Olympic memories.

Mens sana in corpore sano

At a time when sports resonates in the media with bribery, scandals, big football transfers, and other big amounts of cash... It is critical to anchor ourselves in what sports are and should remain: a source of ecumenism, an ode to personal achievements and limits that are pushed always further by the human body and brain.

My older son is now almost six and as part of his school curriculum, he is exploring the origin of sports. What a better age and place to do so? He was only three when the Olympics hit London. Our town. Our sports. But he still has crystal clear images in his brain of that event, conscious that he took part in something unique, and that we expect to relive sooner rather than later, maybe in September with the Rugby World Cup.

London 2012 took place almost 3 years ago, and next summer the flame will ignite Brazil, and yet I cannot avoid watching these Olympic highlights without being moved to the tears. So here are my memories of a summer not so long ago...

Flashback on a backlash.

Flashback. I have a vivid memory of the exact moment. July 6, 2005. I am in a car and I cannot think of a better birthday present than hearing the IOC confirm that Paris would host the Games that it had been campaigning so hard for. The French capital, as much as the rest of the Hexagon, had dreamt of these 2012 Olympics which would put sports at the heart of the City Of Lights. Imagine that, athletes competing on the Champs de Mars with the Eiffel Tower as a backdrop… The radio is crackling. Singapore is far away. And then, the verdict. Paris did not manage to fully convince the committee and it's Chiswick running hero, Sebastian Coe, who bags yet another victory. Paris is bitter, London exhilarated. The city will host its third Olympic games. Unfortunately the joy would not last as the following day a terror attack tears apart London with a series of bombing. What if Paris had won?

A few months later, a career opportunity leads me to cross the Channel. As Paul Feval once wrote it, « if the Games are not coming to me, I will be coming to the Games ». Fast forward seven years, and here we are. System failure after system failure, the District Line has been renovated. East London has found a new dynamism with the influx of investments made to the Olympic Park. The Londoners have volunteered en mass. And finally the streets started to be populated with new styles. Forget the buttoned-up suits from the City, the Shoreditch hipsters or Camden's goths. For a full fortnight the trendiest outfit was track suits… designed by Stella McCartney, but still.

At the heart of the games

Some had fled the city for the Cotswolds - no appetite for them to share the city with a million of plebeian visitors. Personally, this was purely unconceivable. My parents had told me so many stories about the 1968 winter games in my home town of Grenoble, stories about Jean-Claude Killy or Marielle Goitschel, stories of how they were moved to the tears when they heard on loudspeakers the heart beat of the last flame bearer walking up the stairs to light up the cauldron. Bam-bam, bam-bam, bam-bam. I wanted to live on that very same rhythm. Bam-bam, bam-bam, bam-bam. I wanted to embrace fully the promise of the games, and today I am sharing some of these heart beats with my sons (and you at the same time) with the ambition that one day we may have the joy to resonate in unison. Bam-bam, bam-bam, bam-bam. Here is my recollection of the games, an open-hearted memory if you wish.

Olympics are memorable. We all have in a corner of our mind a moment or an image from one of these competitions. For instance, I clearly remember being stunned by French Judo hero and flag bearer David Douillet's pragmatism when he declared to journalists before the Sydney games that his games would be over on day #1 and that he was hoping to carry another gold medal on that opening day. Funny enough my first real life encounter with Olympians was on the very first morning of the games where I was to grasp the depth of this declaration. Bright and early, I had gone to the ExCel Arena, only a few hours after Her Majesty the Queen jumped in a parachute over London with James Bond by her side. My agenda was to watch a few judokas fight for glory on tatamis… Or, as my son best describes it, two people in pyjamas pushing each other.

Judo: hard sport, hard facts.

Imagine that a second: you step into the arena, bow to the referee and to your opponent who in a jiffy grabs your kimono and throws you to the ground. 4 seconds, and the Games are over. Literally swept under your feet. You have not even have taken part in the opening ceremony the night before because you wanted to be fully fit for your big day. I let you reflect on the distress that the competitors face in such a moment. "What matters is to take part" may be hard to swallow at that very moment. I was touched by the abyss that the athletes were facing, and even today I remember word for word what Team GB Euan Burton uncompromisingly declared after being beaten: "I cannot think of anything positive right now. I have the feeling to have failed myself. I failed my coaches and everyone with whom I trained. I failed my mom, my dad, my brother. I worked very hard for a quarter of a century to reach that point, so no, I don't think of anything positive to take away." All is said.

