wendy smith - Christo Came to Paris

CHRISTO CAME TO PARIS

Christo came to Paris, or rather, I should say Christ-o, and he draped her in the finest linens a beautiful city could desire, making her even more beautiful. For one whole glorious week, her stone bridges became boudoirs, her lampposts turbaned ladies, and her cement benches, window seats onto the world, where anyone and everyone could sit and gaze free of charge.

I remember evenings on the Pont Neuf leaning against the newly cushioned benches under the softened light from above, talking about everything and nothing, just whiling away the hours, happy to be with friends. The Conciergerie like Rapunzel, had let down her long hair for all to see...and possibly to climb? Before Christo came to dress her, her circular stone towers were the epitomy of unscalability, but now, softly adorned, she beckoned to wrap her drapery of finest tresses around you, and gather you up like a regular Prince Charming. The rest of the city stood awkwardly by, nude, stiff, in its concrete and stone historic importance, yielding the day, like a dance, to Christo's lady, the Pont Neuf.

Ah, Paris. I thought nothing could make you more beautiful. I was wrong.

Paris at night
closing my eyes
for another look