tulip/paris, 1950, robert frank

i cleaned our apartment on sunday. and as i was cleaning i had this horrible thought that never, for the rest of my life, will i stop this process of cleaning. things are always getting dirty, getting messy, being less like how they started and always tending toward unideal.

all that we know and see and touch, all that is tangible,
it's all in a constant state of disrepair.

but there are moments in time that sometimes get captured that seem to articulate just the opposite and seem to hint at the fact that that's not necessarily the case and that maybe things can tend toward the idyllic.

i was in new york almost two years ago and i saw robert frank's photographs for the first time at an exhibit at the met.
it feels as though most of his photographs capture those sorts of moments.
and this is my favourite one.

i like it because paris in winter is grey.
but this man has, hidden in his hand, a fresh flower.
and i don't think it's for no one.