I am retired from my first profession, am from Oakland, California, living in Paris, France since 2013. I love books, movies, and watching everyday life in Paris out my window. Please enjoy my musings as I grow into the author others say I am.
I am always open to thoughts and ideas from others about this blog. I like to write about Paris, about France, about the US as seen from France. About France that the US may or may not know.
If you have ever dreamed of writing a memoir, a short story, a novel, and doing it in the City of Light: Paris, you can do it this summer. My writing story follows.
I discovered reading for fun the summer I turned 14. During summer camp in Vermont, we were bussed down to Tanglewood in Western Massachusetts to picnic and listen to the Boston Symphony who summered there (Back then it was known as the Boston Pops). Wandering off by myself, I found a gift shop. A plethora of paperback books on three racks greeted me as I walked in the door. I’d never bought a book on my own. Going into a shop and browsing, having a title leap out at me and paying for it with my own money, this was new and foreign territory for me. I spun one of the book racks and the title A SeparatePeace (John Knowles, 1958) jumped out at me. I bought it.
I devoured A Separate Peace. Every afternoon rest period, I read. At night, in my sleeping bag, flashlight on, I read. The book, about two teenage boys at Exeter Academy, spoke to me. Before I’d finished, I knew I wanted to write. It wasn’t a crystalized thought. I had so many pent-up teenage emotions with no idea how to express them other than screaming at members of my family. I just knew that getting what was in my head out on paper had to have some kind of transformational impact.
From then on, reading became my way of not feeling so alone. I wasn’t great at talking. I had an A+ in complaining. And, like so many teenagers who feel unfocused creative thoughts, I soon started writing awful poetry.
Over the next 20 or so years, I tried to write stories. I’d start out fine but could never find a way to end them. In my thirties, it dawned on me that I had nothing to say. My life experience was limited, and I had little self-awareness to make sense of the experience I did have. As years passed, I began telling myself that I was Going To Write A Book when I was 55 instead of 30.
Fifty-two years after that Tanglewood experience, I moved to Paris. I was retired. I had more curiosity than I could contain. Writing courses were plentiful, almost on every street corner! After signing up for the requisite immersion French class, I decided NOW was the time to learn the craft of writing. I joined WICE (Where Internationals Connect in English), an organization that teaches language, creative writing, and photography courses among other offerings. It was mid-October and the only writing course that wasn’t full was a memoir class.
I am eternally grateful that the teacher loved my writing. I signed up for another of her classes in the Spring. I learned that WICE hosts a biannual Paris Writers Workshop (PWW). Unlike many workshops that take place year round in France, this one was reasonably priced. I didn’t hesitate. Those nasty voices that tell us ‘we’re no good’, ‘Who do you think you are?’, and the zinger, ‘You’re too old to do this’, hadn’t yet taken up residence in my brain. I signed up. I even met with one of the agents at the conference. She wanted to see more of my writing.
Four years later, I published my first book, Saving Sara: A Memoir of Food Addiction (SheWritesPress, 2020).
I became aware that in my adopted country of France, there are thousands of offerings for the writer and the would-be writer: in-person writing courses, video writing courses, workshops in gorgeous chateaux in the French countryside. But the Paris Writers Workshop stayed my first love. It was the place that had given me the confidence to call myself a writer.
This year, I’m excited to be on the planning committee of the new Paris Writers Workshop, which will be held June 2-7, 2024.
PWW began in 1988. It is the oldest continuous writing workshop in Paris. The 2024 workshop promises to be one of the best so far. The Writing Workshop includes six tracks—Fiction, Speculative Fiction, Memoir/Creative Non-Fiction, Travel Writing, Poetry, and Screenwriting — with an amazing faculty lineup. The wonderful Jennifer Lauck whose Substack Flight School with Jennifer Lauck was one of Sarah Mays top 10 writing Substacks last November will be teaching the Memoir/Creative Non-Fiction track. For the first time, we will be partially sponsored by the Columbia Global Centers and will meet in CGC’s beautiful Reid Hall, in the center of the literary Montparnasse neighborhood.
Reid Hall at the Columbia Global Center in Paris, 6th arrondissement.
The PWW website goes live January 31, 2024. You can go to the landing page now. Click here to see it. There you will find information on each track and a bio of the teacher.
Registration starts on January 31, 2024. There is an Early Bird registration which gives the writer 100 euros off the 1200 euros price.
And if the unexpected happens, one can get a full refund. Those dates will be up on the website.
You can also write pww@wice-paris.org for specific information. If you are sure of a track before registration opens, you can claim a spot at pww@wice-paris.org.
A bientôt,
Sara
A different version of this blog appears in the Jan/Feb issue of the AAWE News Paris
Thanks for reading Out My Window! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.
In France, it’s rare to be sent a Christmas card by a French person. That is done by ex-Pats. The French send New Year’s cards. And they give themselves the month of January to do so. The holidays are past, presents bought and opened, family has come and gone, and the month of January, on paper, is stress-free to send out family news and best wishes for the New Year. If one has a service person that has worked hard for you, the Gardien of your building for example, most people include money to say Thank You.
This year I’m doing both. I’m in the US (California) so it seems right to send Christmas cards and there is nothing more fun than to open up a digital card from http://www.jacquielawson.com with dogs romping, cats playing the piano, flowers growing before your eyes – all to lovely music. The only sadness is that I’m so used to opening up real cards that you hold in your hand, and then put on the fireplace mantle and side tables until all you see are lovely Holiday wishes everywhere you look. I did receive enough of those to make my mantle look quite festive.
Then starting tomorrow, I’ll put some thoughts together to send to friends. Uppermost in my mind will be how to find some sort of contentment in this crazy world of ours. Over the years, I’ve been taught to write gratitude lists. I grew up seeing the glass half empty. I was always down and disappointed. People who care about me, want the best for me, have told me to practice being grateful. Not for the huge things in life, but the little things: a wonderful cup of coffee in the morning, a sunny day when one can take a long walk, a phone call from my sister who, beyond all understanding, wants as I do, a relationship—well that is a big thing but it does go on my gratitude list fairly often. I am grateful for so many things but most of all for the fact, that I am aware that I have many things that one can’t just take for granted. When I feel down, it’s so helpful to remember those things. And to remember that all feelings pass.
