The Sweetest and Saddest Accordion Player in Paris
Every major pedestrian street in Paris has it's usual cast of characters. If you're lucky enough to live on rue Mouffetard, you get your own accordion player. This is mine:
I listened to him from afar because he scared me. On his day off (Mondays) he sat outside my building with his other street cronies drinking and being loud.
A girl steers clear of such business.
But I was desperate to paint him for one of my letters, and in order to do so, I'd need a close up photo of him. And in order to get that, I'd have to... gulp... get close up.
It took me months.
Finally, I put on my big girl pants, strolled over with my coins and asked if I could take a few photos. He smiled and complied. I wonder if he recognized me. I've walked by him, oh, a hundred times, but when you live so close to each other, a high value is placed on providing each other urban solitude so who knows.Anyway, I tossed the coins in the pile and, like a Zoltar arcade machine, he started up.
I snapped my photos and listen to his serenade. Truth be told I'd heard him play it a hundred times in my comings and goings, but this time it seemed sweeter somehow. I thanked him, he smiled and we both moved on with our days and lives.I painted up a letter about him and Nuit Blanche, the summer night in Paris when musicians play on the streets of Paris all night long.
It's available in the shop along with other letters in the archive, which I have finally FINALLY completed. Whew. self pats self on backOnly today, a year later, when reviewing my photos of him, did I notice this one:
Those sad eyes made me want to cry.
