Do you ever look at your calendar and pick a weekend in the not-too-distant future and decide that THAT weekend will be dedicated to unwinding? 

When I realized that I had "accidentally" booked myself solid for 6 weekend shows in a row, I stared at my calendar and blocked off my one remaining free weekend to do what I had felt like doing for quite some time: traveling to Quebec City, taking photos without any pressure, walking, swimming in a heated hotel pool, disconnecting from e-mail and social media, eating, drinking, laughing and feeling happy. Zero guilt, 100% leisure (well, except for the photo-editing that was to follow).

My wish-list for that weekend was simple: I wanted a room with a view, sunshine, I hoped to take 5 winning photographs, to enjoy an ice cream outdoors, to walk a lot without feeling pain, to swim in the late afternoon and in the early morning, to try a really tasty local beer, to discover a part of town I hadn't seen yet, to watch TV in the hotel room's super comfy king size bed and sleep in a little.  

It was a special weekend because I got to do all of that, and I ended up with quite a few photographs! I firmly believe that when we feel relaxed and centered, creativity and passion flow more easily. You observe more, feel more, do more - without even realizing it.

To those of you who had hoped I would have some Quebec City prints and coasters, your wish is my command! Some of these have been printed and tested, and will form my new "QCity" collection! I will have the collection with me at my upcoming Etsy Ville de Québec spring show (May 26-27). 

But, you know the drill: my VIPs get first pick before the collection is available online! So, check your inbox for a coupon (or sign up now).

Want to see which images made it into the QCity collection? Have a look!

Since my feelings get "trapped" into all the photos I take, I'm quite fond of my QCity collection because it was a carefree weekend, with loads of sun and laughter. Proof that you don't have to go far to feel like you're on holiday. 

From my heart to yours.

One of my favorite aspects of life so far is that my scientific work has always enabled me to travel, sometimes to faraway places. 

Whenever possible, I always tag on some extra days to discover and "feel" a place before the work schedule kicks in, not to mention to take some photographs at my own pace while I'm alone in a city. 

The time my work took me to Hiroshima, I had never been to Japan. I had never felt so 
acutely aware of how much our eyes read, in a day, until I couldn't read most of what my eyes landed on. I had never felt, right upon arrival, that the light of a place was so different from the light I knew. I had never visited so many beautiful and tranquil temples, had never truly enjoyed sake or tasted such delicious sushi. I learned more about the atomic bomb and its devastation than reading about it could ever show you. I had never experienced such awe at local markets or department stores, especially right when they open, when you are greeted almost ceremoniously. All the locals I met were so gracious, kind and classy individuals - I struggled to remember another place I had felt so comfortable visiting while travelling on my own. 

The first few hours in a place are always special - that fleeting feeling of novelty, excitement, maybe even mild anxiety when your surroundings are very different than what you are accustomed to - for me, those first impressions get crystallized in photographs and journal entries. Even once I get to know a city well, it suffices to look back on those first hours to feel all those butterflies that come with landing at a new destination. ​

The more I explored, the more I appreciated the culture, the architecture and local life. 

I was in Hiroshima and surroundings only briefly. I know that I would love to return to Japan and truly devote time to discover many more of its places and cultural experiences. 

Until I return again...

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Certain places end up on our ‘bucket list’ without much warning. They’ve somehow always been there, like a thought whose source you can’t trace. They pull us – gently or hurriedly – until our plans materialize, until we speak the words out loud.

“We’re going to Havana.”

It was a somewhat spontaneous trip, but that doesn’t matter. It’s not really spontaneous if you’ve always wanted to go.
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It was also a somewhat short trip, but that doesn’t matter either. If your eyes and heart are wide open, even a short trip can inspire you plenty, and give you that precious feeling of longing to return. 

From my first moments in town, Havana asserted itself. It became clear to me that Havana is a mood.
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Although some squares like the Plaza de la Catedral and the Plaza Vieja have a slight European feel, and some narrow lanes and charming balconies cause your mind to wander to thoughts of other cities you’ve been to, much of Havana is in a league of its own, with an undeniably distinct character.

I spent the morning hours strolling the streets of Habana Vieja. Having refrained from looking at too many photographs of Havana before it was my turn to stand there, I genuinely had no well-formed expectations. What was striking from the start, aside from the stifling summer heat, was how much there was to take in.
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I can’t think of that many other cities where I have felt the urge to comb the streets – each street – unwilling to miss anything. Venice, of course. Amsterdam, for sure. And now, Havana pulled me up and down its grid of streets, defiantly pushing my limits of time, temperature and tiredness. I followed, in awe of the architecture, the vintage cars, the colors and the contrasts between efforts of restoration and piles of decay.

