Just over a year ago, Patty and I stayed overnight in Paris on the way to Normandy. We were in a ‘boutique hotel’ on the eastern edge of the city, situated yards away from the peripherique, the ring road that surrounds Paris and effectively marks its boundary. From our hotel window we could see, yards away on the other side of the peripherique (in the area called Porte de Montreuil), the apartment buildings of Paris proper, while on our side of the road it was all concrete tower blocks, and tangled little roads lined with scrapyards and casinos. In the morning we got up early in order to cross the city to Porte de Maillot, where we were picking up a rental car. As soon as we had gone across the roundabout above the ring road we passed into Paris proper, a transformation as clear and immediate as stepping through the looking glass. Even the few yards of that part of Paris around the Metro station offered an encapsulated view of what makes Paris Paris: the tabacs near the street ...
Artist Philip Hartigan talks about art, interviews other artists, and more