So tomorrow that’s one thing I’m going to do—write down all that I’m grateful for that happened in 2023. Though many of us feel that 2023 was a very difficult year, it’s mostly looking at the world and the amount of hatred, killing, nastiness flying all around us. To try and find some stability, some personal contentment when we all care so much, is quite a feat, a skill really. A skill that starts with feeling grateful.
In both the US and in France, it’s the Red, White, and Blue
So on this New Year’s Eve, I want you all to know how grateful I am that you readers consistently read this blog, that you take the time to give me feedback, and that you cheer on my writing successes.
I wish you all a way to find personal peace in 2024 and that we continue to meet on the page, and that words continue to go back and forth between us.
Thank you,
Sara
Thanks for reading Out My Window! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.
Will she become a mythical figure like Helen of Troy?
When Princess Diana was alive, other than being aware that the British monarchy was changing, especially in terms of fashion, I rarely thought about her. It was impossible to read the newspapers without being aware of her slow fall from grace, but I didn’t understand the entirety of the fuss nor did I wish to. Since I wasn’t paying much attention, I didn’t read anything about all her interviews, coming forth with her eating disorder, her very public misery, and the world population falling more in love with her the more open and vulnerable she became. She was known as the most beautiful woman in the world. What a load to carry on one’s shoulders.
When she died August 1997, I was visiting friends in southern California. Their home was on the beach without a TV. Like all hugely unexpected traumatic events, we were as stunned as anyone else. I had spent 6 weeks in Europe that summer. A friend had kitty-sat my cats and one of them, Yaz, disappeared on her watch. She consulted with some of my friends and it was decided not to spoil my vacation, so I didn’t learn of Yaz’s disappearance until the end of July.
Once home in Oakland, Yaz still gone, Diana dead, I placed a photo of him on a shelf that happened to be above the TV in my home. When watching the funeral procession for the Princess on television (it was on most channels), all I could see was the photo of Yaz. I cried and cried. A friend came over and said “I thought you didn’t care for Diana.” I explained that I was crying for my cat. She just shook her head.
In the last three years, the world has been treated to, among many other things, a movie called Spencer (2021) starring Kristen Stewart; a documentary called The Princess (2022); and the last three seasons of The Crown on Netflix. The documentary showed “the intense and unrelenting public scrutiny that Diana faced. Composed entirely of archival video and audio footage of Diana, beginning from when speculations swirled about her engagement to Prince Charles until her 1997 death in a car crash that took place while she was trying to escape the paparazzi in Paris, the film is a quiet but searing indictment of the media attention focused on Diana, and its role in her passing.”—Time Magazine. Spencer is a film about four days in Diana’s life. Movie goers were not spared seeing her throw up in the toilet, her slowly going “mad” at Monarchy must-dos and must-bes (she consumes most of a pearl necklace), and her all encompassing love for her two sons.
Princess Diana
The fifth season of The Crown showed a very different Diana. One who knew exactly what she was doing and how to perfectly manipulate the media to her advantage. The sixth and final season has played out this past November and this week. The first four episodes were all about Diana. Reviewers gave the episodes poor marks. I found them fascinating. The actress who played Diana, Elizabeth Debicki, was perfect; if not more beautiful than Diana herself. Peter Morgan, the writer and director, has said that he is fictionalising true events so I don’t truly know if what I learned about her is accurate or not. It’s great television. General consensus says she knew how to read people, was comfortable in the spotlight, and had a great deal of confidence when dealing with the public. General consensus are the operative words. Who was Diana?
Elizabeth Debicki Princess Diana
I’ve tried to figure out why my interest in her has changed. She has been gone for 27 years. She no longer seems real to me, a person who once lived and breathed. The monarchy, such as it is, with King Charles now at the the head of The Firm has moved on. Elizabeth has died. Prince Harry has taken over Diana’s role as ‘the outsider/troublemaker’. Cady Lang of Times Magazine says “Despite a life that was so on display, there’s still so much unknown about the interior life of the passionate and complex Princess of Wales. That might explain why Diana holds our fascination to this day, a quarter of a century after her death. It certainly accounts for why her story is the subject of countless creative projects, including multiple documentaries, films, and television shows.” My interest I think is the same interest I have for history in general. But my understanding is that I’m in the minority. Reviewers said that the last two seasons of The Crown have failed because her life and death are still too close to people’s hearts. The last episode of Season 6 has Philip telling Queen Elizabeth that they are the last of a dying breed—a monarchy. I’m betting that all the old-school folk blamed Diana for hastening the change in public opinion of the monarchy.
At my age, I often wonder how history will look back on present events. What will the books say about these last almost two and a half decades of continuous war and growing authoritarianism around the world? We have wonderful myths of King Arthur, Guinevere, and the Round Table but no one knows what really happened. And Robin of Locksley? What was he really like? and what was the real story? And Helen of Troy. Those war years so finely depicted by Homer. But Homer wrote bloody verses, more blood, guts and gore than most of us read in 100 other books. What would Homer do with Princess Diana of Wales? What god would have had a hand in her rise and fall?
Just thoughts as the books, movies, and TV series about her multiply.
A bientôt,
Sara
Thanks for reading Out My Window! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.
Yesterday I received an email telling me that a story I submitted to a journal was accepted for publication. I wasn’t expecting the email. It’s been five weeks since I submitted it. That is an incredibly quick turn around for a journal.
I sat and looked at it, wanting to jump up and down, but afraid that the email might disappear if I did that. After 90 seconds or so, I threw my arms in the air and yelled “YES!!!” Then I forwarded the message to my writing group. Not good enough. The room was silent. I called Tracy, one of the members of my group. I told her that my insides were dancing around and I needed to hear a human voice. She said she had just started to write to me. She was so happy for me. I could hear excitement in her voice.
Angela, Tracy, and Sara — members of my Writing Group
Then I emailed everyone I knew who has been supporting my writing work. And the congratulations started rolling in. I did jump up and down then, and danced, and had a big shit-eating grin on my face. I went to a Holiday Stroll in my little village of Montclair. Whenever someone, innocently, asked “How are you?” I responded with, “You really want to know?” No one is going to say no when someone with a huge smile on her face is actually willing to tell you. So I told my great news to perfect strangers.