“Hola!” a female voice broke my awe-stricken gaze.  I looked into an open doorway. In response to my eyes landing on hers, she pointed up. “Take a photo of that building,” she told me in Spanish. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Everyone likes to take a photo of that.”
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Many locals seemed to have grown accustomed to seeing their city through tourists’ eyes. Right from early morning, the stage was set and they were in position, keen to earn something from your mere presence. They yearned to engage in conversation, offered cab rides and tips, eager to know where you were from, where you were headed, if you liked salsa music, if you cared anything about Hemingway and where he hung out. How the conversation proceeded depended on your answers to their prompts. But they were always kind, never invaded our space, and let us go our way when we were ready to move on.

​In Old Havana, I noticed how the line between private and public was blurred. Open doorways revealed staircases that were as eerie as they were inviting. Other open doors offered glimpses into living spaces, dark and cool shelters from the beating sun. Some families happily called out to us from their windows, while other locals sat on their doorstep and offered a silent nod as we passed by.

​We walked and walked as the hours silently slipped by, and I took notes of my feelings and observations with my lens. My senses were overloaded. The color palette was enough to make skeptics dream – with its turquoises and pastels and ochres and crimsons and blues. The mixed textures of faded paint attracted my eye even more than any intentional street art. As the sun rose higher, sounds of music livened the air, intoxicating us with a rhythm impossible to ignore. Meanwhile, the nose was busy assigning meaning to various wafts of appetizing street food, enticing scents from fresh produce markets, the sweet perfume of churros, the heavy exhaust from vintage cars, and the stench of sewage and garbage – all of which fiercely competed with the other at every street corner. I watched life unfold amidst this flurry of senses, as locals went about their daily business, while dogs explored the streets, and cats hid from the sun in whatever shade they could find. 

​I finally found myself on the Malecón – the sea-wall promenade that is so beloved to locals and foreigners alike that everyone seems to love saying its name. The buildings facing the sea were surprisingly run-down, but authentic in their raw account of time. The sea was still when we were there – it had no interest in challenging the boundary that had been delineated to constrain it. Suddenly, we found ourselves standing in the middle of an informal baseball game, in the precarious position behind the batter. As the youths played below, an elderly man watched from above, standing in the only open doorway of a series of charmingly decaying houses. 

​Havana is aging gracefully, I thought, as I pondered its complex relationship with time. Parts of it are encapsulated in their own microuniverse, while others are unimmune to deterioration. The past is tightly interwoven with the present and future, through countless traces of Che and Fidel – two pillars of Cuban society that continue to watch over their people from both fading murals and kitschy souvenirs.

​I grew fascinated by the contrasts and ironies that stood at every turn. A beautiful façade flanked another in shambles, its near-perfection antagonizing the skeleton that guarded a lifeless pile of fallen stones. The governmental buildings and hotels stood polished, intruders in the fabric of the city. The double currency of the place legalized a sort of double-standard that is hard to fully grasp the ins and outs of – on the one hand, poverty, and on the other, a currency that is at par with the American dollar. Cars that are the unthinkable dreams for aficionados back home and a delight for tourists are merely a consequence of the regime that Cubans had no choice but to abide by, even if it meant having to improvise innovative solutions to maintain them.

​Locals shared snippets of their lives in conversation, explaining how there were some towns where they were allowed to work and others where they were not, describing their work hours and what they did in their time off. As I listened and watched, I wondered what it really means to live in Cuba, and how a change in leadership might affect Havana’s fate in years to come. 

​These impressions are what I hope to have captured in my Havana collection. The colors and textures, contrasts and ironies, rawness and authenticity, candor and simplicity, past and present, and that feeling of overwhelmed senses.

​All that makes up the special mood that is Habana.

To see which of these photographs made it into the all new Havana collection, check out this post.

You may have noticed that the collection is not yet in my art shop or on Etsy. I’m offering FIRST PICK, full customization of size and medium (paper, acrylic, canvas, wood or metal) and 20% off to my VIPs until August 25th.

Not on my VIP list? You’re missing out. Join here.

From my heart to yours.

The mission was fairly simple: To prepare for my upcoming One of a Kind Show by transporting my stock and equipment in advance. I figured that, while I was at it, I would take some photos to add Toronto to my collection just in time for the show. 

