|Dec 20, 2016|
The light of the Paris winter is silver. It is not silver-y, it's vraiment the texture of the color - yes, the texture of the color, not the metal. It is as though a huge mille-feuille is wrapping the city, dense light warping itself within the crisp thin layers, constantly in-between, deciding at each second not to burst all out. The silver belongs to no one and to everyone.