Picturesque graffiti on a minstrel-whipped mountain top.
The working-class suburbs of Aix-en-Provence where I stayed with my Mom at a satellite campus of Paul Cezanne University.
I only spotted one dumpster diver after this trash-rich market in Aix.
Ruins of a bastide.
In Baltimore we have creepy blue security lights. In Paris they have delightful blue holiday lanterns.
A helpful blue path guides pedestrian traffic within the train station parking lot.
Advertising pays for these popular communist bikes.
Flying buttresses rule. Directly left of the steeple, a Christian soul and or passenger jet streaks towards heaven.
A post-modern shopping mall/public space/water pit careful nestled within Paris’ delicate urban fabric.
Gratuitous cityscape, taken from the top of the Pompidou.
Richard Serra’s Clara-Clara, aligned on axis with the Champs-Elysee and some sort of terrifying/sparkly spinny-circle-slomo-vertical-gravitron-deathtrap. Note the shoe-print evidence of pedestrian interactivity with the sculpture.
Many have tried, but apparently none have succeeded in toppling the menacing walls.
Seagulls enhanced the Serra piece’s existing oxidized petina with their own additions of vertical white streaks.
The Mona Lisa show was fucking killer. I had a blast in the mosh pit.
A robotic cleaning machine peacefully caresses the surface of Pei’s Louvre pyramid.
A beatiful frozen poll, but how did the ice shards get scattered everywhere?
Le Grand Arche stands sentinel over La Défense business district.
An enantiomorphic public space of landscaping and lies.
Le Grand Arche close-up.
Modernist architecture porn.