Ipanema-on-Thames

Just like the Parisians dreamt their games, the London Olympic committee had managed to present the competitions in that jewel box that London can be. As a sneak peek to what the Brazilian games may be in 2016, the Horseguard Parade square got enhanced with a gigantic sandbox for the Beach volleyball tournament. In spite of occasional showers, St James Park had never looked more like a seaside resort where a colourful crowd could cheer and dance on the instructions of a passionate commentator. This is also that the Modern Games.

It's coming home.

England is home to football. But if beach volleyball carries along the scents of Copacabana and its coconut trees, the Beautiful Game still smells nowadays like outdated sexism and machismo. I was therefore delighted to see Wembley, the temple of this local religion, filled with 80.000 enthusiasts cheering the sporting performances of the women football teams. That was a victory in itself.

But it was topped by the privileged opportunity to stay in the stadium long after the last kick and to see the athletes walk around this mythic location with their medals around the neck. As the stewards were pulling down the nets and the spectators were exiting the arena, the US players walked the pitch one more time, to make the moment last just a little more. Tobin Heath, the pious, stood still, her arms outstretched, her eyes closed, as if she wanted to absorb every vibration.

La Marseillaise as a finale.

And since I speak about unforgettable moments, how could I skip the performance by the Experts? The French handball team, who had failed during the preceding European championships, were not ready to give up on their Olympic title. I had the honour to watch the final from the same stand as the players' family and other members of the French delegation. It was extremely moving to see their wives in tears as their husband were reaching the highest step of the podium… You could think that this is strange as if anyone should be used to victories and celebrations it would be them: this handball team has indeed been nick-named The Experts following their surgical double world champion titles, two European championships and two Olympic gold medals in just 6 years… This proves that one never really gets accustomed to glory. And to support my point even further, I witnessed this surreal scene when Renaud Lavillenie, himself Olympic champion of Pole Vaulting since the previous night, asking Jérôme Fernandez, the team skipper, for his autograph. Just like any other spectator... except that he received a little comment in return: « now it's your turn to get a second one! » (note: Renaud Lavillenie has since broken the world record a few times and is obviously tipped to fulfil that prophecy in Rio).

As a French in London, my emotions reached their paramount on that last night of the Olympic fortnight. As I wrote it already on this blog, you may question sometimes your attachment to your home country, especially if like me you consider yourself as a citizen of the world, a privileged migrant. On that night the answer was unequivocal and can be checked with this little test: can you listen to this Marseillaise, sung by a whole stadium, without having a shiver in your back? I can't! This epidermal reaction is worth any pledge of allegiance:

In the end, I would say that during these Games, London has never been as welcoming and smiling. I was proud of MY town, of MY countries... I was proud to have been one of the many heart beats.

In the marsh-mellow

Spot the difference

Ever since I moved from Paris to London, my friends back there kept on asking me the trivial question: "what is the real difference between the two capitals?". I say trivial, because two different cities are by definition... well, "different". But fair enough, both cities have a certain appeal, an history, a reputation... They are attractive destinations for tourists. If both nations may have entertained centuries ago some bellicose relationships, since then the Entente Cordiale has warmed up. Exchanges between the two countries have been as frequent as a French teenager exchanging saliva with a British girl during a linguistic trip.

More recently many French people have started crossing the Channel, and no longer to discover a new mother tongue. If British retirees keep on investing in houses in France, it is more active a population that transit in the other direction. Some say it is for tax evasion, to embrace liberalism, to be offered more exciting job opportunities, to live in a multicultural environment... Many reasons are brought forward, some positive, some more dubious. But in light of that context it is understandable that people want to understand that exotic proximity. In fact, my personal appeal for that French-British relationship got me on TV a few years back, when Sky News invited me to comment on the French news that was that week abundant in the press outlet. An interesting experience...

But back to my initial question, what are the differences between both cities? After 8 years in the UK, I have now lived longer as a Londoner than a Parisian, and the disparities are becoming less and less obvious to me. I guess that is what one calls assimilation. When the difference becomes the new norm... That said, I remain French at core, and there is still every now and then a little event in my daily life that will make me smile. This happened last weekend for instance.

Wetland...

When you are the father of a couple kids, you are always on the look for new activities that will help you keep your sanity. Outdoor activities are great for that, because as Sigourney Weather pointed out in one of her films, "no one can hear you scream in space". Sympathetic friends directed us to the London Wetland centre, a marshland within walking distance to Central London which has been adapted for educational purposes for kids and other bird watching fans. You can walk around discover migrating species in a protect habitat, when 10 minutes before you were still in the middle of the traffic jam.