This is the thing: Writing as a profession is a second career for me. I retired from my first career after 35 years, moved to Paris, and started taking writing classes. I wrote a memoir: Saving Sara A Memoir of Food Addiction. I thought, at the time, that would be the end of it. Writing is a bug. Once it fully resides in you, that’s it, the end, you’re hooked. I started thinking of myself as an author, a writer. I’ve been taking writing classes and working with my writing group on my voice. Was I going to attempt to write fiction? or non-fiction? I’m 76 years old. Maybe if I was younger, I would spend more time on the craft of novel writing, or short stories. My imagination isn’t accustomed to going in that direction. I consistently fall short. I love writing this Substack and articles for anyone who asks. I’m comfortable with my non-fiction voice. I wrote a short story about baseball—which I also love. It was based on a true event. I knew exactly which journal I wanted to submit it to. The Under Review. I had met the editors at AWP 23 (Association of Writers and Writing Programs). I played ping pong on the smallest table I’ve seen with one of the editors. I shot a hole in one into the tiniest basket you can imagine. They gave me a coffee cup as a reward. We laughed, and high fived, and had a grand time.
Playing ping pong at AWP 23
I worked hard on my story. I revised it at least 30 times with the help of my amazing writing group: Tracy, Angela, Bob, and Christie. When I thought I was going to hate it if I saw it one more time, I decided it was finished. I submitted it five days before the deadline for the Winter Issue.
My prize for a basket in one!
Yesterday morning, I was sitting on my couch in my home in Oakland, California, missing Paris (although I’m told it is REALLY cold there). I wasn’t depressed, just blah. Everyone knows blah. No color in one’s world. Who cares what happens for the rest of the day. My little foster kittens were tearing up everything in sight and I didn’t have the energy to stop them. Then the email arrived from The Under Review.
It was like a shot of adrenaline. Someone who counts, who publishes stories, likes my story. Now I want to write again. Ok, so what if I’m retired but working full-time. And yes, writing is a pretty lonely enterprise. I suppose it’s a bit like winning a slam, you shine under the spotlight. Then you start all over again. Maybe I’m seeded a little bit higher but considering who’s out there writing, I’m guessing I’m seeded about 10,000! And that’s ok. Because I’m seeded. I’ve written one book and I’ve started on my collection of short stories!
Now the California sunshine is calling. Gotta get this adrenaline moving around.
A bientôt,
Sara
Thanks for reading Out My Window! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.
This photograph taken on November 28, 2023 in Paris shows the wooden structure of the new spire in place at Notre-Dame de Paris Cathedral on the Ile de la Cité in Paris during reconstruction work. Photo by Ludovic MARIN / AFP
Scaffolding still surrounded the new spire, captured by an AFP photographer, and officials did not wish to comment while they await the finishing touches.
The authority overseeing the rebuilding told AFP last Friday that the oak structure of the spire, which reaches 96 metres (315 feet) high, would be visible “before Christmas”.
It is identical to the previous one, designed by the 19th century architect Viollet-Le-Duc, which collapsed in the fire of April 15th, 2019.
The scaffolding will remain to allow the installation of its cover and lead ornaments early next year, the authorities said.
The cathedral is due to reopen on December 8th, 2024, President Emmanuel Macron announced in August.
The frames of the nave and the choir of the cathedral, which were also destroyed, are due for completion in 2024, after which the construction of the roof can begin.
The final stages include cleaning the interior – an area that covers some 42,000 square metres – and installing new furniture.
—published in The Local/France Nov. 29, 2023
April 15, 2019, a long ago time before the pandemic, I was at the American Library in Paris waiting to meet Edouard Louis, a well-known young French author. He would be speaking on his latest book: Who Killed My Father. It wasn’t like in the movies when suddenly everyone is looking at their mobile phones and you know Something Bad Has Happened. Someone mentioned that they thought Notre Dame was on fire. No one believed it so we were checking all our respective news sources. It was true, as we all now know. It was 6:50pm CEST. I went outside and down to the corner of Rue du Général Camou and Avenue Rapp. I couldn’t see anything, not a wiff of smoke in the sky. Notre Dame is 5.2 kilometres east of the American Library. A drive of 20-25 minutes or a metro ride of the same amount of time. The fire began at 6:20pm CEST, but alarms didn’t go off until the same time that I was searching the sky.
In no time, I was caught up in the Drama of Notre Dame in Flames (there is a fairly good thriller/documentary out called Notre Dame Brûle*). I watched on my iPhone as crowds began to gather, many people weeping, all being kept at a safe distance by the gendarmes. Slowly word spread around the world and scenes of Paris were interrupted by reporters in US or UK announcing that the heart of France, the literal and metaphorical center of the country, was burning. The big question was: Could any part of the beautiful centuries old cathedral be saved? All the structure was wood, some wood over 600 years old. At the time of the fire, renovations were being done on the roofing. It’s never been clear how the fire started but guesses were that one of the workmen had thrown down a cigarette that wasn’t completely out. It is and was illegal to smoke there.
I wanted to meet with Edouard Louis. I had heard him speak a year earlier and told him about the book I was writing on my history with food addiction. He was fascinated and asked me to keep him posted. At the time of the fire, I had finished writing the book and a publication date had been set for May 2020. I wanted to talk to him. At the same time, like many people, the draw of a Drama happening on my turf, a reason for everyone to be on the same side of an issue, to feel the universality of something pulling the city together, a crowd reacting as one person, crying together, hugging strangers, I found the pull almost irresistable.
I did resist and stayed at ALP to meet Edouard and to listen to his talk. I went home after and watched the news, glued to every word, every picture. Just like the day Kennedy was shot, and RFK was shot, and the Towers came down. Fascinated by the drama, fascinated by public grief when everyone is given permission to cry and wail. This wasn’t just a tragedy, it was my tragedy as a citizen of Paris.
I was never much of a Princess Diana fan so, until the actual day of her funeral and the famous walk of the sons and Charles, I hadn’t watched much TV. I had lost a cat that I’d had many years and, after much searching, I decided he must have been caught by a coyote. But when I watched the royal procession, I cried and cried. I knew I was crying for Yaz, my lost cat, but this permission to cry all day long, in public, with everyone else, it is something that doesn’t often happen.
