Oh yeah! I'm in Paris! Ha. Bonjour. This is my first project for my photography class, in hommage to Atget. Enjoy!
p.s. I'll update later. I need a crèpe.
[all photos by me on my Kodak ZD710, the little darling]
Eugène Atget masterfully employed his lense to leave us images of a haunting and luminous early twentieth century Paris.
In his photography, diffused light hangs
breathlessly suspended
over quiet scenes of vacant streets and empty chairs.
His simple, honest black and white photography leaves a
bittersweet hint of nostalgia; it is undeniably powerful and inexplicably unforgettable.
But the most compelling motif in Atget's work for me is this curious notion of emptiness.
What is it, after all, that is so poignant about a
vacant café?
I composed my little ode to Atget primarily in black and white and with a bit of vignetting for a raw, nostalgic effect
meant to echo his time, yet capture the reality of my Paris today.
But to explore possible explanations for the unfailing power of emptiness, we should look into the nature of the thing itself.
Without realizing it, humans, I think, form a simple equation in their minds when no one is present where someone ought to be.
This equation is, perhaps:
emptiness = loneliness.
And especially in a city, where we come together to be constantly close to strangers, doesn't loneliness, or a lack of strangers around us, speak of a certain lack that lies inside us all?
Something we prefer not to think about, so we squeeze in to occupy the same small bit of land and be alone, together.
Atget's work is often described as "ghostly." Maybe that's because absence is so frightening for us.
Think, for instance, of the chilling suggestion of an empty, shadow-filled playground.
A world without children.
Yes, as Atget masterfully demonstrates, emptiness is lonely and ghostly. It grabs the eye, and stirs emotions the viewer can't quite put names to.
And yet, if something is empty, that isn't to say it can't be filled.
Just imagine the colorful promise of the first glimpse of an empty bedroom in the seizième arrondissement.
Wardrobe waiting to be filled,
suitcase waiting to be unpacked,
Paris waiting outside of bright french doors;
waiting to be discovered and adored.
Whatever the true significance of emptiness to the human eye, there's no denying that it speaks
of something more.
Something that only needs someone in order to bring it to life.
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