Whenever I travel I come back inspired.
Sometimes it takes an overseas flight to get out of a rut.
I was in France last week where I experienced spring. Green grass, pink cherry tree blossoms, tulips and hyacinths. And even though I arrived home to freezing gusts of wind and a foot of snow, my small piece of printemp encouraged me to promptly purchase a basket of potted tulips that now sit cheerily on my dining room table.
In and amongst all the seasonal charm were the people. Gentlemen dressed in dress coats and scarves with nary a sweatshirt, baseball cap or sneaker to be seen. French women were casually sophisticated never looking as though they were trying too hard. I’ve decided to purge all the “fussy” stuff in my closet…leaving only the simple and idiot-proof pieces.
But what was most inspiring was the city of Paris itself.
Every street seemed to have a story.
The woman with the brightly patterned skirt illegally selling bunches of lilacs on the street corner until the police came and gently told her to leave.
The man and woman, well in their seventies, kissing on the Pont de l’Archeveche looking very much in love.
The camera crew filming a beautiful young woman in a camel coloured coat as she twirled and flirted down streets in the Latin Quarter.
Walking in cathedrals Napoleon stood in, and museums and palaces that housed royalty.
Driving through city squares where thousands have lost their heads.
I have visited Paris before, several times in fact, but it is an old city that always has something new to reveal. Layers of inspiration that, at times, is overwhelming.
Where does one start?
What semantic portrait does one paint first?