Pigalle. The night.
Today I want to show you the photos I took in December 2018 in Paris. I'm a little bit shy to show you nt only the photos but also a little of my poetry but let it be...
I’m not your fate You are not my pain I cannot hate And I can’t maintain Love up to late I’m just a stranger Take off your chains There is no anger Just my great plains Where there’s no danger... ...and I’m free.
(august, 17. 2018)
The city has fallen asleep It seems you’re going somewhere And the night is dark and deep... He said: ‘love me... if you dare’ He dances in silent rooms It seems you should not be here You are afraid of his bloom He can kill you by his spear You’re trying to rethink You’re standing like a ghost And looking without a wink At this so radiant boast.
(october, 13. 2018)
These guys were making crazy stories And surely were communists that time There weren’t any other territories Except Paris. For them to live and maybe die They didn’t even hope to be alive so long And were healed by the modern inquisition These days were not alright and neither wrong We see today it wasn’t a decision.
(august, 14. 2019)
Broken movement And neon lights... He isn’t prudent You aren’t nice. He isn’t flirting... “Just stop it, you!” You are burning, It can’t be true. Through the lumens He melts the ice, With his movements And neon lights.
Photos and text: Julia Sumzina, (@js_artsreview)