The Blue Hour
Perhaps only in Paris, where one discovers all the shades of gray, can that time the French call “between dog and wolf” (“entre chien et loup”) reach its perfection. Here, everything is about colour, or rather its absence, the gradual passing from one pastel tonality to another giving the city an equivocal feeling of softness. Often, at day’s end, buildings and trees seem to blend with the sky in a thick cobalt hue, much like people in the subway conform an indistinct, neutral mass. It is a quiet moment, if one looks up, away from the hustle and bustle. The City of Light can be slow and heavy, its mood thick and turbulent as the Seine’s winter currents. Announcing the weather better than any forecast, the river changes from sunny green to powder chocolate, alive and temperamental despite the mud and trash that render its waters of zero visibility. Between dog and wolf lie centuries of taming, or nothing more than a light blue haze.
• Black Leather Jacket