I realised then that this greenery was one of the key differences between London and Paris. In the latter you can walk in parks and squares, but they are nowhere near the size of Hyde Park or Richmond Park. Paris does also have a marshland... but the colourful birds there are of very different species...

Le Marais (The Marsh in French) is one of the oldest part of the city. It is tucked on right bank of the city, just off Ile de la Cite and the Hotel de Ville. It is the medieval part of town and was built upon what was then a wetland. Nowadays it is the gay-tho after having been the real pletzl. There are still some reminiscences of the Jewish past around Rue des Rosiers, where kosher restaurants and museum are available. The only surrounding humidity in that part of the city comes from sweating clubbers who are enjoying the Parisian night life to its full. Throughout the day (although not so much in the late morning) it is a vibrant part of town, with bars, restaurants, galleries, small boutique shops, hotels... And even if you are not a proud member of the gay community, the walk through these ancients cobbled streets with not-so-straight (pun not intended) buildings is a delight.

You will agree that although sharing the same terminology, both are very, very different experiences... The extra focus on the nature in London could also be the source of some misunderstandings for keen party animals. When a Parisian plans a Stag-Do he is probably not thinking of something as literal as his Richmond counterpart...

City of light(s)

Paris was originally nicknamed The City of Light because it was the European epicentre of enlightenment in the 18th century. Later on, from 1828, Paris began lighting the Champs-Elysées with gas lamps. It was the first city in Europe to do so, and so earned more broadly the nickname "La Ville-Lumière" or The City of Light.

This stop-motion video is a great showcase of that later definition with a scenic tour of the French capital by night and through the lens of its day and night glows... Enjoy!


PARIS, THE CITY OF LIGHT (FULL LENGTH HD VERSION) from Trak on Vimeo.

The Saturday Shot #27: let it fall.

It is this time of the year yet again! If autumn is usually synonymous of doom, gloom, spleen... For me it is an Ideal. Autumn first of all is a brilliant subject for photography. I loved walking the Japanese back-country a few years ago to capture its reddening. I like clicking around the parks in Paris or elsewhere to snap as the ground blends with the remainder of the canopy. More recently I have started enjoying sharing with my little one the exhilarating feeling to kick dead leaves around (a shared pleasure I can testify).

But one more reason for enjoying fall as our friends from the other side of the Atlantic refer to it... is that it precedes Winter! This year, more than ever, I have been looking forward to the first snow flake. Dreams of deep snow-covered slopes have been haunting me. Ski magazines have materialised on my bed-side table. Internet session history have logged more and more time on sites like this one or this one... I have always been impatient. This year will not be an exception.

And to conclude with another appropriate quote from my home country:

"Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower".  Albert Camus (1913-1960)

Paris vs. New York by Tony Miotto

When the Big Apple is compared to the City of Lights, that can be enlightening... And this animation by graphic designer Tony Miotto, is clearly a nice source of light. Nice execution on the cultural differences and references of two of most famous cities in the world.

And if you like that split-screen graphic approach, you may enjoy a similar stance on Franco-American relationships with this video (shot with a Nokia phone), and which describes a transatlantic love story.

Splitscreen: A Love Story

One ocean, two countries...

At a time when French politicians trust the front page of tabloids with their kinky habits, it is good to remind that French lovers are not (only) about S&M, role plays and threesomes... Call me a sentimental, but there is also that weird thing called "romance".

...One love story.

Shot entirely on the Nokia N8 mobile phone, the following video won the Nokia Shorts competition 2011:

Splitscreen: A Love Story by JW Griffiths tells the story of an American and a French who live parallel lives on each side of the pond until they one day collide... Interestingly enough in London.

Beyond the performance of shooting a split screen video (a technique brought back to fashion with the TV series 24) with a phone, there is the refreshing story telling. It may well be the hot summer, but it feels good to see that love is the air.

This is your Captain speaking

On the road again.

I am about to go back to Seattle for work, and I am quite adamant that I won't let myself get stranded this time again. It seems that 2010 was jinxed, but that 2011 is having greater, more positive omens. So far I have traveled to Iceland, France, Sweden, Germany... and have not been delayed or stuck once. Nevertheless my colleagues are now taking bets on what would prevent me from coming back on time, and I must say that the odds are odd: volcanic eruption 10:1, snow storm 11:2, grasshopper invasion 5:2... We will see.

