Prince George, the future King of England, is my only British friend, though we don’t know each other. By writing him postcards, my aim is to slip into the mind of a Frenchman deeply interested in observing the quirks of everyday life.
Anything related to royalty, the country, the climate, or traditions is fair game for my writing. I never mention his family; a considerable number of people take care of that.
The photos were taken with the idea of eventually becoming postcards and then joining the collection. Each project is orchestrated like a jewelry heist.
When I understood the meaning of the lighting in the Church of Saint Francis Xavier, I waited for a leisurely Sunday evening, like any other, to go there.
While walking along Boulevard Saint-Germain, I noticed this tree planted crookedly. Anomalies are invisible phenomena. I went there some time later to make a whole story out of it.
Only the group of Brazilians is unexpected, but it’s on the agenda for a walking tour of Montmartre.
I have a nice surprise in store for George: a postcard I’ll send him for his 18th birthday. I’ll celebrate with him the removal of the “not for under 18s” restriction with a very explicit photo.
