national anthems are played. For these individuals, who often feel excluded from their societies, it is a powerful and sometimes emotional moment.

Teams have come to Paris from far and wide!

However, it remains a real sporting tournament, and the old rivalries still count. In the women's tournament, the first day saw a true 'classico' - Brazil vs Argentina! It was perhaps the most widely attended match of the day, with as much fervour in the stands as on the pitch. Both teams were impressive, but Brazil ran out winners - on the pitch, and alongside it!

On the Metro after the event I shared a carriage with the Swedish and Palestinian teams, both in full kit. There are not many international tournaments where you can get such proximity to the stars!

The tournament continues until Sunday 28th August, with matches taking place all afternoon on three pitches. You can keep up to date with all the scores on the official website, where you'll also be able to watch most games on video. However, if you are in Paris, make sure you go along and show your support!

Challenge 4: Coral on the streets of Paris?

2011-08-17T11:13:00.031+02:00

The facades of buildings in Paris may be compared to many things, but rarely are they likened to coral. This however was the inspiration behind my latest challenge, a question that I received recently from Mary Kay;

“When I was in the States recently, I took a photo of a cross section of coral that my daughter is using for her research. After returning to Paris, I noticed that it is identical to an architectural feature that is used on many buildings here, for example at the base of the Louvre. Can you tell me if this feature has a name and anything else about it, such as its origins?”

Mary Kay kindly sent me a photo of her daughter’s coral (pictured above), and I was immediately able to see what she was referring to. It is indeed very similar to a feature that is regularly seen on buildings in Paris (and in many other places around the world). However, the name of this feature has nothing to do with marine organisms, but is in fact connected to a creature that is much closer to most of us – the worm.

Generally found on stones at the base of a building, this gouging or chiselling of a smooth surface is known as vermiculation (from the Latin vermis, meaning worm), and is just one form of an architectural technique known as rustication. It first began to appear on buildings in the rennaissance period, with the Louvre palace being a particularly good example.

Vermiculation on the walls of the Louvre.

Following classical architectural theory, the idea behind using forms of rustication is that they provide a rough, ‘natural’ surface at ground level which give the building a feeling of solidity, and offer a feature that then contrasts well with ornamental stonework and columns on floors above, particularly the ‘piano nobile’.

Although there are several forms of rustication, it is vermiculation which has always been most popular, and the feature continued to be used on buildings in Paris into the 20th century (although in more recent times for purely decorative effect). The link to worms is due to its forms, which are supposed to resemble the shapes left by those creatures in wood or soil, an effect which perhaps also gave a building a more 'living' feel.

A typical Haussmannian building - vermiculation at ground level, corinthian columns above.

The effect seemingly died out with the arrival of the smoothness and simplicity of the art deco movement, and with mass production replacing the craft of the stonemason, it seems unlikely to make a comeback. However, I have found it available today as a motif for a range of materials which you can use inside your house, and one which here has been given a rather interesting name - 'le grand corail'!

Additional note:
Whilst taking a closer look at the vermicular features on the facade of the Louvre, I noticed something a little strange. The feature should stretch up in a column to the top, but on the lower levels the stones have been replaced by more modern models. I'm not sure when this would have been done, but was it perhaps to make it more difficult for potential thieves to get a good foothold? Another possible reason then for the disappearance of this feature on the buildings of Paris!

Challenge me!
Seen something in Paris that has caught your eye but remains a mystery, or ever wondered about obscure people or events in the city's past? Challenge me to find the answers!

A Fascination with the Invisible

2011-08-16T09:57:00.008+02:00

A reader of this blog, Regula Spottl, very kindly translated the interview with me published in German magazine Qvest, and I thought it might be interesting to share it here. It's funny to see a discussion I had with the journalist in English translated into German then back into English, but it is very well composed and gives a perfect overview of what I'm trying to do on this blog. Thanks Regula, and thanks Yorca!

A Fascination with the Invisible

It had to be a Londoner coming to Paris to open the Parisians’ eyes: Adam Roberts shows on his Blog “Invisible Paris” houses, places and locations that tourists and locals simply miss because they don’t see them even though they are right before their eyes. One more reason to ask this French citizen for a comprehensive talk about tourist attractions and architectural crimes.
Interview Yorca Schmidt-Junker

Qvest: As Brit, what brought you to Paris?
Adam Roberts: I moved to Paris in my mid-twenties. The reason – a typical cliché – was for a young French lady. So love was the reason for my moving to Paris. A decision that I’ve never regretted. We are still together and we now have two kids.

