Michele Roohani

It’s one of those great (and gray) September mornings in Paris and I take my poor jet lagged body out to take pictures of a city that looks more majestic without its occupants or tourists like me!

I would like to take you with me; first we take the bus:

the streets are all empty—one of the oldest surviving buildings in Paris from the 16th century:

even the marché is not open yet,

Saint Michel is unrecognizable at 7 am:

the cafés are just opening,

walking along the river bank in Isle Saint Louis,

Notre Dame is majestically melancholic,

but pretty soon, life starts in the city:

I decide to go towards the Marais; I am surprised to see a Pain Quotidien on my way—so far from Brentwood and Westwood but exactly the same menu:

rushing towards Place des Vosges, the street signs stop me:

its’ too early in the morning for gooseberries,

I really need a strong coffee,

but of course the waitress cleans up the street and not the table left from the previous clients,

the galleries around the square are too commercial but I am glad to discover a painter from Rafsandjan, Reza Sarrafi, in one of the windows:

the wine paintings are from another painter, Annekov:

Voilà! Now you know.

I am not kidding when I say I love this city—here are my other posts about Paris:

Alone in Paris

Paris and Paul Newman

Pretty girl in Paris

Giacometti, a post from Montparnasse

I met Arcimboldo and some Germans in Paris

Opera Garnier in Paris

Paris was a woman

Paris at 6 am

Bread and Music

The emotionally fragile Jean Seberg died 30 years ago but her pictures are still as fresh and beautiful as the day they were made.

Born in Iowa, she gained fame in France—selling the International Herald tribune to Jean Paul Belemondo in Godard’s “Breathless” (à bout de souffle), a major work of the French New Wave:

Married to Romain Gary, she supported the black panthers as well as native Indians’s rights. In retaliation, the FBI fabricated rumors about her. Unable to defend herself, she fell into depression and commited suicide in August 1979.”Death is: a punishment to some, to some a gift, and to many a favor.”  Seneca

Her other major movie was “bonjour tristesse” (hello sadness) of Sagan; her real life was turbulent and tragic…

In Breathless, Godard shoots the entire movie on a handheld camera and even though his film is a bit on the slow side for today’s attention deficient viewer, the images he’s created are visually bold and pretty modern (the film was made in 1960).

Seberg remains the quintessential “gamine” in this movie; one of the most beautiful scenes of this film is when the street lamps start to  light up one after another on the Champs Elysées,

It’s Paris making a big entrance…Watch her in this short clip of Breathless here.To see my other post about a classic Alain Delon movie go here.And for l’Avventura check this link.

These are the most interesting jazz images i’ve seen! The exhibition in Quai Branly museum in Paris was amazingly rich with visual complements to my favorite genre of music. Catch it if you can but if you don’t, here’s my report:

Miles Davis remains one of my favorites—the following are mostly LP covers from the mid 20th century:

Bud Freeman,

To go through all of my images and get inspired to prepare them for this post, I’ve been  listening to Mingus’ “better get it in your soul”.

Just look at this super cool Count Basie cover by Andy Warhol:

Benny Carter plays pretty:

Sidney Bechet in Paris in 1952:

Dizzy Gillespie’s sextet,

Daddy plays the horn,

The beautiful music of Charlie (the Bird) Parker,

I like these very 50’s percussion disc covers,

I am listening to Thelonious Monk and John Coltrane’s “Nutty”,

Now some posters from the 1920’s forward—Cary Hauser’s Jonny Mene La Danse from 1928:

Look at the musicians here:

Grand Bal de Nuit,

Jan Mara’s Mezze Mezzrow is soooo not “Kenny (my middle name is boring) G”!

A relatively more recent poster from the Lincoln Center:

Now some paintings—Harlem Jazz by Winold Reiss, 1925:

The Lindy Hop by Miguel Covarrubias, 1936:

James Weeks‘ Two Musicians;

Nicolas de Stael’s Musicians:

Blues by Archibald J. Motley Jr, 1929

Bernard Buffet’s light drawings:

This Coltrane image is haunting:

and a very politically incorrect piece here called “cake-walk”—can’t imagine an American museum showing this:

Last but not least was this fabulous Fred Astair’s homage to Mr Bojangles on a huge screen that I manipulated of course!

to see him dance watch this absolutely great clip here.

It was very hard to take these pictures (some were on very fast slide shows!) and to clean and edit them later but it was a labor of love; I’ve been wanting to do a post about Jazz for the longest time but where to start? Where to end? Who to cover? This was the shortest way I could record my visit to the Land of Jazz. Thank you Daniel Soutif!

