Only in Paris can the scavenging of two hot pink plastic file/magazine holders from a pile of sidewalk trash evolve into a scattered performance piece on a stroll through the Oberkampf area and along the Canal Saint-Martin. And because it was not “choreographed” as such, I recorded the moments in a rather desultory manner. [My older son was more thorough with his shooting and we encouraged him to exhibit the series at some suitably edgy art venue...eventually.]
Outside a second hand store on a side street, a pair of bright orange plastic chairs faced off the smaller pink intruders on the sunny sidewalk, creating a situation worth investigating by the store mascot, who thankfully did not attempt to mark our precious pink boxes as his own. We petted him, poked around inside a bit [mostly mid-last-century collectibles], dismantled our installation at this colourful location and continued on our way.
This was when we were lured into a short passage by a sweet-looking girl all in pink walking with her brother beside a tantalizingly bright pink wall. They were willing to indulge us and maneuvered their scooter together in a tricky fashion between the grounded pink boxes acting as directional brackets to all this pinkness. And who says children nowadays have no sense of humour! By amusing such adult eccentrics out to prove that there is life for inanimate objects after their undignified relegation to the garbage [albeit Parisian garbage], these children have an innate perception of the necessity to flow with the moment and to emerge from this little laneway somewhat wiser from their encounter with strangers bearing pink things.
We rested the boxes on a pink window ledge for a few minutes so we could examine certain details in this meticulously clean alley that was perhaps once a dumping ground according to its name. There was an old pink political sticker touting Ségolène Royal for Présidente on a metal post at the corner, a yellow sign asking for SILENCE on a wall, and a red bar indicating 500 m inside a window. Boxes back in hand, we were on our way again.
How could we resist hanging our pink pair onto something as innocuous as a traffic sign, especially with the brilliant colour juxtaposition of the graphic blue and white arrow above the pair of green and white striped posts. It was apparent that our hot pink boxes had found their ideal masculine mates in those sturdy twin-green barricades. We left them to hang out for a while, get to know each other, perhaps even perform a surreptitious double pas de deux before we return to pry them away from potentially promising relationships. But in the pursuit of ART and following a gathering momentum, we must move on to our next stage set.
Along the Canal Saint-Martin, we found some pétanque players willing to roll their balls through an obstacle course of our two well-placed pink boxes. They were not fazed by this impromptu innovation to their game rules, and were gracious to experiment while patiently ignoring our non-instructions. We were not invited to participate though, and could only stand around so long to observe their slow and precise movements.
Tiring of playing with little balls, the pink boxes found a racy motor-cycle to hang off of. Their jaunty placement on the rear view mirrors was a bold and precarious move for such breakable material, and fortunately the owner of the bike did not return to see such desecration to his macho machine, or we might have lost our precious boxes to the canal’s green waters. Hmm…we did not think to try floating them as well…
Spotting a boy skateboarding nearby, we thought we would provide him with a challenging jump to execute on his skateboard. The pink boxes were gamed and stood very still together, hoping he will clear them without a crash. We were a little nervous of an accident – he is quite young – but the boy was a pro and pulled it off with nary an acknowledgment to our admiration or even to our presence.
By now, we were ready to head home after so much creative and stimulating activities with a couple of boxes. There was discussion of their fate. Do we adopt them or free them again… [their pedigree was sound - purveyed through Habitat for 13 euros each, according to the sticker on one of their bottoms]. They were undamaged and still in a fairly pristine condition in spite of their adventurous day. They were a pretty colour, and they could be put to good use.
As you can see, they ended up coming home with us, [provided that I would be the one to give them a good bath and made sure that they were thoroughly clean before inserting any files or magazines into them...assigning them with their original purpose in life once more!]
I set them out on the window ledge to dry where they rested contentedly back to back, and the pink glow that they emitted was proof that they were happy with their new home. [And because they did not really jibe with the rest of the decor, I made Monsieur L promise that he would not send them away behind my back.]
