Mobile Menu
This past March, I flew to Paris to enjoy a week with an old friend and some new ones. It wasn’t quite as glorious as you might imagine: think a small room on the outskirts of the city, crammed with me and four others.
But overall? It was an escape. I was tired of the brown desert I lived in back in Phoenix and needed a new… something. I was desperate for the cold, to wear a sweater, and to see something green again. Being from Oregon, there’s almost a craving to feel the rain every once in a while. At the same time, I missed being in Europe. After a life-changing trip to Rome and Florence just a year earlier, I was ready for a photogenic city (with my favorite thing: public transportation).
Paris was unexpected in a lot of ways. After endless years on YouTube and Instagram, I had never had such apprehension about visiting a city before. A number of sources called it the worst city in the world: windswept, rude, destroyed, and seemingly overrun by the smell of garbage. This had always taken me by surprise.
"Paris? The city of love?" I was confused. How could something so beautiful be hated?
Yet, amongst these complaints and misnomers stood the idea that Paris was in fact a place of beauty:
It just needed the right eyes to see it.
To their credit: not all of Paris is beautiful. As you journey further and further past the central walls, you begin to hit the more modernized and "futuristic" areas of the city. In other words: ugly. Yet, there is something magical about the center. Not only is it home to incredible restaurants and monuments, but also sweeping churches and buildings, among which Notre Dame stands proudly in the mix.
What I always find comedic about viewing my work after a trip is a singular idea: I don't photograph the places I actually go, only the people that reside within them. Of all the places I visited—Notre Dame, the Palace of Versailles, the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre—I have no images of the actual places. I find it almost laughable: "What photographer goes to Paris and doesn't take pictures of the places they visit?"
Trust me... the fact isn’t lost on me. There are times when I entertain the idea of being a humanist photographer, aspiring to be like the great Parisian photographer Sabine Weiss, but that is a far-fetched dream that I often overlook for the time being.
There were moments like these that I found so simple, almost painfully so. It’s images aboce that I capture and think, “What was that? What a waste of a shot.” Yet, at development, I laugh to myself, chagrined that the shot actually did, in fact, look alright.
It's almost an ode to the fact that people are far from perfect. In every place and moment, we mess up, fail, and think we aren't enough. Yet, it is in these moments we end up being the most human: the most US that we can be, right?
This image remains one of, if not my all-time favorite from the entire trip. It was taken within the first few minutes of my first rain in Paris—a moment that still feels unreal in retrospect. The city, in a blink, changed right before my eyes. Gone were fancy dresses and shorts, patterned designer bags and pearls and in their place stood thick jackets and scarves, umbrellas and pea coats. My Oregon heart practically leapt out of my chest, because after spending so much time in the Arizona desert, I had almost become desperate for a singular drop of rain.
This entire day was magical in every possible light. It felt like the city had changed its mood: it was a beautiful sight to witness and photograph.
This image deserves a story within itself.
When we were first walking to the Notre Dame Cathedral, I passed by a window where this man sat in silence, slowly molding together another small vase of clay. It had finally begun to pour outside, so my friends and I took the opportunity to see something new. When we walked inside, we were greeted by a rush of warm air and the smell of stale clay; something that draws you in more than you would expect.
We were greeted warmly (something shocking for a Parisian) and invited to take a look at all of the pottery lining the walls. While my friends shopped, picking among the assorted pieces, I just sat and watched. I knew I wanted a photo of something—I just didn’t know exactly what. In the end, as per usual, it wasn’t of my surroundings or environment, but of the person within it.
Where to even begin? Let's start with a blatant truth (and some honesty as well): I did not want to go to the Palace of Versailles—not even in the slightest. When my friend booked our tickets, I gave a half-hearted, “Sure, I’ll go” when they told me. The idea of hitting yet another “tourist attraction” sounded extremely disingenuous. I was tired of the crowds and the wall-to-wall people that some of Paris had produced. After a rather miserable introduction to the Louvre (a story for another time), I was apprehensive about attending yet another museum. Nevertheless, I went... and thank God I did.
My time there changed my entire perspective on what architecture and detail meant. Instead of being a failed train ride or a tourist nightmare, the palace offered solace and peace. It was exquisite—even down to the crown molding.
We ended up as one of the first groups through the gates, and after just a few quick sidesteps and hurdles, I made it to the very front—past the crowds—into the War Room, pictured below. I wish I could convey the way the air rushed from my lungs when I entered the room itself: it was like a still paradise. Not only were the paintings enormous and catastrophically detailed, but the air in the room felt still—at peace, even.
I was enamored with the interior of the Palace—it felt like a film photographer’s paradise. Coats of color and paintings filled with history—what was there not to like? It was only made better by the lack of intense crowds at such an early hour, something I greatly needed and appreciated all at the same time.
The train ride was worth it and so was the ticket. Even now, as I write this, I’d argue it was the best purchase of the entire trip. The Palace of Versailles introduced a variation of color unlike anything I had seen before, and it became a joy to scan and edit.
It's hard to put into words what I accomplished in Paris. In total, I shot only 7 rolls of film. While this may seem like to little or too much to some, it was below average for my seemingly lead finger. Yet, I found more joy in the simplicity of the city than its grand offerings. It's almost comical that I have nought a single image on film of the Eiffel Tower or the Notre Dame Cathedral. When I tell people I visited Paris, nine times out of ten their response is, "Did you take pictures of the Eiffel Tower?" to which I laugh and say no.
A city is a city. A street is a street, until someone fills it with their footsteps. A building is just a building, until someone makes it a home. Paris, for me, wasn't about the destinations or the landmarks: it was the life and memories that it had to offer. It was the people who made the city what it was, not the other way around.
Love, Tucker
----
If you want to see more of my work, feel free to visit my website at tuckerhousephoto.comINSTAGRAM: @tuckerhousephoto and @nomadtucker
#Paris #cityoflove #leicam6 #film #shotonfilm #traveling #solotravel #destinationphotographer