Beautiful sky.

In any case I must say that I will do my best to enjoy that flight. Over ten hours without email or phone calls, that is nowadays a luxurious parenthesis. However in the same time, some prefer to take that opportunity to be busy with their photography. Click, click, click... Photographer and entrepreneur Nate Bolt has played around with his camera during a San Francisco to Paris flight, shooting almost 2500 pictures to create a 2-minute stop motion video of the trip. Nicely edited:
SF to Paris in Two Minutes from Beep Show.

To read further:

• Still moving, or how still images with a bit of creativity can be very impactful.


• Bunn-invasion, an article featuring a stop-motion advert for Sony Bravia which hides a bit more than just a unique selling proposition...

Art can change the world. Or can't it?

Smile.

I have already mentioned the work done by JR, this French photographer, who is using his camera as a political device. Working anonymously, pasting his giant images on buildings, trains, bridges, the often-guerrilla artist JR forces us to see each other.

Traveling to distant, often dangerous places - the slums of Kenya, the favelas of Brazil - he infiltrates communities, befriending inhabitants and recruiting them as models and collaborators. He gets in his subjects’ faces with a 28mm wide-angle lens, resulting in portraits that are unguarded, funny, soulful, real, that capture the sprits of individuals who normally go unseen. The blown-up images pasted on urban surfaces – the sides of buildings, bridges, trains, buses, on rooftops -- confront and engage audiences where they least expect it. Images of Parisian thugs are pasted up in bourgeois neighborhoods; photos of Israelis and Palestinians are posted together on both sides of the walls that separate them.

JR's most recent project, "Women Are Heroes," depicts women "dealing with the effects of war, poverty, violence, and oppression” from Rio de Janeiro, Phnom Penh, Delhi and several African cities. And JR has been granted a TED Prize for his insideoutproject.net...

Inspire.

Ah, TED, an acronym originally for Technology/Entertainment/Design is a lot more than just three letters. This is a constant source of inspiration plugging yourself in anything from nanotechnology to art, from politicians to philosophers... All shared never heard before thoughts.

Enjoy JR's point of view:




To read further:

• Smile my brother, smile. An article about JR's work in Middle East.
• White men can't jump, an article on this humorous stance on cultural differences

Exhibited, I am exhibited...

A few months back, I announced that I was now published and that my short story was available to the public... Well, a good news does not come alone, and I have now the chance to have some of my pictures exhibited in France too.

From January 8th to February 20th, alongside Juliette Robert and Jean-Remi Baudot, we are exhibiting a series of portraits at Centre Culturel Jean Villar in Marly-le-Roi, France. So if you are around, feel free to drop by. You will have a nice dive in South East Asia, Japan, Africa and other faces from some more exotic places like the UK.

Full details:
Centre Culturel Jean Villar, 44 allée des Épines / 78160 Marly-le-Roi / 01 39 58 74 87
Free entrance - Monday to Friday 2pm to 7pm, Saturday 2pm to 6pm
Map to there.

To get a closer look at my portfolio, just have look at my flickr account.

EDIT: the exhibition book is available on Blurb. To preview or order a copy of it simply click here http://www.blurb.com/books/1111429

As it says on the tin!

Cheap flights, cheap cheats.

I am a citizen of the world and as a result I tend to travel quite a bit. Eurostar is my favourite transportation mean for Paris and some areas of my home country that are well connected by the French railways. Going from city centre to city centre without the hassle of commuting is just perfect for me as I don't have a car. But over the last few years, low-cost airlines have offered me new opportunities and I can now hop on to different cities in no time, and at very affordable prices.

Or at least that is what it says on the tin, or in this specific instance on the billboard displayed in my tube station.

Because everyone that has used the like of Ryanair or Easyjet know that the announced prices are hiding some further costs that make the final bill a "bit" more salty than expected. And that is what really made me smile on this promotional billboard. It is neither a fantastic creative nor a piece of art, but at least it cannot be condemned for being misleading...

The last city Monarch can fly you to for a mere £63 is Larnaca, in Greece. This sunny destination, once read with a French eye, suddenly reveals another truth: for £63, you could fly to the French equivalent of the "TheScama" or the "TheSwindlinga"...