What was it about Paris? The [stereotypical] love at first sight?
Since I didn’t choose Paris and came here for my girlfriend, I had no expectations whatsoever. And I also didn’t have the [proverbial] romantic image that brings millions of people to this city. It was simply a city for me in which I was to work and live – so it was a rather sobering attitude. However with time, I developed in intimate relationship with Paris. And now, after 15 years, I have to say: Paris is still and forever fascinating. The continuing search for the new things, surprises, inspiration is almost unlimited.

In your opinion, what’s the reason for this fascination?
In the 19th century, Haussmann completely revised the setup of this city: The classic residential houses, the Grand Boulevards, the renovation of complete neighborhoods – the “Haussmanisation” is the reason why the city looks like a cast and is stylistically harmonious. What fascinates me are the things that stand out from this harmonious cast. The forgotten, worn relics from a time past, or the modern objects that are interpersed and sometimes almost not noticed. It’s exactly these “disruptions” in the smooth surface that I’m interested in.

How did the idea for a blog about these “disruptions” come about?
Paris is like every metropolis: On one side are the tourists who often have an idea, a picture of the city and look for those exact places that confirm these cliches. Then there are the locals who live here and - as a result of their routines - walk through the city with their eyes barely open. I believe that exactly between these two worlds, the typical tourist attraction and the everyday things, there exists another, for most people invisible, cosmos. That’s what I want to illustrate.

You refer to the invisible. So these are buildings, places, things, that exist but nobody seems to see them…? Why?
Right. I don’t refer to the “secret”, the “hidden” places that tourist guides or so-called insiders like to talk about. My objects are there, they are directly in front of everybody’s eyes; but for some reason, they are not seen. It's a phenonomenon that has always fasciniated me. What initially inspired me was the book “The Glamour” by Christopher Priest, that deals with people that aren’t taken in by their environment, people who are (proverbially) invisible. That’s exactly what happens to things around us. We simply don’t see them; maybe because we are subconsciously conditioned not to see them. Because our very selective ability to recognize things doesn’t allow it.

The fact is that most of us consider Paris is a “ville musée”. And that’s exactly what you seem to want to change.
My Blog shows exactly those parts of the city that don’t correspond with this “ville musée” image: that aren’t nice, picturesque, perfect in shape and impressive. Instead they become invisible because they are trivial, average, sometimes even ugly and monstrous. And as result may be reveal a new form of esthetics.

You don’t just show photos to your followers, you also inform them in great detail about the history, as well as the socio-cultureal and political background of the buildings and places you point out. Therefore “Invisible Paris” is more than just an illustration in pictures.
My main interest is actually the history behind the photos. Of course, the picture comes first, but it is followed by extensive research. I discover these “invisible places” mostly on my strolls through the city. Often even while on lunch break; colleagues go to the cafeteria or the bistro; is prefer to go on strolls with my camera. And when I see something that’s relevant for me and my blog, then I shoot a photo to start with. Next I start research on the background. Sometimes I turn to the community, especially when it’s about construction/building aspects. Or I talk with locals. Or with people who took part in the development process – if they are still alive (laughs) and agree to talk to me. In addition, I don’t consider myself a great photographer, so I have to offer my users supplemental information (laughs again).

How do your followers react?
Well, I actually don’t have as many followers as other bloggers who deal with simpler, more popular topics. Most of the about 300 followers who click on “Invisible Paris” on any day are Paris insiders who were either born here or have been living here for a while or know the city well. Ironically, many among them are Germans, but there are also English, Russians and Canadians. They were early on surprised and an bit irritated; but I now receive positive feedback. Especially from those who are willing to look beyond the obvious and are eager to explore something unusual.

Can you specify the Invisible Paris follower a bit more? I expect that they are more intellectual types.
In fact, many are professors at universities. I can only speculate why that’s the case. I think that they are used to my type of discourse due to their intellectual discourse in their professions - to explore phenoma and to be interested in aspects that are not the norm.

In contrast to many other blogs, primarily the fashion blogs, yours is completely independent and devoid of advertisements. Are you not interested in commercialising “Invisible Paris”?
No, it’s a project based on my passion. Even though it has become a part-time job that takes up a large part of my work- and free time. So that my employer (Adam Roberts is in the department for internal communication of a large French company) doesn’t come to the false conclusion (laughs): I use exclusively my lunch break and going back and forth to work for the blog. I sit in the Metro with my laptop of my knees and write my texts. I want to remain independent and do what I enjoy without anybody influencing my content. However, I have a few paid links to hotels – but even that is more an extra bonus for readers than for my personal benefit.