Before midnight, Paris learned that the cathedral would be saved. Firefighters and gendarmes had formed a long line and, hand over hand, taken everything out of the ground floor. “Shortly before the spire fell, the fire had spread to the wooden framework inside the north tower, which supported eight very large bells. Had the bells fallen, it was thought that the damage done as they fell could have collapsed the towers, and with them the entire cathedral.”-Wikipedia As far as I know, no artifacts were lost though many were damaged. I walked to Notre Dame a couple of days later. People were still gathering. We weren’t allowed anywhere within spitting distance of the Cathedral. The damage was visible from anywhere that one stood.
Over the next days and months, a contest was held for the best design for the new roof and spire. In the end, the decision was to keep it the same. President Macron swore that it would be finished and open by the Summer Olympics of 2024. No one saw Covid coming. Plywood walls were built to surround the cathedral both to keep people away from the construction but also to exhibit extraordinary photos that had been taken the evening of the fire, the rescue of the artifacts, and the progress of the renovation. One month, there were children’s drawings on the wall in front of the facade depicting Notre Dame on Fire.
Now the end of the construction is closer than the evening of the tragedy. It’s hard to believe that it was almost five years ago. Edouard Louis has written three more books, developed Who Killed My Father into a play on Broadway, and continues his rise in French Literature. The summer Olympics are seven months away. It feels as if the entire city has been under construction getting ready for the Olympics. Some people are excited and many are terrified that the city will be unliveable for four weeks.
And this week, we have been told that the spire might be visible by Christmas. I haven’t read of citizen reactions to that news. Not because there haven’t been any but because I still read English language newspapers and am lax about keeping up with French news publications. But something will happen I’m sure of that. Though the rebuilding of Notre Dame hasn’t been front page news for much of the last five years, it is still the ‘heart’ of Paris and France. If the Cathedral does open to the public in December 2024, I expect much festivity.
The cathedral also serves the heart of the city in a literal sense: The plaza facing the cathedral’s entrance is France’s “kilometer zero” — the precise location from which all distances to other cities along French highways are measured…
For more very interesting information of Notre Dame and the Fire, Wikipedia has a wonderful page with many specifics that weren’t known during the first months after the Fire. You’ll find it here
A bientôt,
Sara
*The feature film by Jean-Jacques Annaud, reconstructs hour by hour the incredible reality of the events of April 15, 2019 when the cathedral suffered the most important disaster in its history. And how women and men will put their lives at risk in an incredible and heroic rescue.
Thanks for reading Out My Window! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.
There is a series on PBS Television called World On Fire. Now that I am in California, I can watch it. Saturday, I watched Episode 1, Season 1 which begins another WWII story about ordinary people, you and me. The episode opens with a gathering in Warsaw of people being spoken to by a Pro-Nazi someone. The crowd was cheering and Seig Heiling. Those that disagreed with them were singing a plaintiff song. The crowd turned on them and the beatings began. The beaten ones were the offenders, were thrown in jail, bloodied and hurting.
That scene could have been present day USA. A gathering of MAGA fascists spreading love on their anointed leader, the criminal Mr. Trump. Anyone who disagrees is beaten badly or killed as we saw on January 6. Here we are some 80 years since those gatherings in Warsaw, and the scenes are identical. And, as in 1938/39, the majority of people aren’t scared out of their wits. We have daily visuals of two wars and still people aren’t scared enough of Fascism/Autocratism to take a stand. They think journalists are overreaching when they tell us “Be afraid, be very afraid of Trump.” If you are paying attention, 59 journalists, at last count have been killed in the Israel-Gaza war.
Already the war in Gaza, supported by Iran and Russia, is taking away all the focus on Ukraine. The MAGA politicians who love Russia do not want to any more financial support for Ukraine. Russia couldn’t win against the Ukraine. So they did the next best thing, help start a war between Israel and Hamas. The Americans were bound to get involved. When was the last time you heard an in-depth report on Ukraine? Without American support, Russia believes it will win that war.
In so many ways, Ukraine had become the symbol of David beating Goliath, the little country fighting for Democracy for all of us. If they could win against Russia, there is no doubt, that the tide were turn dramatically in favour of democracies everywhere. As we all know, Republicans no longer believe in Democracy. It has taken me a long time to have this truth sink in. Naive people like me have been raised to think good will prevail. When the stakes are so high, even Republicans will get it and not let us be at the mercy of Fascists. Not true. They see the power they can and do wield.
In the past week, there have been two protest marches in Washington, DC. One pro-Israel and one pro-Palestine. To both sides the culprit is now President Biden. When interviewed, participants were saying how they felt so let down by him, that he has no interest in human rights and he will never get their vote again. Wait. What? You’ll vote for Trump in order to get human rights? Or not vote at all which is the same as voting for Trump. In what world does that make any sense?
When a President like Joe Biden, who has done more good for the average person in this county than any President since FDR, has such low ratings what does that say? When I ask people with more knowledge than me (many people) I’m told he isn’t commercial enough. He doesn’t have the good looks and charisma of a Jack Kennedy,the Clinton humor of a down home good ‘ole boy with a clarinet, the intellectual brilliance of an Obama who can stop people in their tracks when he makes a speech. He’s just Joe, regular old Joe, who has given his entire life to the service of the USA, has made many verbal faux pas, and proved to be human like the rest of us. That is not good enough.
There isn’t a day that goes by that there isn’t a film or a series about the hell of war, the greed of the American White Man Who Can, where we witness where Hatred can take us. A day doesn’t go by that we aren’t treated to video and photos of Gaza and Ukraine. Yet, we still sit here smugly thinking that can’t happen here. Yet, Trump has said, in excruciating detail, what he will do to take his revenge when (not ‘if’) he is elected President. Martial law, prison for dissenters. We have one year to rally around Biden. We have one year to take seriously the sword of Damocles hanging over our heads.
To misquote Mary Oliver: Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one precious year?* What will you do? What will I do? I only have history to teach me what will happen if I chose not to act. War is terrifying. Hatred is terrifying. Living under Fascist rule is terrifying to me. Jim Johnson, who everyone said was such a milquetoast, is terrifying. It all leads in one direction.