Voilà! Now you know…I have not even started talking about some of my other favorites: Louis Armstrong, Bill Evans, Fats Waller, Keith Jarrett, Ahmad Jamal, Lionel Hampton, etc…

To see some cool clips from the coolest of them all, Miles Davis and John Coltrane, go here

for a taste of the great Monk, go here

to hear the Bird,  click here

to see the genius of Fred Astaire here.

Just came back from a brief stay in Paris and these are some of my pictures:

The Louvre is glorious in early morning,

some jet-lagged tourists were the only people around,

early birds can witness the majesty of an empty Louvre Court.

When you wake up that early in the morning, everything is beautifully calm even in the nauseatingly crowded Paris,

Another lonely hyper-connected dude:

I met Jon Stewart at Deux Magots for breakfast that day—he made me laugh…

Angelina still has the best Mont Blanc of the city and it’s my duty to check the quality every time I am in town:

Of course my favorite is always “un petit noir au comptoir” (a quick small espresso at the cafés’ counter):

“Paris is a movable feast…”

Couldn’t resist adding this image of Maryam from a couple of years ago…

Pretty girls who wish to model for you are not rare in Paris and I found a great one, Lisa Tahmassi, to walk with me in La Butte aux Cailles neighborhood . You are never sure whether it will rain or not—an umbrella is usually a must in almost any season.

These two old gentlemen were so out of place in this very chic neighborhood (ok, the café was pretty beat-up)—they couldn’t take their eyes off of her!

Ah…the never-retiring beret…

It was too early to start drinking anything but an espresso at the counter:

I love these no-fuss cafés of Paris where you can have the best “petit noir” for 1.5 euros.

A world in turmoil screams for our attention,

the financial meltdown was starting to hit the front pages.

I have more pictures of Lisa but they have to wait for another post, another day.

Putting these images together, I am reminded of this terrific, light-hearted song about being young and in love in Paris by Jacques Brel,”Les Prenoms De Paris” (Names For Paris); listen to it here.

“Le soleil qui se lève
Et caresse les toits
Et c’est Paris le jour
La Seine qui se promène
Et me guide du doigt
Et c’est Paris toujours
Et mon cœur qui s’arrête
Sur ton cœur qui sourit
Et c’est Paris bonjour
Et ta main dans ma main
Qui me dit déjà oui
Et c’est Paris l’amour
Le premier rendez-vous
A l’île Saint-Louis
C’est Paris qui commence
Et le premier baiser
Volé aux Tuileries
Et c’est Paris la chance
Et le premier baiser
Reçu sous un portail
Et c’est Paris romance
Et deux têtes qui tournent
En regardant Versailles
Et c’est Paris la France

Des jours que l’on oublie
Qui oublient de nous voir
Et c’est Paris l’espoir
Des heures où nos regards
Ne sont qu’un seul regard
Et c’est Paris miroir
Rien que des nuits encore
Qui séparent nos chansons
Et c’est Paris bonsoir
Et ce jour-là enfin
Où tu ne dis plus non
Et c’est Paris ce soir
Une chambre un peu triste
Où s’arrête la ronde
Et c’est Paris nous deux
Un regard qui reçoit
La tendresse du monde
Et c’est Paris tes yeux
Ce serment que je pleure
Plutôt que ne le dis
C’est Paris si tu veux
Et savoir que demain
Sera comme aujourd’hui
C’est Paris merveilleux

Mais la fin du voyage
La fin de la chanson
Et c’est Paris tout gris
Dernier jour, dernière heure
Première larme aussi
Et c’est Paris la pluie
Ces jardins remontés
Qui n’ont plus leur parure
Et c’est Paris l’ennui
La gare où s’accomplit
La dernière déchirure
Et c’est Paris fini
Loin des yeux loin du cœur
Chassé du paradis
Et c’est Paris chagrin
Mais une lettre de toi
Une lettre qui dit oui
Et c’est Paris demain
Des villes et des villages
Les roues tremblent de chance
C’est Paris en chemin
Et toi qui m’attends là
Et tout qui recommence
Et c’est Paris je reviens.” Jacques Brel

These are scary times and as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t bring myself into making a light post about the beauties of the old world…

I watched the debates in awe, witnessed the bickering over the financial bailout with disbelief and then Paul Newman died and I had the Paris Blues… Watch this magnificent trailer of Newman and Sidney Poitier in Paris of the 60’s.

Did anybody looked cooler than this guy? Beautiful man with a more beautiful heart. Smoking killed him.