Private joke or revelation... Maybe just a communication mishap, but in any case a grin on my face. And if that is not enough for you, here is a little video that will certainly touch most of you who have read about the intention of the above-mentioned airlines to make you pay for using their toilet, their seats...

To read further:

• Oral sex... With a fork! or a cautious reminder of what you put in your mouth.
• The Italian job , a video on language barriers and other misunderstandings
• A brief story of time , an article on what you can learn in and from the tube

Big fishes, in shallow waters.

Worrying commute.

As you know I am French, and therefore travel quite often between the UK and my home country. If I fly sometimes when heading to the French Alps, my preferred transport method is the Eurostar. Convenient and carbon-neutral, it has the great advantage to drive you from central London to central Paris in a couple hours. The only thing is the consciousness of going through the Channel under the water. Probably influenced by this scene from the Jaws movie where the shark attacks the aquarium tube full of visitors, I cannot refrain myself from associating the moment we enter the chunnel with the idea that there are stuff going on over my head.

It's a bit like the monster in the closet story from your childhood. Now that you are a grown-up you may be aware there is nothing to worry about in your wardrobe, but you cannot avoid double-checking... Well, that is also what I thought before a friend brought to my attention that my apprehensions might be somehow legitimate.

Nessie on a trip down?

The ‘Association of Maritime Research’ was created in 1901 in order to promote a better understanding of deep-sea life and the curious and unknown phenomena that occur in the depth of the oceans and on the sea- bed. Their approach to research is to gather testimonials and question scientists specialising in marine research in an attempt to find a scientific explanation for the various sightings.

The AMR’s intention is to communicate their findings to the general public and enable them to participate interactively in the continuing research.

On 20th April 2009, it seems that a French couple who was enjoying a walk at the Boulogne Harbour, captured a large shape on camera . Intrigued, the guy has zoomed in to focus more clearly and saw a huge, dark, rapidly moving object, which disappeared within a matter of seconds. Something of an amateur expert about the sea and marine life, he knew this was not simply the outline of a whale or any similar creature and was convinced that he had sighted some phenomenon as yet unseen by man. He decided to contact the AMR who are pursuing further investigations.

Subsequently the AMR has collected a substantial number of further testimonials from different areas. The strong similarities between the descriptions seem to confirm the existence of a ‘gigantic’ and extremely ‘fast-moving’ creature off our shores.

Of course we have all heard about those urban legends, and in this case marine legends. The Scots have been chasing Nessie for years. The Tibetans have their Yeti. The French Alps the Dahu... So why could not the people from Boulogne have their own beast. This could maybe explain the scars on Frank Ribery's face, since he was born there.

In any case, the AMR is calling for all witnesses of sightings of any strange phenomena in the English Channel to contact the AMR via their website www.thechannelcreature.com. A reward is even being offered for evidence leading directly to proof of this creature’s existence. I don't know you, but I will certainly keep my hears open when I will cross the Channel. That might help me get rid of my fears. Maybe not.


To read further:

• Vini, Vedi, the Ch'ti..., an article about people from the North.
• Ghost train, an article about an awkward Eurostar trip.

Parisian, head of crustaceans...

Le Parisien is a regional newspaper with national reach - actually adapted in the rest of the Hexagon under the title "Aujourd'hui en France".
For a few years they have used a tagline that says "Le Parisien, il vaut mieux l'avoir en journal" (The Parisian, better read than met) and used very funny TV commercials that bring that line to life. The latest released is now available and enclosed to this post.

Although it is still using the same creative vein, it is still very good. The idea is simple: Parisians have a reputation and these ads capitalise on their worst cliches. They are gross, unfriendly, unpolite, don't like tourists and proudly support a football team that is avoiding relegation every year... So yes, definitely, you'd better read the Parisien.

La tour Eiffel - Le Parisien

Note: On the billboard... "Kiss my ass if you read this text"

More about The Parisian excellence here. And if you wonder why I came up with this post title, you probably don't speak French... So here is a quick rational: we have a riming pun in French that says "Parisien, tete de chien. Parigot, tete de veau" (literally "Parisian dog face, Parisians veal face"). It does not mean anything per se, but simply mock the Capital indigens. So tried to give back the same idea with an English rime...

What if?

A dream come true.

What if it was true after all? As I was rushing to jump into my train, I snapped this little image. I loved the subtle reference from British Rail to this iconic book. You don't know what I am refering to? Then you are probably from another planet...