As proponent of this somewhat different beauty: What is your favorite place in Paris?
The Hôpital de la Salpêtrière is one of my absolute favorites. Less due to its 17th century architecture than due to its history. It was once the largest asylum in Europe for beggers, the poor and the mentally handicapped: people that weren’t wanted in the city in order to not destroy the perfect image of the Louis XIV era. In contrast to today, the difference between a hospital and a prison was rather small at the time. Salpêtrière became later one of the most renown institutes for research in the gynologically defined hysteria – which led Siegmund Freund to it. Josephine Baker and Princess Diana died in the renowned hospital and both of my kids were born there. I have a close connection to this institution.

And what is the most horrendous place for you?
The Sacré Cœur! It looks like a wedding cake, like an ugly one really! The fact is that this church was built to punish the Parisians. It was a symbol of penance for the crimes of the Communards, that legendary city council that tried to govern Paris according on socialist principles. So the conservative central government decided to erect a monument that would remind the Parisians day and night and in each arrondissement that the power of the state is above them. That’s the reason for its elevated, from every arrondissement visible, location.

You’re saying that Sacré Cœur isn’t a candidate for your “Invisible Paris”?
God no! Even thought he history of its construction is rather complex and interesting – it’s the most horrible building ever erected in Paris. Not even champagne and cider helps in this instance…

"Die Faszination Des Unsichtbaren" - an interview in Qvest magazine

2011-08-02T18:15:00.000+02:00

I was delighted and honoured to be featured in the summer edition of the German fashion and lifestyle magazine Qvest, and what's more in a four-page interview! Although I don't speak German, with the help of automatic translation tools and a German friend, I can see that journalist Yorca Schmidt-Junker has done a great job getting my slightly complex world view across!

Thanks also to the design team at the magazine who helped select the photos to best illustrate the article, and who have made them look more attractive than I manage myself. As an additional honour, I also discovered that I am the first non-fashion blogger to be featured in the magazine, and I can only hope that the readers found this diversion interesting!

If you speak German (and have good eyes!) click on the pictures to read the interview in full. If not, I'm currently trying to put together a version translated into English. In any case, such interest and recognition has given me renewed desire to continue with this project, as have the 'challenges' I have received during my holidays. I'm working on those, and hope to publish full answers soon!

Stephen Sauvestre: The forgotten architect of the Eiffel Tower

2011-07-11T20:02:00.017+02:00

Ask most people to name the architect of the Eiffel Tower, and more likely than not they will reply that it was Gustave Eiffel himself. However, whilst Eiffel and his team were behind the initial project and were the engineers that planned and built the tower, it was actually an architect called Stephen Sauvestre who gave the tower much of its distinct look.

Although Sauvestre’s name is rarely mentioned in connection with Paris’s iconic tower, it is one that can still be found on the walls of the city, particularly in the Plaine Monceau in the 17th arrondissement. This was where Sauvestre lived and worked, helping to build a whole new quarter of the city in eclectic styles that would influence the Art Nouveau movement.

A selection of features on the facades of some of the houses designed by Sauvestre.

Stephen Sauvestre was born in 1847, and was one of the first graduates of the Ecole spéciale d'architecture, a new school set up to separate this discipline from the world of the Beaux-Arts. Students learned about modern techniques involving metal structures, and a little later reinforced concrete, and were encouraged to work on useful municipal projects such as schools and hospitals.

A towering friendship with Gustave Eiffel

After working on a few small scale projects, Sauvestre's first important project in Paris was already a combined effort with Gustave Eiffel. The two men worked together on the design of the Pavillon de Gaz for the Exposition Universelle in Paris in 1878, a collaboration that would mirror their much more famous joint creation a decade later.

The tower project began in 1884, when two of Eiffel's employees, Maurice Koechlin and Emile Nouguier, proposed a project for a 300m high tower to mark the 1889 universal exhibition. The French authorities were looking for emblamatic and ambitious creations to help detract from national and international difficulties, but Gustave Eiffel knew that this creation would struggle without more of an aesthetic touch.

The Eiffel Tower project team. Stephen Sauvestre is on the left, and Gustave Eiffel is in the centre.

Eiffel had already seen the project declared "un noire et gigantesque cheminée d’usine" and something that had stemmed from the "mercantiles imaginations d’un constructeur de machines" by a group of influential artists and architects, so he called once more on his architect friend Stephen Sauvestre to give the basic design a little more elegance. Sauvestre added a number of features to the design, introducing more curved forms as well as several additional 'attractive' buildings on the ground and on the first two floors of the tower, something that was perhaps instrumental in the Eiffel project being accepted.

