L'arte. Les histoires. La vie.

Have you ever noticed that life, is art?
Paintings, are art; poetry, is art; architecture, is art; furniture, is art; fashion, is art; talking, is art.
People are art!
What is art, other than a story, after all, that is how art began. Not all stories are intentional, and often the most intimate histories are those told after the individual’s time. That seems to be the case because then their stories are not designed for an audience, but are instead told without their consent. Honesty is scary, so listen to what people do not realize that they are saying, if you are interested.

Learn stories, by opening your grandmother’s closet, visiting vintage stores, going to the Louvre to look at ancient Greek coins, or a Egyptian woman's mirror, that looks now like a reflective surface! A saved lock of hair, worn in a locket next to a picture, can more intimately connect you to an individual that you will never meet, than any artist’s calculated composition.

Some, typically less popular, art museums exhibit Chinese common bowls from the Ming Dynasty. Domestic objects, like these were habitually used, not unlike the ones that Americans regularly fill with Coco Pebbles!
Let that marinate, and get back to me.

People tell stories during and after their lives, and their histories take on countless forms. Art is traditionally studied through paintings and sculptures, but why stop there, because those can be just as deceptive as textbooks. “History is written by the winners,” ring any bells?

Art communicates, although its meanings vary, and are never definite. Even if an artist had a particular story in mind, it is not always true. Then again, what is truth, and who ever conceived of such a ridiculous concept? Can we ever “truly,” “know” a “fact”, because I believe that there is no such thing as certainty. Life is ambiguous, despite profound revelations and scientific discoveries, which are constantly “corrected,” by the way.

Art does not have to tell truths, however, if you start to examine art as histories, which we use for truths about the past, then art’s definition, and “purpose” get more complicated. Life is complicated, so art should be, as well, which leaves us at a good place, I suppose.

Art isn’t just about past stories, but it lives within the clothes, tv shows, cell phones, and even water bottles that surround us today.

When it comes to individuals, every one’s story is worth telling, regardless of its length. People are remarkable, and accomplish remarkable things. Diverse individuals make history rich, and worth learning, in the first place. It is all about the human connection, because we all want to feel linked in our humanity.

Families are universal because they contribute to our histories. Families’ differ, even within cultures, and individuals differ, within families. No two people ever have the same experience, in my sense of the word. An “experience” is in internalization of exterior variables, or basically, how individuals react to his or her surroundings. These reactions are another form of story-telling, or art, if you are patient enough to observe.

People tell stories in the most subtle, and unintentional ways. The outfit on the person, standing across from you in the metro is communicating. The way a person looks, or avoids looking; touches, or resists touching; speaks, or remains quiet, is insightful. You can really get to know a person, before they even utter a syllable, and in fact, the language barrier in Paris taught me to notice people. I cannot always understand what a stranger says, so I use alternative sources, like his or her body language. If you really think about it, half of the time that people talk, they are mostly filling up conversations with words. They might not be meaningless, however, they are arranged for your interpretation. When people do not know that you are looking, or learning, about them, that is when you begin to see who they really are, and not who they want to be. I am convinced that no individual is entirely content with himself or herself, and they are constantly “correcting” themselves for others. Conscious self-improvement can be wonderful, however, much it complicates how we understand people, and their stories; and therefore, how we understand art.

Life, or art, thrives on ambiguities, and being examined beyond generic definitions.

(My apologies, if you endured my entire philosophical enemy) = )

Vas-y! Go ahead!