Anyhow, if like me you appreciate to come across such cultural references in the streets and you happen to be in Paris, then wander in Montmartre. Amélie's café is of course on every uptodate guides but for proper contemporary litterature look out for Garou-Garou, the passe-muraille. The Marcel Aymé's iconic hero, an extremly boring civil servant who was able to walk through walls, is also evoked on the eponymous square. How? A bronze statue is literally coming out of the wall...

Wealth of the world

The other night I was visiting a friend in Hampstead, and I bumped into a scene which was for me so typical of London theatre of life.

Social clash on a pavement?

Imagine you have just finished your groceries at Tesco Express in what is probably one of the poshest area of Greater London. You have kept your eyes wide-open in every aisle in case a famous footballer or a pop singer was shopping at the same time, but without success. And then after cashing out, you step out of the shop and here stand a fellow trying to sell copies of the Big Issue.

Nothing special there would you say, but what was was right in the background. Next to the newspaper boy was parked a massive Rolls-Royce with chauffeur, someone waiting in the back seat. What a visual chock for me! But apparently no one seems to either care or be surprised.

Social mix in urbanism.

But this reaction is in fact totally understandable (maybe not acceptable though). In London poverty and extreme wealth are cohabiting in every neighbourhood. When you walk in fancy places with large houses, you are never far from a social building. This leads to surrealistic situation like the one evoked above, but you can replace the RR by Ferraris, Porsches or other Aston Martins.

In France on the contrary, people of the same social background tend to agglomerate in the same places. And this is a vicious circle because since social areas lose property value and will consequently attract people who can afford it. Or in fact those cannot afford to live elsewhere.

The smell of money.

The recent events we have experienced with Les Banlieues tend to plead in favour of the UK system of social melting pot. But from a moral point of view it is disturbing, especially in the French mindset. You could argue and many will agree with you that the French approach is hypocritical as it consists in parking away the difficulties instead of handling them... But to be fair, the principle of the Banlieues were due to be short-lived. On the other hand, exposing external signs of wealth to neighbours who are, on their end, struggling is hard to swallow.

I assume that the success of such an approach relays on the perception of money in a society. In France there has always been an awkward relationship towards money. It is dubious to have money in my country, and it is often linked to negative perceptions and feelings like jealousy and envy. In a liberal country like the UK, money and success are not criticized, they are source of inspiration.

Anyhow, this is a major cultural difference and it is deeply rooted in the collective unconsciousness of each nation. This is probably why I am never at ease when I am facing such a situation... What about you?

Computer Generated Tourism

January is the month of yearly reviews, a month during which companies and journalists look back at the previous 12 months and consider the highlights of the year and try to isolate trend and learnings. Back in December I came across Allocine podcast, a website that provides everything about cinema, from trailers to schedules to forums and news. I immediately subscribed to both the British and French editions and have since been catching up with the latest movie gossips while in the tube.

One mouse-click to Paris

Last week, in its daily show, Allocine was coming back on the 2007 box-office results. I then realised that the feature which outperformed all movies in France last year was Ratatouille, the CGI movie by Disney's Pixar. Beyond the cute little story about tolerance, self-confidence and culinary art, this animation has been doing a great job to rehabilitate long outcast rats (which became the #1 pets in 2007) and to promote Paris through magnificent scenes. I must admit that Pixar artists did really a great job to magnify the beauty of the City of Lights, and even managed to make me feel home-sick for a while...

But the little rat was not the only cartoon to make its way to the top of the charts: the yellow icons of the Generation X did a great job too. Marge, Homer, Bart, Lisa and Maggie, a.k.a. the Simpsons, were not to be missed when they made their way from the TV screen to the cinemas. Some could argue that Hollywood did a little too much to promote this film with their advertising, experiential marketing, PR, digital communication... Did they overkill it? I don't think so, but you must acknowledge that they were everywhere. Even in Paris, for the Fashion Week.

The Yellow Wave

In 2007, The Devil could no longer wear Prada: it was so last year. So he must have read Harper’s Bazaar August 07 edition to renew his wardrobe. The magazine partnered with Matt Groening to promote the highlights of this year catwalks. And the results is fantastic: how does Homer look in Karl Lagerfeld? Does Jean-Paul Gaulthier suit Marge? And what about Lanvin necklaces on Lisa?

