For every great moment of history, there is at least one great journey of struggle, of self doubt, of fear, and of sadness. After all of these moments have passed, hope lands, and one can begin to push forward, to move past what has happened, and begin again at what can be. For all the darkness in the world, is worthy of a new beginning, an eye opening fresh, sweet start. The phoenix will once again rise from its ashes, and fly free through a world which will be beautiful once more. A world which will awaken to its wrongs, accept them, and form new scripture which will never, ever, allow such a thing to happen again to another innocent and living being.

Every time I am engulfed into a story on film, something comes alive again. 

An image is never black and white. It is black and white and grey and cream, and a million shades in between. Look back to a time when film was black and white, a time without special effects, and without photoshop and HD, a story speaks through. A story is not only able to speak through, but no longer fighting to speak against all else. 

As I sat before the Arc de Triomphe, watching, as the sun dropped from the sky, and the light poured through this great monument of Paree, I found myself wondering…

What the Romans could do with light was a powerful thing. The way they manipulated light altered your way of thought with its mystical substance, because light when affected can be used to evoke a feeling of beyond, a feeling that there is something greater than you. Light is this powerful instrument of spirituality, which the Romans understood and used to their advantage. It is as if the heavens cascade from above, a brilliant real life advertisement for Christianity. The medium was tamed to their message. 

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NB: This Arc was designed by a French architect who studied in Rome. 

All it takes to make it snow in Rome, is to shake up a snow globe. 

It is the moments which simply happen that are so perfectly unstaged and perfectly wonderful. I find so much in this world that everything is so art directed down to that little fake crease on the page that was creased twenty times to get the right looking “accidental” crease, that we’ve forgotten what it is to be human. Imperfection is beauty, and beauty can be found in all the moments we forget to take note of on our way to somewhere else. 

I love France for its permanent holiday nature. I do not love how accepted smoking is. As a travelling non smoking suitcase it seems you have three options to stay social; start smoking, emerge yourself in second hand smoke, or bring back that imaginary friend your mum said you had when you were little. I choose the fourth option…pull open the sliding door a centimetre and cast your voice through this little space, whilst wearing a casual breathing apparatus to protect yourself from the billowing cancer. Extreme? I think not.

If I could invent a time machine to be in two places at once, I would wish to lay claim to have taken this photo as well as being captured in it. Unfortunately this is not so, but it deserves a gracious mention because it is possibly the most elegant club name I have seen in my life, and being from New Zealand, the most famous club is famous for all the wrong reasons. 

Lastly, Didot is the typeface, and Didot is my friend from way back when once upon a time I chose to study it’s classic French elegant beauty. Who would have thought I’d be in France one day soon. 

Only had a moment to capture these gorgeous and colourful French children on the beach of Juan Les Pins. Wish I could send them a postcard of this photo, would give me an excuse to write PS: You are very cute like the little Tintin figurines I saw in the toy shop.