I might have already touched on this subject, but it is so important that I will risk redundancy. The trend, so far, is that every new lesson that I learn in Paris surpasses all of those previous, which makes the latest no exception. For the past two months, I have progressively changed my habits to accommodate a Parisian lifestyle. The slightest alteration to my former routines seemed like radical gestures then, however now I realize how small my steps have been. “Small,” “incrementally,” or “gradually” are actually a wonderful adjectives that enabled me to come as far as I feel today. Ironically, I will look back at this moment in perhaps a week, or two, and similarly feel as if I had not even begun to loosen up yet! Regardless of what I may or may not believe in the future, right now, I am convinced that I am more flexible than I can ever recall being in the past. Then again, I imagine that I was a relatively laid-back infant, as long as I was fed, rested and loved. What an amazing lifestyle that must have been, by the way, although I tragically cannot recall a single detail! Let me re-orient myself, because I seem to have veered off course, so please excuse my nostalgic indulgence.
Sticking to the theme of indulgence, I have envied my friends and family members for the longest time, who are capable of literally taking-care of themselves! What does that mean, exactly, and how have I lived nearly 22 years without this basic survival instinct, well, believe me, it is possible! I am still alive, hence, I have sufficiently survived, and however, I would argue that I wasn’t always exactly living the entire time. Allow me to explain what I mean by “living,” because I now define the term slightly different. Life is not all about pleasure, of course, and yet, it is fundamentally tied to humanity! Put rather bluntly, why habitually deprive yourself of butter and refined sugar, when an occasional croissant aux chocolat will not harm you, and will only make you smile!?
“Selfishness”, despite its egotistical connotations, is fundamentally human, not to mention that it is not actually as evil as it sounds! You do not need a reason to stumble into a boulangerie with a friend because you are craving something sweet, nonetheless, you innately do, because you are a human, or are you not? I would argue that if you do not occasionally permit yourself minor “infractions” to your dietary regime, than you are skipping the “living” bit, typically associated with being a human being!
Food’s universality makes it an easy example to explain the mentality, which is incrementally replacing my formerly rigid one. Yes, there will be times for abstinence and deprivation, but the next occasion when you eye a dessert in a store window, think twice about exactly why you aren’t slowing down. It is possible that your rational stems from similarly self-denial tendencies that could use correction, as well. Besides, if you don’t start to appreciate yourself, then why with others ever follow suit?!

Mes experiences a Paris. My Experiences in Paris.

02/03/11

I am determined to take a positive lesson away from all of my experiences, from now on. There will be no regrets, after all, what is past, is past, so there is no point to dwell over what could or should have been done. Instead, I will learn about myself, and about other people through my mistakes, which will profit me in the future.

Since I arrived in Paris, I have encountered all sorts of interesting situations and people, from which I have only acquired a small pool of knowledge. Together, Paris and I have been a dangerous combination of a busy city, and one of those foreigners who is often in the middle of its mayhem. I have quite the collection of stories after only two months, most of which were not pleasant at the time, however amusing they seem in retrospect. I remember the time, for instance, when the lining of my nice leather boots tore, as I was trying on a dress in a Zara. It would have been unfortunately enough if I had only ruined my boot, but the fact that my heel was trapped inside the hole, which was strategically arranged so that I was unable to either remove or slip it, only added to the adventure. Who else can claim that they had the extraordinary opportunity to hop around a Zara in Paris during the soldes, trying to discreetly remove a boot, other than myself, I would like to know?

After much determination involving a pen and my finger, I dislodged my foot from my boot, only to discover that was only half of the night’s battle. Buying a pair of shoes in Zara seems simple enough, and yet, I have learned never to assume, particularly when I am alone in Paris. The painstaking process involved multiple trips, hobbling up and down the stairs with only one boot, realizing at one point that I had purchased two different size shoes, so it was actually a good thing that I had to wear them out of the store! My struggle to find a pair of shoes was only a slight set-back of the evening, and the final scene consisted of Hayley searching for the belt to her coat that had magically vanished during the shoe-related insanity. Needless to say, the Zara’s staff is most likely still entertaining its co-workers with stories about the silly American, who spent an hour wondering around the store with only one shoe! Just in case that was not enough entertainment for my fellow Parisians, I noticed a guy smirking at my feet on my walk home, which is when I realized the white Zara tag prominently hanging from my new black shoes. I still had at least ten blocks to go before I could crawl into my bed, but at least that terminated the day’s excitement, as far as I am concerned.

This particularly humiliating moment taught me a few things about myself, as well as shaped my new mindset not to expend so much negative energy over petty dilemmas. There was a friendly French couple and a pleasant dinner conversation to greet me when I returned home, so it felt silly to dwell further on my embarrassment. After all, it could have been much worse, and my shoe could have torn late at night on the metro, instead of in a store that sells shoes! I handled the situation relatively well, all things considered, and I eventually left the store unscathed, except for the few marks on my dignity, but nothing irreversible. Plus, now I have a comical story to tell at the next awkward mingling party that I find myself dragged to by family or friends!

Hold tight for more of Hayley’s Parisian adventures because the list goes on..