A buider of houses

If the architect's work was important on this project, it was far from being his principal creation. Sauvestre was primarily a builder of houses, and many of these survive in Paris today, almost entirely in the 17th arrondissement. He was one of the key individuals in the creation of a whole new district in the city, and one with an interesting story to tell.

In 1860, an area known as the Plaine Monceau in the north-west of the city was annexed into Paris. This move to widen the scope of the city also included many other areas, including Belleville, Montmartre and La Villette, but whilst most of these sectors were already reasonably built up and populated, the Plaine Monceau was very largely rural.

The house where Sauvestre lived, at number 16 Rue Eugène Flachat.

The development in this zone was incredibly rapid, driven by its proximity to a series of railway lines. The Baron Haussmann drew the principal axis of this development, stretching his standard large avenues across the district, but the land between them was virgin territory with freedom given to architects and developers to build on largely as they pleased.

The most important landowners - the Péreire brothers who had built the railways that cut through these fields - stipulated that only bourgeois houses could be built on their plots, and many of these survive today. One of the principal architects called on to design and build these houses was Stephen Sauvestre, and his signature is still visible on several of the facades.

No two creations the same

Sauvestre's creations can still be seen on the Avenue de Villiers, the Rue Ampère and the the Rue Eugène Flachat (where Sauvestre lived, interestingly in a house designed by another architect, Georges Bayard) amongst other streets in the area. He believed that no two of his houses should ever be the same, but what is interesting is that they are often not even remotely similar. Sauvestre played around with many styles, enjoying the freedom that this zone gave him. Whilst the Haussmannian boulevards alongside saw uniform erections in standard greys, on the smaller side streets houses were being built in a vast range of shapes, sizes and colours.

Two of Sauvestre's creations side by side on the Rue Ampère (both signed!). Little would lead the casual observer to conclude that the same architect was responsible for both (or that the same architect had also drawn the Eiffel Tower!)

These houses generally feature a mix of classic stone with more modern brick and tiled facades, but they are neo-gothic, neo-renaissance, neo-Henri IV, or neo-Louis XIII in appearence. Sauvestre was particularly passionate about this mix of brick and stone, and almost all of his constructions feature these materials to various degrees.

Houses drawn by Stephen Sauvestre on the Plaine Monceau. Brick and stone are always clearly visible.

The houses were built for artists, bankers and businessmen, almost entirely between the period 1880-1890. This period of course corresponded with the construction of the Eiffel Tower, and whilst it may be difficult to spot any connections between the two, some links can be made. Sauvestre's education had made him a modernist, and he made sure that all of the houses he worked on had functional toilets, bathrooms and central heating. He was also keen to display the materials used in the construction of his houses on their facades, and this is something that can certainly also be said of the Eiffel Tower!

Note: Sauvestre's old school, the Ecole spéciale d'architecture, still exists, and held an exhibition of his heritage five years ago. An interesting article on the exhibition can still be found in the school's online archives: http://archive.sadesa.fr/charles-leon-stephen-sauvestre/

Advertising imitating Street Art

2011-07-06T22:01:00.006+02:00

It was a small boy who sent my eye in its direction. With a large smile on his face, he was pulling his mum's sleeve and pointing to a spot over my shoulder. I turned round to see what he was looking at, and saw what -to me - is a new breed of advertising, entirely based on the codes of street art.

Without wanting to give this rather banal message artistic qualities it doesn't merit, it had clearly succeeded in one respect - it had drawn the attention of a child and made him smile. The message of the ad itself is exactly what we would find in any media or on any support, but it is the technique adopted here which interests me.

Looked at from the side, it is possible to see how this campaign has been created. The ad is in cardboard, and although attached to an existing billboard, it also completely covers and hides it.

Seen from the front again, it is clear that the desired effect is to make it look like a casually pasted creation on a blank wall. Looked at quickly, it could be just another wheatpasted poster on the city walls, but the second glance draws your eye towards the message.

It doesn't surprise me in the slightest that advertising agencies should try to occupy this territory, but what could this mean for the future of wheatpasting? These techniques have been used by street artists for many years (going back to Blek le Rat), and have always been very efficient ways of communicating a message, but if advertisers begin filling up these wall spaces with similar creations, will the artists have to look for new ideas and new ways of communicating?

Challenge 3: Why the green cross?

2011-07-02T17:31:00.013+02:00

Street furniture is something that often attracts the eye and sets people wondering. When we visit a different country we are immediately drawn towards the little differences that throw us out of our daily routines. These are also the features of a country or city that help to give it its identity; yellow taxis in New York, red phone and letter boxes in the UK, and - subject of my latest challenge - green pharmacie signs in France.