"The Simpsons Go to Paris with Linda Evangelista" from Harper's Bazaar
(more similar illustrations by Julius Preite here, and real life collection here)

So it seems that 2007 was all about animation and being seen in Paris if you wanted to be a cinematographic success. And yet, another cartoon made a "carton" last year in France (sorry for the pun... "faire un carton", literally "hit the cardboard target" or be a smashing hit). But this one did not take place in Paris, nor was it yellow, and it was certainly not generated by thousands of rendering machine... It is a black and white animation describing the true story of an outspoken Iranian girl, Marjane Astrapi, forced to leave her country by the Islamic Revolution and the Iraq-Iran war.

Although more modest than the two American blockbusters', I think Persepolis success was a great performance... Not only was this film acclaimed by the industry with several awards in Cannes, Toronto, NY and possibly at the Academy Awards where it will represent France, but it also met a great response from the public. Politically-engaged, artistic independent films still have a word to say... And that is exciting.

So if you could not see the film in cinema, you will soon be able get the DVD or if you prefer to read the original comic novel it is available on Amazon (sorry, I literally read it in a night, not having time to add it to the "On my bedside table" section of this blog):

Spray the word

Paint, play, write... express yourself!

Recently I wrote about politicians behaving like stage artists... But the opposite is also quite true: art has indeed always been a magnificent vehicle of political engagement. Think of Dali with his painting about the Spanish civil war ; think of Emile Zola with his "J'accuse" article during the Dreyfus case ; think of Moliere, Voltaire and co. Artists use their skills to express intimate thoughts and feelings, and you are to admit that politics can easily tap in both categories, so no wonder that their art express their political consciousness...

The street is ours

In this article I wanted to focus on two contemporary street artists who share more than a graphic technique: Miss Tic in Paris and Banksy in London. Both can be qualified as engaged graffiti artists since both express their convictions through stencils on the walls of their own capitals (and beyond). Their artworks use a subtle blend of graphic design and wit to visualise some profound ideas: anti-capitalist, feminism, anti-war, anti-establishment or pro-freedom....

A feminist stencil by Miss Tic: "Of a mother, I only have the tongue" . For more of her art click here

An anti-capitalist stencil by Banksy. For more of his art click here and here

I find extremely interesting to see that on both sides of the Channel, two artists are having a similar subversive approach. In a world of consensus and political correctness, I like the fact that some people out there provoke reactions by pointing out the flaws of the system in a nice, witty, visual... way.

And it changes the way you approach a city. Since I came across the first Banksy stencils, I have been walking around London looking for the next one. They are always brilliantly located, taking full advantage of the surroundings. Alternatively, if you are not keen on walking around with your eyes staring at brick walls, you can always opt for a retrospective book... I can only recommend this volume which is not only inspiring and thought-provoking but also a nice coffee-table object.

So come on, reveal the urban guerrillero that sleeps in you and spray out the word!

Update 31/03/07: in order to maintain some sort or parity between France and the UK, I wanted to refer to an article that presents the French scene of street artists. It is to be read in Colour of Bohemia. Thanks Lisa for this insightful coverage.

Highland, High time

Introducing Cedgruik Encore, my Second Life Avatar

I must confess I have a passion for Scotland. People who have met my avatar in Second Life understand what I mean... It is not only due to the Highlands reminding me of my home place with their shredded landscapes, but also because of all the iconography that is related to this country. The fighting spirit. The rugged but determined personalities. The mysteries. The legends. The clans...

And talking about iconography and legends, I have come across a piece of communication from the Scottish Tourist Board that pulls a new kind of strings. "New" at least to me:

To promote its region among female audiences, Visitscotland will capitalise this year again on its human resources: the Scots. A second edition of this local beauty contest will encourage women from 13 countries to vote for their preferred kilt-wearing model:

In 2006, VisitScotland introduced Date A Hot Scot, with twenty of Scotland's hottest eligible men profiled on a website, dateahotscot.com, on which women from 6 countries around the world were invited to vote for their favourite, and in turn win an unforgettable trip to Scotland for them and their girlfriend. Such was the incredible success of the campaign -with the website attracting a staggering 85,000 visitors- that Date A Hot Scot is back! This time VisitScotland is extending the campaign out to 13 countries, meaning that double the amount of women will be given the chance to vote for their Hot Scot, the chance to win yet another fabulous dream trip to Scotland. Dateahotscot.com will also be full of information on how to plan a trip to Scotland -a country brimming with fun and romance, making it the perfect destination for single women worldwide.

