Table Of ContentPARIS in COLOR
PARIS in COLOR
Nichole Robertson
Copyright © 2012 Nichole Robertson.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced
in any form without written permission from the publisher.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available
eISBN 978-1-4521-1356-2
Designed by Ayako Akazawa
Chronicle Books LLC
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San Francisco, California 94107
www.chroniclebooks.com
DEDICATION
For Evan, Alexander, and Liam.
INTRODUCTION
Did you ever have the nagging sense that you weren’t living the life Nothing sharpens your senses like a new address. The streets
you should be living? In the fall of 2008, I did. And rather than continue were no longer an obstacle course to run. We walked for
to ignore it, I posed the following question to my husband, Evan: pleasure, with no agenda and with no particular destination in
mind. We noticed details, and took time to take them in. For
“Want to move to Paris?” recovering New Yorkers, nothing could have inspired us more.
To my surprise, he answered, “Hell yes. Let’s go.” Although we didn’t know it at the time, we were cultivating what
the French call flânerie. Like Baudelaire, the flâneur wanders the
So why Paris? Quite simply, it was our touchstone for happiness—
streets for exploratory pleasure with no destination to distract him
happiness that didn’t relate to getting ahead or conspicuous
from the city’s curiosities. Back in the mid-1800s, it actually became
consumption—things like preserved culture, heavenly light,
fashionable to walk a pet turtle to set a slow pace. We didn’t have
ubiquitous beauty, celebration of wit, and a seemingly universal
a turtle, but we did have two young children—in many respects not
acceptance of working to live. This was our perspective from
dissimilar.
the outside looking in, and we didn’t care at the time if these things
were clichés. We believed it, and we wanted it. As we strolled, the objects that attracted my eye were café chairs,
coffee cups, flowers, graffiti, doors, and chalkboards—things meant
When we arrived in January of 2009, the winter clouds extended
to be touched, shared, enjoyed, and worn down. On one of the first
the typical muted grays and whites of Paris’s streets and Hauss-
occasions that I photographed a chair, a nearby Parisian gentleman
mann buildings across the entire sky. The whole city was a perfect,
looked confused and a bit annoyed. “Mais pourquoi? C’est une
neutral palette against which anything could happen. We had our
chaise.” ("But why? It's a chair.")
fresh start.
It may sound silly, but the chair was everything I had come here were well concealed from casual passers-by. Those were the best
for. I spent a decade sitting in office chairs and staring at computer discoveries.
screens. Some of my colleagues dreamed of scoring one of the
When I began posting photos from my walks on my blog, the
nicer chairs on one of the higher floors, but I longed for light that
response was overwhelming. Coming home with photos became
wasn’t fluorescent and life that wasn’t scheduled.
something akin to coming home with a box of pastries, and I was
And now here it was. The chair I wanted—the kind of chair where eager to share them with friends. Every time I posted a collection
people had conversations worth having, thoughts worth pondering, of photos curated by color, my readers wanted more. Since I was
and views worth taking in. I took a photo to remember the moment. quickly becoming obsessed, I was happy to oblige. When they
The chair was the first of many everyday objects that I would photo- asked me to sell prints of the photos, I was surprised, as I didn’t
graph and cherish. consider what I was doing to be Photography with a capital P;
it was simply a record of happiness. But their enthusiasm and
On our long walks, one particular object would strike me—a bright vicarious enjoyment gave me the inspiration to see through what
blue moped, for example—and I’d obsess about that color for the would ultimately become a two-year project. I am grateful to
rest of the day. Focusing on only one color allowed me to see them for their support, and this book is dedicated to them.
things I might have otherwise overlooked, like a door handle or
an interesting pattern in chipped paint. I suppose I missed quite Paris taught me a lot of things; most important among them is to
a few orange things that day, but details are like that: you need to take my time. Flânerie requires curiosity, patience, and open eyes.
favor them, or they won’t reveal themselves. Each colorful detail I hope that these photos inspire you to put down your preoccupa-
popped against the natural textures of the beautiful, worn buildings tions as well, at least for a little while, so that you can find as much
as if waiting to be noticed. Some were out in the open. Others happiness in viewing them as I did in discovering them.