In a review of Rachel Maddow’s latest book Prequel. An American fight Against Fascism, Jeff Shesol, in yesterday’s New York Times, quotes Alexis de Tocqueville from 1840. ‘“Our contemporaries (Americans) are constantly excited by two conflicting passions; they want to be led, and they wish to remain free.” The result, says de Tocqueville, was a peculiarly American compromise, an abiding tension between state power and popular sovereignty. Tocqueville had faith that Americans could keep the two in balance. At the same time, he warned against a slide into ‘democratic despotism”. The people, he wrote, might someday vote to cede their power and place the government “in the hands of an irresponsible person or body of persons. Having witnessed the rise of American democracy, Tocqueville also, it seems, foretold its decline.’-Shesol, NYTimes, Nov. 19, 2021
A bientôt,
Sara
*From the poem The Summer Day: “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”
Thanks for reading Out My Window! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.
In the space of one week, I saw the movie Les Demoiselles de Rochefort on Catherine Deneuve’s birthday, Sunday, Oct. 22; Killers of the Flower Moon, a masterpiece by Martin Scorcese, which will probably net a plethora of Oscar nominations; and West Side Story, an American production that has been traveling around Europe and the UK to rave reviews. Not only is that more evenings out than I normally do in even a month but each one was A+ Excellent.
Les Demoiselles de Rochefort was Jacques Demy’s attempt to replicate the American musicals of Gene Kelly and Fred Astaire. He had produced The Umbrellas of Cherbourg two years earlier, a huge success, and made an immediate star of Catherine Deneuve. I went to the film knowing nothing about it except that it starred CD. It also starred her real-life sister, Françoise Dorléac, George Chakiris (post West Side Story), and, as the beginning credits rolled, “with the participation of Gene Kelly.” By the time of the opening credits, it was clearly a song and dance musical comedy. I jumped to the conclusion (a favorite sport of mine) that Kelly had been instrumental in the choreography. Nope, he had a starring role, speaking French which was partly dubbed. I grew up on Kelly and Astaire musicals, mostly on TV. The first time I saw Gene Kelly’s face on a big screen was at an early TCM Classic Film Festival showing of Singing in the Rain. His face with that knock-dead gorgeous smile filled the entire screen and I understood why some people never want to see films on a TV screen. No small screen could possibly do justice to the impact of seeing Kelly’s face looking down at me.
Les Demoiselles, with it’s various love story plots, was cotton candy of the best variety. It was fun, everyone was beautiful, all the stories got wrapped up with a lovely bow at the end. If you can find it, go to see it. My iPhone says you can rent it on Prime Video. You will be smiling and feeling upbeat when the final credits rolls.
The next day, I took the metro to UGC Montparnasse to see Killers of the Flower Moon, a true story of terrifying evil perpetrated on the Osage Nation of Oklahoma when oil was discovered on Osage-owned land. It made millionaires of the Osage and put them right in the eye of white greed. I read the book seven years ago and had forgotten many details. The film brought this horrific chapter of American History to life. I knew that I could see it soon streaming on Apple TV+ as it was an Apple production. I wanted to see it on the big screen.
It is beyond my comprehension why I am constantly surprised at the evil man can do. Scorcese has been quoted as saying that he wanted to show the extent of White Male Entitlement in the US. Robert DeNiro is so slimy, so evil, that my skin crawled every time he was on screen. He is such a great actor that I found myself wanting to yell out and warn whoever was in the same room with him.
Leonardo DiCaprio plays his nephew, Ernest, a not very bright young man, who had just deployed from the Army after WWI and moved to Oklahoma. A friend of mine asked “how he could keep the turned-down mouth frown for so long?” I tried it but couldn’t hold it for more than thirty seconds. He falls under the spell of his uncle and becomes the accomplice for the crimes. Will this be Oscar number two? Lily Gladstone is a revelation. She is beautiful and her acting is subtly deeply moving as the wife of Ernest. Ms Gladstone was raised on the Blackfeet Indian Reservation and has won many awards for her accomplished acting. This is the first time I’ve seen her but I’m sure it won’t be the last.
The murders taking place on Osage land was the first case handled by what became the FBI. At the time, it was simply the Bureau of Investigation run by a young J. Edgar Hoover. Jesse Plemons (The Power of the Dog) plays the agent sent to Oklahoma to solve the mystery of the many deaths.
This film has to be the best film Scorcese has made. Even at three and a half hours, the time flies. This is history every American should see. Yes, it is shocking. When the lights went on last Monday, the woman next to me was staring at the screen with her mouth open in stunned silence.
I bought tickets to West Side Story last July, the minute I saw it was coming to Paris. Until I sat down in my seat at the beautifully restored Théâtre du Châtelet, I never thought to ask if it was in English or in French. I didn’t ask a number of questions one should probably ask when a favorite show is in a country that speaks another language. Fortunately, it not only was in English, but the director, Lonny Price, a close friend of Alexander Bernstein, son of the great Leonard Bernstein who wrote the musical score for WSS, wanted to replicate the original 1957 production. And what a production it is (if you live in Paris, it is playing until December 31 )! I’m told that if a French audience gives a show a standing ovation, it is the highest honor a stage show can achieve. The last standing ovation I saw was in 2015 for AnAmerican in Paris.
There probably isn’t a person alive who doesn’t know the story of the two teenage gangs in the dilapidated streets of the upper West Side of 1950s Manhattan. Though it is sixty years old, the message of fear and hate, of ostracism of “other” is as potent today as it was then. The Jets are the poor white second generation delinquents led by Riff, a terrific performance by Taylor Harley . The Sharks, the Puerto Rican boys led by Bernardo-Antony Sanchez, are first generation. These two gangs are fighting for the right to “own” the streets of this neighbourhood.
The stage set is astounding. There is a main tenement building, two stories high, that opens up like a magic box. Both the inside and the outside of Doc’s Drug store, Maria’s bedroom, Anita’s bedroom, the dressmaking shop of the Puerto Rican women, and the fire escape where Tony (Jadon Webster) and Maria (Melanie Sierra) sing “Tonight”, were all tucked into this building. On each side of the stage, two other “buildings” sandwiched the streets and the area under the bridge where the rumble takes place. They each could turn 360o to show someone entering one door and leaving by another.