It is not the first time that good-looking, though tough, men are used to attract women to slightly repulsive places. For instance, Paris rugby club, Stade Francais, launched a few years ago a calendar featuring their players, naked in order to attract women to the games. This has been an absolute hit among both female and gay populations. But it was only one of numerous initiatives by Max Guazzini to democratise this sport and attract a wider audience. Inspired by US sports, the Stade Francais president has changed many of this traditional sport paradigms: remote-controlled buggy brings the ball before a conversion, players wearing flourished or pink tunic, giant karaoke at half time, Miss Europe bringing the official ball on the ground...

The success is obvious. This week-end, for instance, and for the fifth time in its history, the Parisian club has played in Stade de France instead of its regular stadium at Jean Bouin. With a 80,000 attendance for a regular season league match (as much as for the World Cup final in 1998), it clearly demonstrates that, thanks to Guazzini's efforts, this sport now reaches beyond the traditional South-Western enthusiasts. It has become a show many want to attend.

Let's hope that the Scottish approach will be as successful as the Parisian one. I cannot wait to see the remake of Brave Heart as a musical. I can already picture William Wallace rising over the crowd and starting to sing Mel Brooks' song "We are the men in tights"!?! Or maybe not, after all there is a legend around what happens below the kilts... And it should remain a legend.

Talking about stereotypes

Stereotypes are an easy vehicle for communication because they are shortcuts. They allow hyperbolas. When you have a story to tell in 30 seconds, the length of an average TV commercial, you are keen on means to optimise your time.

But as every shortcut, stereotypes lose a great deal of information by reducing a great diversity to an average or distorted image...

Beheaded people dancing in the Glass Gallery of Versailles Castle... Treated like Royalty!

And talking about cutting short (sorry, for the poor joke), here is a campaign micro-website for Paris, aimed at British tourists... It obviously plays on loads of stereotypes since it is a guide to cop the "Parisian attitude". So enjoy and have fun!

Swim the dump.

We are all potential Mountain Dwellers.

Last night I was heading up to my welcoming bed after a harassing 15 hour-work day when I stopped on my way home. I was standing on this bridge over the Thames and decided to glance down at the water turbulences. Yes, it is possible to leave in a Valley, and still to be able to look down to look at a different perspective...

I find it quite relaxing and it actually helps me clear my mind.

I was thus looking at the waves, the swans, the swirls, the foam, the wood pieces, the plastic bags, the floating tyre... Realising suddenly the value for money the people who pay a premium price to live with a Thames view are getting. I was suddenly picturing the flat adverts on the Foxtons' website: "stunning penthouse flat with view on London's floating litter".

The fool on the stream.

I smiled at this sudden burst of honesty from the Real Estate agents. And a second later I remembered that a few weeks from that I had seen someone actually swimming his way through the waters of the UK most famous river. A fool I thought at that time. A hero I should say now.

Father of three children, Andy Nation, 55, has swum an epic 13-day journey to cover the 236.5 km that separate the source of the Thames in Lechlade, Gloucestershire, from Teddington Lock in West London. Reporting his ups-and-downs, the HEN News mentioned:

A pleasure boat went past too quickly and Andy swallowed quite a bit of
water. He was very ill the next day and, in fact, he was so ill that we
thought at one point we might have to abandon the whole thing.

Surprising? You must admit that it would have been a pity. Andy was indeed hoping to raise £150,000 for the Anthony Nolan Trust.

Swimming Chirac.

Back in France we have our own Andy Nation. Nowadays he is even our President. At that time Mayor of Paris, Jacques Chirac promised that, as a proof of his commitment against La Seine pollution, he would have swum in the river before the end of his term.

As far as I remember, the only time I have seen our President wearing a bathing suit was during his vacations in the West Indies... His current successor at the City Hall, Mr. Bertrand Delanoe, found a way around it with his now famous Paris Plage event (Paris Beach), he decided to host some swimming pools by the Seine. It thus gives you the impression to bath among the Bateaux Mouche, a few strokes from Notre Dame.

By the way, funny name they have these boats. "Bateaux Mouche" litteraly translates in "Fly Boats", as if the tourists were a swarm of flies trying to escape from drawning on a floating excrement... Suddenly Paris favourite cruises become less romantic, doesn't they?

Anyway, this comparison between the two sides of the Channel led me to wonder: would our politicians be less daring than the British? I am to say that it is very likely...

But on the other hand, if you remember this analogy from Johnny Clegg's song: "you have to swim with sharks in the sea, you have to live with the crooked politicians", do we really want to come across any politicians while fishing in your favourite river?