Philippa sent me a mail with the following questions about these very visually obvious elements in French cities, towns and villages across the country;

"Why are they green? Why a cross? When did this convention start? And who makes the new ones with the flashing lights, and programs them so that it seems no two have the exact same pattern and motion?"

Here there are in fact four questions in one;

Why that shape?
Why that particular colour?
Since when has this been in force?
And who makes and programmes these signs?

I will answer all of these but not in this particular order!

The easiest question to answer is when did this convention start. The green cross as symbol of the Conseil National de l’Ordre des Pharmaciens was registered in 1984. Although owners of pharmacies are not obliged to use this symbol, the registering of the green cross meant that no-one else working in a similar profession could use it.

Why though did they choose this particular shape and colour? The cross is obviously a reference to the 'Croix-Rouge', the international humanitarian movement set up in Geneva in 1864 with the goal of assisting those injured in wars and conflicts. Indeed, many pharmacies in France did originally display a red cross on their shops, up until 1913 when a law banned such usage of this symbol and colour.

The association of 'pharmaciens' in France needed their own colour, but why did they choose green? There is no clear answer to this particular question, although most sources seem to agree that it simply makes a link to the plants that are used in the fabrication of the remedies they sell. The colour is though particularly well chosen as it works very well on a neon sign in daylight!

But what about these neon signs? Who makes them and why are they seemingly all different? A quick spin on the web throws up one manufacturer, and also provides an answer to the second question too. This particular company, based in the Paris region, sells three different models, each of which is programmable via a supplied piece of software offering dozens of different animations.

Which leads me to a question of my own. If these signs are programmable, why has the sign on the pharmacie opposite my apartment shown the wrong time for the last five years?

Challenge me!
Seen something in Paris that has caught your eye but remains a mystery, or ever wondered about obscure people or events in the city's past? Challenge me to find the answers!

City Snapshots: The Loneliness of a Tower Crane Driver

2011-06-28T21:08:00.006+02:00

Climbing up the ladder, there’s not so far to go. Towards the clouds, to my box in the sky, leaving my worries behind. Up here the city is in my control, its people a cast of tiny characters I can manipulate at will.

Lifting ten tonne logs like they were matchsticks, concrete panels like the pages of a book, I build this city from its ruins. I'm an eagle's eye and an elephant's trunk, with the grace of a dove and the force of a hurricane.

Some days I forget what my voice sounds like, swallowed by the twisting steel and radio crackles. The sky streaks in ever-changing colours around me, and clouds roll over my head, but I can never stop. I just keep turning my arm and building your dreams.

Day becomes night and there's only me left on site. Pinpricks of light appear across the world and the faces down below have all drifted away. Going back down to earth always seems so unnatural, but soon I'll have to descend. I'm standing on the precipice, but it's oh so far to fall.

Inspired of course by this song, and also by the ever-evolving film set in front of my window!

Défense d'Afficher - again?

2011-06-25T16:01:00.002+02:00

I previously wrote about the ubiquitous 'Defense d'afficher' signs that can be seen painted on municipal walls around France, but my attention was drawn recently to another variation on this message.

This one was a small white plaque screwed into a brick wall in a non-descript back street, but what particularly stood out was the date of the law. This was not the standard 1881 decree, but rather one that dated from 1943 and France's infamous Vichy regime.

As the scrawled message on the plaque says, this was indeed a 'loi Pétainiste' (or rather a 'loi Laval'), but what exactly is being forbidden here?

The message writer here has spotted the date, and looked to make comparisons between France's collaborist state during the Second World War and today's perceived authoritarian rulers, but in reality the law mentioned is rather banal. However, it is also one that had a big effect on the way French cities looked.

Look back at old photos of Paris and you will see advertising painted onto all visible wall surfaces. Some of these traces remain as so called 'ghost signs', but this law is in fact the edict that signed their death warrant. It was the first law in the country that seeked to protect the esthetics of the city from rampant advertising, limiting the publicity to a restrictive maximum size and height.

Two questions remain though. Whilst the world was at war, why was the Vichy regime worrying about city esthetics? Secondly, why is a law voted by this regime still applicable today?

The first question is very difficult to answer. It is unlikey that the law had anything to do with restricting the actions of the resistance, and is probably more a reflection of the lack of important decisions the puppet state had to make.

Concerning the second question, the answer is that many of the Vichy regime's voted laws were allowed to stand after the war. As soon as De Gaulle returned to France and assumed leadership of the country, the collaborationist government was declared null and void. However, in the interests of simplicity, only the laws relating to the war were immediately repealed. All other laws were examined by jurists and very often reissued with no modifications, including the addition of a 'Mother's Day' to the French calendar!

