Paris One Forty: Week Seventeen

Easy to forget that a river cuts this city in two. And then you see it and it is like a giant artery, breathing life. pic.twitter.com/pupLY8bbxZ

— Jessica Helfand (@ParisOneForty) December 9, 2014

A tailor works in the golden light of his atelier, surrounded by patterns, like makeshift carcasses. City as theatre. pic.twitter.com/ArODSjNOp0

— Jessica Helfand (@ParisOneForty) December 10, 2014

Pigalle was once synonymous with the debauchery of Parisian life, and perhaps it still is. If letterforms could talk! pic.twitter.com/oqQhT4nO3y

— Jessica Helfand (@ParisOneForty) December 11, 2014

Near St. Paul, a tiny child’s dress hangs in a window — without language or signage, it tells its story nevertheless. pic.twitter.com/jG1N8WScOD

— Jessica Helfand (@ParisOneForty) December 12, 2014

One pure pine stands among his color-corrected brethren — who seem to have been tinted to match their striped awning. pic.twitter.com/NEMx9lKROS

— Jessica Helfand (@ParisOneForty) December 13, 2014

Bottles of burgundy. A man’s laced shoe. Innocent items seen in a window and yet? Each made exclusively of chocolate. pic.twitter.com/pfxtXgMxQc

— Jessica Helfand (@ParisOneForty) December 14, 2014

Below a grey unforgiving winter sky on the Rue Montorgueil, a glimpse of French Colonialism that should be long gone. pic.twitter.com/qaklBDbfzC

— Jessica Helfand (@ParisOneForty) December 15, 2014