The allotted time for this mission: one single day.

Those who know me well would tell you that I am always quite ambitious when I travel. I always strive to see and feel a whole range of places, and to enjoy diverse experiences that would make a great collection of memories. Sometimes, this leads to walking for twenty hours, to the point where my legs despise me. I have come to love that sense of discovery, that longing to see a city's multiple faces and moods. 

But to do that in a day in Toronto - a sprawling metropolis known for its numerous neighborhoods all with their distinctive character - was ambitious even by my standards. And, before going any further, let me please mention that this was THE COLDEST DAY in Toronto. It was the type of day where my bones just rattled beneath my layers of clothes and warm winter coat. The wind was bitter, relentless, unforgiving. I endangered my hands with each and every photo I took, and it was a challenge to keep the camera steady in the wind, or to even see through the viewfinder with all the tears in my frozen eyes. The heart-stopping cold is actually the first thought that comes to mind when I look through all the day's pictures.

​So, time and weather were not quite on my side. Thankfully, though, my crew of lovely friends were on my side, and I am so grateful to them for helping me see as much as possible in a day, and never once telling me I was crazy for scurrying around the city in minus 20 Celsius temperatures, or for planning on producing Toronto fine-art prints and coasters days before the show!

In planning the day's goals, I settled for something between "seeing all the neighborhoods" and "seeing the CN tower" (though, let me confess, I was genuinely eager to see the CN tower, too!)

The result was a ton of running around, a ton of shutter-presses, and one very positive impression of a city I am eager to discover further. 

As I was staying with our dear friends in Milton, I started my Toronto adventure in the western part of the city. Around High Park, the houses were grand and the streets were quiet. I could only imagine how much prettier the area would look once the trees filled in the missing green from the scene. Steps away from the residential tranquility was the heart of the Roncesvalles village - its main boulevard bustling with locals, street cars and interesting cafés. I noticed my eye was immediately drawn to street signs, stop lights, crosswalks and the tangled webs of street car wires - an urban sight that differed from what my eyes are used to in Montreal. 

Next, we got a glimpse of neighborhoods like Parkdale, Bloordale and Little Portugal, enjoying how the urban feel (and the lampposts) changed from one neighborhood to the next. In Liberty Village, the CN tower teasingly came into view in the distance, contrasting with the industrial feel of the area. 

We headed to Exhibition Place (where the OOAK show will take place) and braved the biting cold as we walked along the waterfront in Coronation Park and the harborfront to theimpressive CN tower. 

After lunch, we were among the crowds of young people enjoying the bustle of Queen Street West. The vibe got decidedly more eclectic west of Spadina Avenue. 

Heading east, we spent some time in the downtown core, in Old Toronto and the artsy St-Lawrence market area, truly appreciating the peaceful co-existence of historic and modern architecture, just like in Montreal. 

As the sun began to dip in the sky, we headed to the Distillery District to take in the industrial mood of the area. I loved it there and spent quite some time among the brick buildings and colored doors. When my body was irreparably frozen, we stepped into some shops and had an artisanal hot chocolate. 

The hours flowed (too) quickly, but I thoroughly enjoyed my first-ever full day in Toronto. I vowed to spend more time and effort discovering its character, and promised to book a leisurely trip soon (the OOAK doesn't count!). 

Dare I say my mission was accomplished, as I now have a Toronto collection in my shop as well as on Etsy! Two sets of Toronto coasters are also ready to be revealed to you VERY SOON! The Toronto wall-art collection (on canvas, wood, metal or acrylic) has not yet been added to the shop, but you could custom order any of the fine-art prints in a different medium or size just by sending me an e-mail. 

If you're in Toronto between March 29-April 2nd, come find me at the One of a Kind Show and Sale in the Marketplace section, booth P44E. I'd love to meet you! You can purchase discounted tickets HERE with the promo code ETYUMPWG. ​

From my heart to yours!

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Why is it that some places simply call you and end up on your bucket list? 

I have experienced it and witnessed it in others. I'm not talking about those places you've added to your list after seeing your friends' Facebook posts or reading article after article about it as the place garners more touristic attention. What really fascinates me is that inexplicable "oh!" that prefixes the name of a place when you talk about it longingly, while somewhat unsure of how it ended up achieving "dream status" with you. Mine have always been (in no particular order): Istanbul, Croatia, Sardegna, Prague, Sicily, Malta, Chicago, Prince Edward Island, Curaçao, Granada, St-Petersburg, Egypt, Morocco, Cyprus, Corsica, Corfu.