As a writer, what I find impressive and inspirational (not sure if that is the right word) is the ability of Martin Scorcese and the team of Bernstein, Sondheim, and Robbins, to create a piece of art that is not only a good story but also has a strong message, in both cases a message about living with others, a message of hate and fear leading only to death — in both of these masterpieces, many deaths. Yet, the message doesn’t overpower the story. One can go to both the film and the show and be tone deaf to the message and love the story. It’s a fine line of creativity that a writer like me can only aspire to.
Europe is getting cold. Stay warm and cozy. And remember, if you are in the US, Europe and the UK changed their clocks one hour back yesterday. The US will do the same next weekend. Meanwhile, for one week chaos ensues!!!!
A bientôt,
Sara
Thanks for reading Out My Window! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.
It seems wrong not to express some words about the war in Israel and Gaza. I often don’t respond quickly. In fact, I often go numb when horrifying things happen and have to gather information, read a lot, and get the facts. Here we are almost two weeks later and I feel empty of words. I don’t consider myself a cynical person, but I’m now of the opinion that hatred and fear are universal feelings that are much stronger than “World Peace” no matter how many beauty contestants pray for it. It is also wrong to completely abandon thoughts on Ukraine. The media only writes about the ugly stuff never the good stuff. I get an e-mail from the Guardian every Sunday with Good News. It is a short e-mail. We are taught to believe that only hatred, war, shootings, and bad deeds are newsworthy. People have expressed shock and outrage that Hamas, a known Terrorist organization, has done what they do best—wreak terror, spread fear, and kill in the name of religion.
My cousin’s eldest daughter sent me a Twitter/X on Tuesday of a nineteen-year-old girl, living on a kibbutz near the Red Sea, expressing rage (watch it)—not just at Hamas but at Netanyahu. She says everyone saw this coming. They’ve been asking, begging for help and protection for years. She calls him Bibi. I haven’t heard him called that in years. It sounds so intimate.
So while the world expresses shock and outrage at terrorists doing what terrorists do, Israelis are going to funeral after funeral, yelling at the neglect of this corrupt politician who somehow manages to keep getting back in office. There are innocent Palestinians trapped in Gaza knowing an Israeli ground force will soon be on them while Bibi yells “Revenge.” Revenge for something he might well have preventedu88i
I blame him for the murder of a teacher here in France by an Islamic yelling “Allahu akbar,” or “God is great” in Arabic during the attack. The Louvre was shut down on Saturday and Versailles on Sunday. Both were due to bomb threats. Macron has deployed 7,000 military soldiers to protect us. Six French airports were shut down earlier this week. My metro line received a bomb scare and for forty-eight hours, the trains moved very slowly and stopped three or four minutes in each station. In my hometown, Oakland, and the immediate surroundings in the Bay Area, fifty schools received bomb threats last Monday. Much like Trump, Bibi has unleashed the dogs from hell.
This is all much more complicated than my simple retelling of what most of us know. But the big picture stays the same. If we elect autocrats to rule because we’re afraid of ‘someone else’ and want that ‘leader’ to take care of it, we’re going to get the Trump rhetoric—pushing fear and hatred, calling innocent people “enemies of the people” if they have a differing opinion. All leaders, according to this philosophy, must lay down the law, construct walls both physical and metaphorical, making sure that the small people know who is right and who is wrong.
The media loves it and eats it up. Peaceful times are not newsworthy. When I was writing my book: Saving Sara, I wrote about the hell of food addiction and the wonder and excitement of recovery in my draft. My editor told me “Stop your story when you first get into recovery. No one is interested in your recovery. They only want to read about the down and dirty times.” I was shocked. I shouldn’t have been. I went back and watched movies about alcoholics and alcoholism. She was right. They all end the moment the alcoholic stops drinking. Who wants to read or hear about good things?
When I was in college, a group of cinephiles brought International films (mostly French, Italian, and Swedish) once a week for students to watch. I loved going to them. Friends would say “I don’t understand why you like them. They’re so slow, nothing happens.” Nothing happens, just a little slice of life written by a brilliant filmmaker, usually an affirmation of life, these little everyday moments that bring us love and show us how to get through conflicts. I only mention this because little slices of life that are uplifting just aren’t newsworthy – unless they are films and I’m willing to bet that less that 5% of Americans like Int’l Films.
Monday, President Biden flew to the Middle East. His intention was 1—to caution against Revenge and 2—to get humanitarian aid into Gaza. According to a wonderful synopsis by Heather Cox Richardson which you can read here, President Biden has a huge following in Israel. They love him. He gave a stirring speech, and Netanyahu, who most often wants to align himself with Trump, made sure he was in every photo opportunity with Biden.
I also read today and found it heartbreaking, that for the first time in this White House, people of the opinion such as mine have been shut down. Aides and staff are divided but cannot discuss it. So where does this lead us? I don’t know. I want the world to surprise me. I don’t think it will happen. But I’ve joined all of you in saying out loud how angry I am—at Netanyahu, at terrorists in general, at two wars being fought at the same time. I’m quite sure that Putin who is visiting his “dear friend”, Xi, in China, is like a pig rolling in shit.
I wonder if it’s my personality or if it’s an American trait or … could it besomething else? Whenever I go somewhere and fall in love with the place, I start looking at the Real Estate windows that decorate the main streets of every beautiful place. Some part of me wants to own a piece of heaven. It’s completely nonsensical. Not living in heaven but thinking one can own a spot in heaven. I still own my home in California and I rent an apartment in Paris, and the last thing I need is another responsibility. I’m too old to think in terms of investment possibilities. I nearly bought a little home in Normandy last summer (2022). I didn’t because the inspector I hired to do a thorough investigation told me not to. My rational brain knows it’s far less expensive to rent a place wherever I go. This past summer it was Saint Jean de Luz.
Sunset from the window of my little studio
I was in Saint-Jean de Luz for the last four days. I tacked it on to a trip to Biarritz for a conference. Little did I know that the weather would grace us with summertime warmth. I felt as if I was given the last drops of summer. The ocean water was warm, people in bathing suits and colorful umbrellas dotted the beach, and the sunsets were as dramatic as they were last July. The sun just set further south.
