How sweet it is, when it is stormy and rain inundates the city, to witness from a sheltered spot, safe from wind and water, the comings and goings of those who are outdoors.
The difference between rain-drenched “landscapes” and “scenes” is that of ritual silence and sonorous pantomime; just as between a city magnified by libations, moved by the elements, and a place where mysterious forces perturb its inhabitants, creating a worried choreography, dispersing them along sidewalks or upon striped crosswalks.
In these photos, it is often pouring rain. It is raining on every umbrella in the city. I could say, as in Apollinaire’s poem: “it is raining you as well, marvelous encounters of my life”. But that would be too pretty, too prettified, or too simple. I prefer to write, in a more confused way: it is raining you, sparks of time, scattered snapshots, emotions springing from the beating heart of life.