Paris remains splendid in spite of all the bad news I have been getting from home—a walk through Place des Vosges at night washed away some of that.

The infernal crowds finally went home and left Isle Saint Louis in peace:

The best remedy— albeit temporary —for the blues is a visit to the Patisserie. Just looking at them can send you to the hospital…

I am not a chocolate or a strawberry person but I would kill for a Religieuse Café!

Window watching is a pleasure in this “walking city”,

Nobody has the money to buy any of these overpriced un-necessities anymore.

United States is trying to absolve itself from its sins and Europe will follow…

This one reminds me of the “poustines” we were wearing as kids back home:

Beautiful Mansard roofs are breathtaking:

but not enough to make me forget this:

Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I’m not sure about the universe. Einstein

I love California’s warm summer nights and winter days. If I could have a custom made climate, I would ask for warm summer nights of Los Angeles infused with the scent of jasmine and orange blossoms and cool, cloudy winter days.

In other words I would take the best of both seasons. With the way the “custom made” world is progressing, I wouldn’t be surprised if one of these days my wish comes true.

I took these pictures in a small hotel in Paris with these typical windows with fake Parisian balconies and cheap curtains. It was magical though - something in the quiet of a curtain’s movement in the breeze reminds us of less noisy times, less hurried lives, less superficial connections…

It’s highly unusual for me to add something to a post once it’s been published but Marie-ancolie romanet, my photographer friend, asked me to add this picture of hers that goes with her comments. Check out her site, she has superb images…

Ok people, brace yourselves - this is going to be an image heavy post! I will take you through a couple of days in Paris - the way I like it: hitting the streets early in the morning to catch the blue hour of this great city; Montparnasse is a very busy neighborhood at 8:30 am.

This was my first time witnessing the changing of the ads:

I walked to a favorite café that reminds me of my twenties, La Rotonde.

I don’t like them anymore (remember the whipped cream out of a can?) but nostalgia and Balzac take me to them every year.

the cafés are changing in Paris - here is the old generation Select and the trendy Lotus.

Of course anything that remotely reminds me of Los Angeles while I am in Europe is not welcome so this kind of restaurant/café just makes me wince but the worst offender is Starbucks and its paper cups.

I bought a pariscope from this news stand,

and had a coffee while looking for the hottest exhibition in Paris.

I decided to see Giacometti in Centre Pompidou . “It was never my intention to paint only with gray. But in the course of my work I have eliminated one color after another, and what has remained is gray, gray, gray! ”

What a great show it was - complete with the artist being filmed while painting and sculpting.

His drawings (included some fabulous small notebooks), paintings and sculptures made a large window into the soul of this great creature…

Even though I am not a big fan of the Centre Pompidou, I have to admit that the view is breathtaking…

I visited the Maillol museum a couple of days before this and liked its architecture as much as the collections:

Maillol is very different in his style from Rodin - they were good friends.

The picture bellow shows the plaster versions of the bronze sculptures above.

On a more colorful note, living in Los Angeles, I am deprived of pretty store windows - abundant in New York, Paris and London.

I am ending this post with two images of my loyal laptop that’s getting very old but gets the job done.

Café crème or Petite Arvine, a good post I hope.

I am sitting in this cute café which happens to have wifi! The world is changing and Paris with it.

I’ve been very busy since I am here; three interesting exhibitions in 2 days: Arcimboldo has never been so complete as in this exhibition in the Luxembourg museum.

A way more somber show was Germany, the black years at the Maillol museum. Otto Dix, Beckmann and Grosz were the most impressing but i have to admit that the German propaganda posters with Hitler’s name on them were the most striking/chilling to me.

This one can give you nightmares:

this next one takes me back to all of my dear Professor Ungvari’s battlefields (Somme, etc…)

of course Paris can erase these nightmares with a winter sunshine after the rain.

I am crazy about scarves. This is one of my few indulgences: silk scarves to wear around my neck. One of my favorites is this Hermès piece:

It inspired me to make this card which is available for purchase :

and this t-shirt, available in several colors :

I have this resurfacing nostalgic feeling about snow every winter in southern california; being born here, my son doesn’t miss the snow much, but I, being born on a snowy December first, in Mashhad, Iran, miss it a lot…The quiet beautiful snow who always speaks softly…

There is this short novel I read a few years back called Neige (snow in french) and of course the great book of my friend Jean-Michel Maulpoix called Pas sur la neige. “Chaque flocon répète: nous n’irons plus au ciel.” (every snowflake repeats: we’re not going back to the sky)

I don’t know the name of the photographer of the above picture but I figured I would throw it in for all of you homesick persians.