Biarritz surprised me. I was holding a prejudice about the city. Probably because it attracts the rich, as in over-the-top wealthy, and infamous. One of my fellow #FranceStackers, Mike Werner, wrote about it here and here/Part 2. I really enjoyed my three days there. I stayed at the Residence Le Grand Large which is half a block from the ocean, high up on a cliff. It’s a ten-minute walk on a pleasant downhill slop to the closest beach, La plage Port Vieux. Biarritz is large and sprawls into Anglet the next city in a similar way that cities on the East Coast of the US morph into each other with no demarcation. But I wasn’t there to discover Biarritz. I was attending a conference that allowed me plenty of time to wander from the Plage Port Vieux to an outcropping with a white sculpture of the Virgin to the Grand Plage with its casino and onto the Lighthouse at Point Saint Martin.
Surfers first thing in the morning-Plage de la Côte des Basques
In the early morning, I could see a hundred surfers looking to find a wave. My little tourist map told me that when the film The Sun Also Rises was filmed near Biarritz, Peter Vertel, one of the scriptwriters, a Californian, brought surfing to Biarritz. Now there are at least twenty schools to learn surfing and an International Competition is held there each year.
View from my window of my rental studio.
From Biarritz to Saint-Jean de Luz is a train ride of fifteen minutes. When I got off the train Sunday afternoon, it was as if I’d been there yesterday instead of early July. I wheeled my valise to my cute little studio rental navigating the streets by heart. The window in the studio overlooked the entire Baie de Saint Jean, with the three-hundred-meter beach. I was greeted with afternoon entertainment: a military flyover similar to the Blue Angels. A helicopter lifted off a stone pier and did somersaults in the air. A yellow and orange small two propeller plane that I probably should know the name of but don’t, flew up and back, upside down and rightside up, and sprayed water which I’m guessing is normally done on land for fires. The best part was six planes flying in formation. Two had tails of white stream, two with a red stream, and two with a blue stream behind them. They made hearts in the sky, they flew straight up and then down in the design of a harp. The sky looked as if a blue, red, and white waterfall was falling down into the sea below. The planes would break apart, three going one way, three another way, turn around and fly towards each other, zigging and zagging, creating fascinating designs.
The beach which, at this time of year usually has a scattering of people, was packed. Everyone had come from miles around for the afternoon. They’d planted colorful umbrellas to get some shade on an afternoon that peaked at 80o/27o. Looking down from my window, I saw an enchanting montage of circles of every color in the rainbow.
My anxieties that it “just wouldn’t be the same” because the sun set at 7:30 pm instead of 10:30 pm quickly disappated. It was different but just as good. The gazebo was quiet and many of the stores were closed for the season but there was plenty going on. Because of the weather, people were out and about. Women walked the promenade dressed in sundresses made for July and August. Men were in shorts and T-shirts. And, of course, there were dogs everywhere. Small dogs, large dogs, happy dogs, dogs swimming in the water, and dogs that watched suspiciously while their people went swimming. The water was warm. A group of older people swam from one end of the beach to the other every morning around 8 a.m. Being one of the first to plant my bare feet in sand was enough reason for me to get up early.
Walking the beach in the morning with swimmers already at it and typical Pays Basques house in Ciboure as my backdrop
Tuesday night, I went to investigate the one movie theatre: Le Select. Turns out to have five screens, a café, and an International Film Festival was finishing up on the evening of my arrival. I decided to see the new Woody Allen movie: Coup de Chance (Stroke of Luck). I hadn’t read any reviews except the beginning of one that said it was good, reminiscent of his movies of ten and twenty years ago. I should have read further. I assumed since it was Woody Allen,it would be in English with French subtitles. Ha! It was completely in French. Not dubbed. French actors speaking their own language. Does WA speak French? Woody Allen has lost all favor in the US. At the Cannes Film Festival this year, half of the audience stood up to clap for him. People followed him around for selfies. I understood three-quarters of it which made me proud. And I enjoyed it. I would like to see it again with English subtitles. To read a review, click here
Final sunset until next summer (or not if I’m lucky!)
This is not the end. Just a pause until my next visit to Saint-Jean de Luz, as lovely a spot on earth as I can imagine.
A bientôt,
Sara
Thanks for reading Out My Window! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.
I was with friends from the UK last week, people I don’t often get to see. Predictably, conversation always leans towards questions about why I decided to move to Paris, what I especially love about Paris, and do I plan to stay here forever. The answer to the second question changes all the time.
One thing I especially love about Paris is the transportation system. As in NYC, it isn’t necessary to own a car. Not only is the transportation system efficient, liberal, and easy to navigate but most of the time, it’s faster than driving!
At various periods over time, Paris has been the centre of the Literary World. The sense of creativity that pulses in the air here in Paris is another thing I especially love. In the 1920s Fitzgerald, Hemingway, E.E, Cummings, Hart Crane, and others made the Café Deux Magots famous and they drank their way around France. In the 1950s, James Baldwin, Chester Himes, Richard Wright made the Montparnasse area famous as their hangout. I discovered on moving here that there were writing classes and workshops everywhere, all the time. It was wonderful. And I didn’t have to drive a car and look for parking that doesn’t exist in order to attend a writing workshop. Heaven!
Periodically, I like to highlight an up and coming artist or writer. This week, I’ve chosen my friend, Henrie Richer. Like me, she has gone back to school, in her case Ecole de Beaux Arts of Versailles, in the second half of her life. She has raised a family. They’ve flown the coop and she can now make her artistic dreams come true. I am lucky enough to own several of her photographs which I look at every day. And every day, I’m reminded of Henrie’s eye. She really can see. With photographs, she can frame a subject so that it is more interesting than the subject itself. Now she has turned her attention to painting and other mediums. As with her photographs, I’m stunned by the way she sees, by the way her heart and her eye work together to produce something that speaks to us. Henrie hasn’t been long in the difficult world of making a living in Art. Yet, her nature seems to overflow with creative ideas, bold statements, and results that make the viewer think about the world that the photograph or painting is telling us about. I am excited to introduce her to you.
The following is an interview with Henrie that we did last week.
SS: I know that you are from the United Kingdom. How did you come to be living in France, specifically Paris?