Eiffel and the artists

2011-06-21T21:45:00.002+02:00

In a letter sent to newspaper 'Le Temps' in February 1887, a group of artists, writers and architects criticised the soon to be built Eiffel tower, calling it "inutile et monstrueuse". Gustave Eiffel, an engineer and a "constructeur de machines", would be scarring the beautiful face of the city in an attack on generations of artistic creation. Were these cultural leaders aware though that just three years previously, Eiffel and his company had designed and built a collection of artists' studios in the west of the city?

Situated on the Rue Aumont-Thiéville near the Porte Maillot, this set of studios was built in 1884 using a new method for this kind of construction. The building is divided into six workshops each spanning an identical width, and the overall metal framework was made in Eiffel's Levallois factory. As these were standardised modules, they could be built at a lower cost and in a very short time. The rationality and simplicity of this architecture is closer to industrial buildings of the time, and in some ways anticipates the current fashion for artists to install themselves in converted factories and workshops.

The 1880s were a golden age for such constructions in Paris, but few artists' studios looked this way. The majority would have been far more pleasing to the artists who signed the letter criticising Eiffel, as they were built according to classical or neo-gothic designs. However, few have aged as well as Eiffel's, and several were even torn down before the dawning of the 20th century.

What is the role for such studios in today's city though? Artists are traditionally 'penniless', and such spaces as these would clearly be expensive to rent in Paris. It is no surprise therefore to see design agencies and osteopaths installed in some of the units, but one or two artists still seem to be using the facilities.

Finally, although this construction may have shocked or surprised when built, it has over time been surrounded by even more modern buildings. Reflected in the windows are some of constructions built by ed architectes (including their offices) in the 1970s. It's certainly not a style I appreciate, but I'm not sure I'd write a letter to a newspaper criticising it. Who knows what styles will survive the test of time?

Challenge 2: A vocabulary test

2011-06-17T21:00:00.011+02:00

The vocabulary of the city is rich but often mysterious. Many of the things that surround us often go without names either because we are not sure what tag to attach to them, or because we simply have no need to refer to them in our daily lives. This is what lies behind a question Norman has asked me, which is the following:

"During our visits to Paris I have taken many, many pictures of devices such as this (see photo above). I am fascinated by their astounding variety in terms of design and materials. I know they are designed to protect the entryway from being damaged by carts, wagons and now cars and trucks as they enter. However, I do not know the name for them. Do you?"

Before I received Norman's question I have to admit that I had never actually thought about this particular object. Now that he has mentioned it though, I have started to see them everywhere, and it is a fascinating topic. The 'astounding variety' he mentions can give many clues about the age of a building, but also about the wealth of those who lived there - simple stone blocks for the less wealthy, extravagant iron designs for those with plenty of expendible income!

They are by nature an extension of the Porte Cochère (coach gate) which themselves are a throwback to a time of horses and large carriages. Investigating this widely-discussed feature of Parisian buildings would surely lead me to the name of the small features at the bottom.

A porte cochère in Paris with small conical devices at its base.

One book I generally turn to for this kind of research - Claude Mignot's Grammaire des immeubles parisiens offers no help though. There is no mention of these little city features, and it seems that it is obviously a sector that has not been deemed worthy of research.

Nevertheless, by flicking through another couple of sources, I come across the term. These little devices are called a chasse-roue, although they are also sometimes referred to as a boute-roue or bouteroue. In English, the term is a guard stone.

A final brief note. At the entrance to most of the buildings in which they are situated they serve no purpose at all today, but they are nevertheless destined to remain a feature of the city landscape for a long time to come. Why? Simply because they are so difficult to remove!

Note: Norman has now posted on the 'Chasse-roue' in Paris. See the many examples he has found here.

Challenge me!
Seen something in Paris that has caught your eye but remains a mystery, or ever wondered about obscure people or events in the city's past? Challenge me to find the answers!

A Brutalist Bridge?

2011-06-15T21:40:00.007+02:00

I enjoy more and more taking trips out into the suburbs of Paris, principally because I'm never sure what I'll find. Whereas much of Paris has a homely familiarity to me today, the suburbs can still retain an exotic eccentricity.

Take Suresnes for example. Situated alongside the Seine to the west of the city, it is a working class town that was rapidly gentrified due to its proximity to the La Defense business district (it was in Socialist hands for 40 years and is twinned with Hackney, but has now been firmly under right-wing control for nearly 30 years). This contrast between the rich and the less wealthy, the modern and the ancient, has left many traces around the town.

