breath in, breath out. yes.

i have tried three times to kill her, and each time she retreats into that old gap between the wall and the floor. but i don’t want to kill her anymore. i’m trying non-violence. i just don’t want her biting me in my sleep. would she do that?

every night i shine a flashlight in the corner.
every other night she is:
not there.

it’s now 2:30am, let’s be reasonable.
and let’s look at this situation through the camera.

i have traveled and slept in poorly-insulated buildings in a rain forest,
how on earth can i let this bother me?

The train was full of sleeping Luxemburgers on their way to Nice. I found an empty couchette with an open door, went in and locked it. I always feel a surge of giddiness when I enter an empty place, go inside and lock the door behind me. Alone in the dark, I put my feet up and smile at the moonlit morning passing through the window, proud to have survived the pain of waking at an hour I usually identify with endings, not beginnings.

In Marseille, the only people I see are street cleaners and those still living Saturday night.

Walking around the old port, I watch the light change. The Fort Saint-Nicolas de Marseille is behind me on a hill, the sun already touching it. I go as high into the old citadel as I can, following the sun’s rise.

At the end of the 12th century, a chapel was built here. Some quick math on my 21st century cell phone tells me there have been about 127, 750 sunrises since the first stone was placed on this hill. As I pull a pain au chocolat out of my camera bag, I wonder how many boats have passed, how many people have stood here and what they ate for breakfast.

Le Vieux Port, Marseille, from the Fort Saint Nicolas at 8:10am

I went out wandering because the light was spectacular,
colored rose by the mistral.

why am I afraid of this creepy little thing?
she is totally out-matched,
those eight skinny little legs…

oh, but don’t they look menacing? at that angled posture
and the supernatural way she just floats there…

she lives quietly in a corner of my studio
though occasionally goes missing
(I wonder where she is, as I glance up at the ceiling)

looking at her closely, I can’t help but make the “ewe” face

yet I want to approach her, get closer,
so I will stop being afraid of
this creepy little being.

Ms Daddylonglegs holding court in the corner

Months later he is sitting suddenly in front of me, smiling, eager to talk, having just returned from Italy. A new resident artist at 59.

He often has a smile like the tip of an iceberg of a story.
A story he doesn’t reveal to me. Not in words.

Manuel Baldassare, musician and painter currently working at 59 rue de Rivoli, 6th floor

As they were standing in my line of fire, we took a couple of photos together. This is number two. After seeing number one, I said let’s do another, parce que j’ai des grosses fesses. Hence, the posture of Aliocha…

I adore these guys. They are good friends, talented artists, inspiring human beings and they make me laugh!

Moi, Aliocha, Thierry Hodebar, Francesco, Slimane Hamadache

Please go check it out. I recapped my experience with the portfolio reviews, the exhibit that took my breath away, the reasons I love Arles, and well, some photos too of course…

(Thanks Damon!)

every night she bangs her head against the walls,
ignoring my indications to the open window.
because there is no light outside to draw her.

yet there is little light inside,
which could explain why she flew into my closed mouth,
alarming my eyes.

this moth was found sleeping eternal in the floorboards,
in the same situation where the lumbering crunchy bug just died,
at the hands of a q-tip and an espadrille.

maybe tomorrow i will not read phantom of the opera before bed.
i will finish it now.

Château Voirin à Beauduc, tolerantly worn away by the waves

More on Arles, coming after a full-night’s sleep…

There was a mouse in my room last night.

If I ever had a doubt about whether I could be a conflict photographer, my reaction to this little rodent sealed it.

Where did that scream come from? Me?
Was that you?

That said, I was not the one on the chair. My roommate stood next to me, on a chair, with a broom, while I in my big protective boots went into the corner with a bucket. It’s all we could come up with in this wee-little-morning hour.

At this moment, it did occur to me to take a photo, but I had to concentrate.

I do regret not recording audio because in the end, it was neither the broom nor bucket that did the job, but the two women screaming and laughing that frightened her out the door.

I have never lived with a mouse, and don’t plan on it, but this morning I remembered my first unfortunate mouse encounter. And the resulting photos. It was the first time I turned the camera on myself when something upsetting happened, to see its reflection on my face.

I had rented an apartment not too far from here, then never moved in. This flat was a lesson in many ways. It was there I learned the smell of dead mouse. I can’t say for sure if I’m the one who poisoned it and prefer not to dwell there.

I’m not proud of this, but because it makes me laugh, I share it . . .

Heavy-hearted and skeptical mouse control, and hideous kitchen tiles

Alone with death in the room