HR: I first visited Paris when I was eight years old. For some unknown reason, I decided, there and then, that one day I would live in this beautiful city. The summer before I went to university to study French and Italian, I got a holiday job as a receptionist in the South of France at a fancy camping site. While working there, I met my future husband, who was also working a summer job as a student engineer. Our friends and family thought that the summer romance would not last, but we are still together forty years later. During our studies we travelled back and forth across Europe to see each other during the holidays. Then on the day of my graduation from university, I left England forever and came to live with my Chéri in Paris.
SS: That’s such a romantic story and very French! Have you always inclined towards fine art or has living near Paris influenced the artist in you?
HR: My mother is an artist. I grew up seeing her study for her degree in her forties and then working on her art. I secretly dreamed of being an artist, but failed the entrance exam to art school and went on to study languages instead. Living near Paris is certainly inspiring as opportunities to fill the well of inspiration are plentiful, as much in the streets as in the galleries and museums.
SS: How has your chosen medium changed over the years. I know that you did photography for many years.
HR: As a teenager I convinced myself that I was not an artist and did not touch any form of art making for about thirty years. Our eldest daughter has multiple disabilities and I had little time or energy for anything other than daily life, although I wrote both fiction and non-fiction during this time. When she left home, I started taking life drawing, painting and photography lessons. I created a small photography business, but then Covid happened.
SS: I didn’t realise your business was that young. Your photographs are so beautiful and well thought out. I thought you’d had a business for years. Yet, you applied for and were accepted into the Ecole des Beaux Arts in Versailles. Since you are in your late-50s, what made you decide to go back to Art School?
HR: During the lockdowns I was unable to pursue photography as a business and I soon became bored with photographing things at home. However my painting lessons continued during the pandemic via Zoom. I decided that my teenage dream to attend art school was still possible.
SS: Has your first year at the Beaux Arts given you what you hoped for?
HR: In September ‘22, I was accepted into the second year of a three-year diploma course. During the year there was more theory than I had expected, but I learned and practised new techniques, such as engraving and some basic sculpture. We were soon told that academic technique is not important in contemporary art and that the only job we have is to evoke and provoke an emotional response in the viewer. We were told that if we wanted to improve our drawing or painting technique, we could watch You Tube. This attitude did come as a bit of a shock, however twelve months on, I no longer feel it is unfounded. The year was very rich both in content and the mix of students at the school, who are from eight different countries and whose ages range from 20 to 60 yrs. Versailles is a small school and our group of students is supportive and caring.
Henrie in her studio
SS: You have an on-line store and write a blog. Have you been able to keep those up while in school?
HR: Over the last year, I completely abandoned my blog and website. Having thirty hours of lessons a week, a personal project to develop, and homework, I just didn’t have the time. My wonderful web designer Samantha at Aspen Creative Studiosredesigned my site for me over the summer to reflect a more pared down and professional portfolio site. I don’t have an online shop at the moment, but I’m happy to answer inquiries from prospective buyers. This year will also be very busy, but I hope to write an article for my blog once a month.
SS: I own three of your photographs: one of poppies and two of Versailles. I think your photography changed in the last half decade. Can you tell us what you were after?
HR: As a photographer I am largely self-taught. In the 80s and 90s I used to freelance articles and take photographs for these articles with my traditional film camera, but the arrival of digital photography rather threw me for a loop. I needed guidance to get a handle on all the bells and whistles that digital cameras now have, so I attended workshops with the American photographer Meredith Mullins, in Paris. I had a longer apprenticeship learning to use my camera and honing my eye and skills. Predictably I started with learning to take photographs like the photographers that I admire, such as Saul Leiter, Sara Moon and Annie Leibovitz amongst many others. Then I started to branch out into more artistic approaches and I’m fascinated by the abstract possibilities of photography.
Chateau de Versailles One of Henrie’s photographs that I own.
SS: In Art School, you’ve been experimenting with different mediums, stretching your artistic approach there also. Has one of them spoken to you more than others?
HR: It has been a great experience to discover new mediums such as engraving, but my first art loves are still the same: photography and painting. I hope to create work in the future that combines both mediums.
SS: What is your vision of your future in the Art World?
Are female artists treated differently than male artists?
HR: I can’t say that I have a vision for my future, I certainly have hopes and dreams. In the short term I hope to succeed in getting my diploma next June. We will have three assessments this year in December, March and June, which consist in creating a mini exhibition and exhibition pamphlet for the jury of teachers and artists. My dream, like most creatives, is to exhibit and earn a living from my art and to gain the respect of my peers.
Women have certainly been excluded from art history until very recently. Now there are women-only exhibitions and competitions which help artists to break into the market. More than the difficulty of being a woman in a man’s world and a man’s art market, is the fact that I will be sixty when I finish art school. Ageism is even more pronounced than sexism in most spheres. However, there are cases of artists who did not start making art or making a living from their art, until after retirement, so you never know. I certainly believe that there is room for more than one life in a life.
SS: Thanks so much, Henrie. Even though you don’t have an on-line store, people can go to your website: http://www.henriericher.com. If interested in buying any of your work, they can contact you via the website. I encourage everyone to go to her website and just look around. I think that, like me, you will be awed.
One last thing: Of all the work you have done in the past year, do you have a favorite that you’d be willing to show my readers?
HR: Yes! My favourite painting is #Femicide – The Red Shoe I (sold), the first of a series that I am working on:
The Red Shoe 1
EDUCATION. 2022 – 2024 Student at the Ecole des Beaux Arts, Versailles, France. 2017 Registered business owner as Auteur/Artiste Photography. 2010 – 2014 Photography workshops in Paris with American photographer, Meredith Mullins. 1986 B.A.Hons French/Italian/Art History – The University of Kent at Canterbury, UK.
EXHIBITIONS. 2021 – 2022 Barcelona Foto Biennale, 6th Biennal of Fine Art & Documentary Photography with a series of photographs of the Chateau de Versailles.
AWARDS.
2020 First prize in the Architecture category of the 15th Julia Margaret Cameron Awards for Woman Photographers. 2020 Honourable Mention in Self Portrait du 15th Julia Margaret Cameron Awards for Woman Photographers. 2018 Received an Honourable Mention in the Los Angeles based, International Photography Awards. Two photo series Walls and Windows and Horizons featured in Dodho Magazine.
A bientôt,
Sara
Thanks for reading Out My Window! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.
Out My Window 