What is immediately obvious is that the town must have rapidly grown in the 1960s and 70s, with the architectural styles of this period taking up whole chunks of the town centre. Alongside the standard tower blocks though is something genuinely interesting, and - let's be honest - completely mad too.

Straddling the principal artery through the town is the Ecole des Arts Plastiques - an art school and gallery - but is it a building or is it a bridge? It sits proudly on this main road, seemingly considering itself to be some kind of concrete Ponte Vecchio, but in fact it offers no means of passage across the street.

I am not sure who the architect of this structure was, but it is a fascinating appropriation of the public space, and an installation which is clearly still useful despite the chosen style having long gone out of fashion.

Challenge 1: The mysterious man on a ladder

2011-06-13T08:00:00.008+02:00

I recently added a 'Challenge me' box to the side of my blog, offering to attempt to solve your queries about Paris. Last week, I received my first question, and I'm glad to say that I was able to answer it.

The question came from Anne, and this is what she asked;

“I went with a friend today to do your street art walk and we noticed many changes since you published the walking notes, most particularly, the many works of a sad looking monochromatic fellow on a ladder. There were lots of different variations on the theme, but none were signed. What do you know about the artist?”

The first step was to retrace the route of my walk (updating it at the same time!) and track down this character. It was immediately obvious that Anne was right - this fellow was everywhere! But who is he, and who is the artist behind him?

Although I wasn't familiar with these creations, the style and the character was definitely something I'd seen before. At one point, this man on a ladder even meets the character I already knew - the 'homme à la bouée', a creature already very visible in this part of Paris. Clearly the same artist was behind both, but in theory it would be easier to find out something about the creator of the man in the rubber ring rather than the more recent ladder dweller.

Just above the crouching man, is this the only 'aborted' space invader in Paris?

However, although these creations are also very visible online, the artist behind them is more difficult to dig out. As is the case with many street artists, no official credit has been taken for them, and they are not even signed with any kind of alias. All that seems to be known is that the artist refers to them as 'gugusses' - a kind of clown.

The artist's technique is a clever one. Carry the man and a very short ladder to the scene of the pasting, then extend the ladder as long as is necessary using charcoal and chalk!

Dig a little deeper though, and a name begins to appear; Philippe Hérard. A video portrait of the artist in his studio - situtated in the vicinity of these creations - confirms that this is indeed the man behind the characters. His official website also displays many other creations on similar themes.

A name then, but what about the motivations of the artist? Why does an established artist who has already developed a series of characters on canvas choose to take them outside of his studio and on to the walls of the city around him? We could assume it to be a form of publicity if it wasn't for the fact that this pasting is done anonymously. Did he feel instead that these 'gugusses' were trapped in his studio, and needed the freedom the city walls? Although I have discovered his name, I'm sure he would prefer me to be investigating the questions these 'gugusses' are asking us.

Challenge me!
Seen something in Paris that has caught your eye but remains a mystery, or ever wondered about obscure people or events in the city's past? Challenge me to find the answers.

I am no more than an amateur, but I have acquired a certain knowledge of the city in the three years I've been doing this blog, and perhaps more importantly, I've learned where to look for answers to the more obscure questions I ask myself! More than anything else, this kind of research is something I enjoy doing. Through this service I hope to find answers for those who have asked questions, but perhaps also to other readers who may be asking themselves the same questions. So, if you have something that has always bugged you, fire away!

City Snapshots: The Magpies

2011-06-10T18:00:00.002+02:00

The city magpies fly through Paris as the sun rises, eyes fixed on the ground, searching for the unexpected riches people have thrown away overnight. When they find something that glitters, they swoop.

Beneath my window I see them land, perching alongside the dead carcass of an unwanted sofa. They quickly strip away the carrion, throwing the iron guts into their beaten up van.

But these are no thieving magpies. Instead they are opportunists, profiting from the objects we throw out of our nests. One for sorrow, two for joy, three for the girl, four for the boy...

As the city wakes up, they fly on to the scrap merchants, transforming their pickings into a few pieces of gold.

Back in time by the Bièvre

2011-06-06T17:30:00.010+02:00

To get something of an idea of how Paris may have looked before the Celts or the Romans, you need only visit the Yvelines near Versailles and explore the valley of the Bièvre.

Just 15 kilometres from the city centre, these primitive landscapes seem to be from a different land altogether, but this is a waterway that continues to steadily flow towards Paris. One hundred years ago, it still managed to slide its way through the city walls and on headfirst into the Seine, but by the time it arrived at that point it was a pestilent soup rather than a pristine stream.

