PARIS AND BACK

I went back to University after a 16 year break to complete my architecture course and along the way came across Walter Benjamin. Interesting critiques of modern culture (from before I was born)

For example this description of The Angel of History... "The storm irresistibly propels him into the future to which his back is turned, while the pile of debris before him grows skyward. This storm is what we call progress."

I guess you could say he had a love-hate relationship with modernity, progress, mass media etc. Rang a bell for me.

 

His big unfinished project used the Paris Arcades as a structuring device to link together disparate ideas from high art to fashion, advertising to technology. At least that's my interpretation.

I guess I am also trying to tie together disparate threads from my life and interests as I move further into my seventies. So I was pleased to stroll along some of the "passages covert de Paris" and think about the I'll fated Walter as I drank a small glass of IPA.

 

 

This little circle-in-square church, dating back to the 1670s, was on my walking route, last full day in Paris. The portico, in effect, seven columns wide, with the middle one missing. (Remind me to keep an eye out for other similar examples)

The mansard either side of the pediment make it look very Parisian to my eye, especially with the oval dormers. It doesn't seem to be especially well looked after, but look how well stone holds up after 350 years.

 

Inside there's a fair bit of gold leaf, but it manages to remain calm and serene. Splendid colour scheme in my opinion. I don't pray, but I have started sitting quietly for a while inside churches that I visit. Don't think I've quite got this right yet, but it does seem important.

Then there's the dome: the uplifting space, pulling our senses into the heavens, a metaphor for the consciousness of a higher power, or in my case of transcendant values and ways of life passed down the generations.

 

 

Back in Dubai for sure. A long enough gap to feel strange, but dropping back into my routine with subconscious ease.

Aims achieved.
• Body and soul Refreshed.
• Start to imagine the return of the prodigal son after 40+ years.

International City has been my home for so long. I have transitioned from the desperate economic migrant (putting his children through university after watching his adopted country slide towards the status of a failed state) to the resigned hermit living in a dormitory suburb as old age creeps quietly closer. 

 

 

The pictures here show the seedy side. Broken pavements and tragically poor workmanship, socks on the line through the ever-present desert dust, with a backdrop of more apartments for diaspora hopefuls.

I will miss these signs of human frailty when finally I move back to the UK. And of course I will miss the generous size of my apartment, the earning power, many things.

For now it's back to the old routine with a fresh eye and a spring in the step, continuing to think about buildings, cities, culture, history, the way we live our lives on the shoulders of generations past.