Corfu...

Corfu town felt surprisingly familiar. It followed the "formula" of a port city, particularly an Italian port city (my expertise!). It had all the necessary ingredients: old city walls, weathered façades -picturesque with their shutters, balconies and fresh laundry - local tavernas with tables spilling into the alleys and squares, church towers and their resonating bells competing with the crashing sea and restless seagulls, cutlery clinking at dusk, cruiseships docking at dawn, the sound of sandals slipping on cobblestone and locals greeting each other over the heads of a dozen other people, sunset light and souvenir shops, suitcases rolling and cats meowing for food, multilingual menus and English graffiti, fresh fish and seafood, urban beaches where you must share the water with anchored boats, starlight and moonlight, couples strolling and children playing until way past their bedtime. ​

There was a distinct Venetian influence that brought an extra smile to my face now and then.

The rest of Corfu island felt less familiar to me. For one, the island was greener than other maritime places I'd visited, unlike Puglia for instance. Some towns and beaches we chose to visit were refreshingly quiet - except for the deafening cicadas! 

I had always wondered how some travellers felt content to vacation at the same spot every single year, when there is so much of the world to see. Experiencing Corfu, I suddenly got it...along with the urge to buy a villa that we stumbled upon on a mountain road (#dreambig). 

We spent a lot of time with locals, talking about their lives, tasting their oils and wines and jams, feeling connected over very little in common. Language was no barrier to communication and genuine hospitality. Several times, we were moved by the approachability and generosity of the locals, and felt beautifully comfortable on the island. 

Corfu was a dream. Now, it is a place that makes me breathe deeply at the thought of it, that relaxes me straight into my fingertips and that makes me dream of a life experience where I, too, can feel connected to the land, to the sea, to beauty that comes alive through its people and its places. 

My favorite images of Corfu island will soon be added to the collection, for purchase in different sizes on fine-art textured paper, canvas, acrylic, aluminum or wood. Stay tuned on the blog, on Instagram and on Facebook to find out which scenes could be yours to bring home. You'll also be able to see them in person at the next Etsy Fait au Québec show in late September. (Psst: Don't risk missing out: Sign up for the VIP newsletter and receive a promo coupon to celebrate Greece's debut to the collection!)
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Here's a sneak peak of just some of the newcomers to the collection. 

Stay in touch!

​In October, I finally had the chance to visit a city that has been on my ‘dream-list’ for years: Chicago. I had seen friends’ photos of the riverfront and, of course, of The Bean, but aside from these iconic views, I had little idea of what to expect.

​The winding and weaving El-Train was a highly enjoyable way to get around town and to see it from a different perspective.

​An architectural cruise allowed me to see the face that Chicago presents to the river, with its industrial bridges, playful reflections and carefully planned-out waterfront promenades. I have always been fascinated by cities that are built by (or on) water, how they interact with it and how it becomes part of their identity. 

​As if feeling tiny among the skyscrapers was not enough, I let myself lose track of time along the Lake Shore Drive and in Lincoln Park, feeling the wind from the lake, and watching the view of the cityscape change behind me. 

​I enthusiastically met all the requirements for the role of "Tourist": I stood amused by my reflection in front of the Bean. I climbed to the top of the Willis Tower and stood among the dozens of other tourists and their iPhones until the sunset colored the sky around us. I even made it through a deep-dish pizza! 

​I also tried to get a sense of Chicago’s other neighborhoods. I strolled through funky and eccentric Wicker Park/Bucktown, with its eccentric independent shops, galleries, bookstores and cafés. I loved the peaceful residential streets in the Lincoln Park neighborhood, and how the area around Armitage Avenue and Clark street suddenly grew livelier, like little pockets of the city hidden among peaceful stretches of trees and beautiful homes. I let myself dream as I weaved through the streets of the Gold Coast, and enjoyed the charming Old Town that had so much diversity to offer. 

Of course, a first trip, especially a short one, only ever serves to take that first bite out of a city. I always take it as consolation that there is no better way to guarantee our return to see more of it - soon. 

​~ * ~

A few photographs of Chicago have made their way into my collection, and are also available as fine-art prints in versatile sizes. 

​Check out:

• Fragmented Time
• Loop Bound
• Up She Goes
• ElTrain
• Lake Air

 
Stay tuned for “Musings” in other cities by subscribing to the blog, or by staying in touch on Facebook, Google+ and Pinterest!