In and around Paris it was a river that was put to work, primarily in the tanning industry. After centuries of abuse, it had become a dead channel, clogged with blood and dyes. At the beginning of the 20th century, the city authorities decided that they had had enough, covered over the stream and directed it away from the Seine and into the city's sewerage system.

Walking alongside the Bièvre in these timeless locations it is hard to imagine that this is one of the only rivers in the world that has no natural discharge. Is this a picture of how it once was along its entire length, up to what became Paris at its meeting point with the Seine?

Beyond the boundaries of Paris it has continued to thrive, and a project was recently announced to open up more stretches to visitors. Certain groups still militate for an uncovering of the river along its entire length, but in reality Paris has today developed away from one of its natural sources.

It is impossible to wind back time, but thankfully it is sometimes still possible to visit the past.

The Maison des Célestins: a restaurant for the stars?

2011-06-01T21:19:00.004+02:00

Ever dreamed of running your own restaurant in Paris? The Maison des Célestins, a 19th century ruin sitting opposite the Ile Saint Louis, could be your opportunity! New owners the Ports de Paris have just launched a call for bids for parties who are interested in transforming this historic building into a riverside bar and restaurant, and you have until September to put forward your project.

The building, on two levels - quai side below and city side above - is a throwback to a time when river traffic in Paris was mucher denser. Built in 1861, it belonged to the Prefecture de Paris and was used to control navigation in the city.

In theory, the Maison des Célestins is in a great position. With its feet in the water and its eyes on the Ile Saint Louis, it offers a perfect view - if it wasn't for the motorway that runs alongside and cuts it off from the river. Fortunately, the City of Paris has also recently announced that the road here will be significantly changed in the coming years, with traffic lights to slow down the speeding vehicles and a pathway alongside the river.

The building has been empty for several years now, and has instead become something of a canvas for street artists. The suggestions for possible projects mention nautical themes rather than grafitti, so we can expect to see a cleaned up and rather upmarket eating place here in the future. With the Rotonde at the Basin de la Villette also due to reopen as a smart restaurant soon, it seems that all riverside heritage in Paris can only be reborn as a place to eat and drink.

One final question remains at this spot though. A marker can be seen at the top level of the building pointing out the flood levels from 1910. What will happen to the restaurant if the water rises again - as everyone seems to agree is more than probable? The dream location could turn out to be anything but!

Some other Neuilly

2011-05-28T15:04:00.009+02:00

The inhabitants of Neuilly on the western fringes of Paris are statistically the 5th richest in France, with around 10% of the population also paying an exclusive wealth tax. Needless to say, it is a rather snobbish place, and one with a distinct lack of character. Is there though a more human Neuilly hidden behind the heavily polished exteriors?

Whereas Paris is a city to be discovered on foot, Neuilly is the kingdom of the car. A four-lane artery cuts through the southern side of the town, with the rest being criss-crossed with other wide and busy thoroughfares. More disturbing than that though is the distance between the pavements and the houses and apartment blocks in the town, meaning that as a pedestrian you feel cut off from all human contact.

Walking along these leafy but deathly quiet streets, you can't help feeling a little paranoid. Behind their curtains in their dwellings, residents can follow your steps, but they themselves remain frustratingly invisible to you. It is a place with little interaction and with a heart that is seemingly well hidden away.

Around the town hall though, there is a semblance of a community. Naturally, this is based almost primarily around commercial outlets, but amongst the upmarket designer chainstores (which are often curiously empty) there are a few that show a little more soul. It is a town which caters principally for wealthy lawyers or television executives who spend their income mainly in the numerous smart but slightly banal restaurants, but turn a couple of corners and it is still possible to find a population looking for a bargain.

This is visible mostly in the indoor market, a 1960s vintage with pleasingly chaotic colour clashes and a space where it is still possible to rub shoulders with other inhabitants. Stall holders cry out the offers of the day, and retro haberdashery stands show that there are still residents who choose to repair clothes rather than just buy new ones.

Another curiosity of the town is the silence of the walls. Across Paris, they sing with messages, through posters, art, graffiti or tags, but in Neuilly they are clean and mute. Buildings are flawless and unsullied, showing off little of their lived history, but it is possible to find some forgotten courtyards where life seems to have found shelter.

The scruffiness of these doors and shutters is proof that they have served a purpose. It is comforting to find such things here that have not been torn down and replaced with newer models.

Even more comforting are the traces of cheap and cheerful design. In a universe of classical bourgeois conservatism, how refreshing to see a really bad pun (but one that is also slightly subversive in this Catholic environment) and a selection of kitsch bargains! It might be a descent into hell, but it looks like a place where life may be found.