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March 2014: Jean Noviel

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The more I go up the stairs, the more it feels like a voyage back in time, vaporous, permeable to the clamour of the city and the cries of a few cats on the Paris rooftops. I’ve been going to bed early for a long time now, but tonight I do not sleep: I galop, jump, climb. I’m the photographer of room 57…

On the walls, anonymous portraits watch me from the shadows. On the ground, lost words stretch out like distant memories. I have fun in the hotel, with its one-night tenants, and invent stories about lift attendants, missed rendezvous and turned-away lovers, games of hide and seek and robbers in the stairwell. But in the morning, it is all gone, the only remnant the white sky hanging above the Sorbonne and a night of memories to take home with me. Perhaps I got the day or the era wrong, a little lost in my metempsychosis…

Hôtel Design Sorbonne

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February 2014: Aurore Dal mas

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You remind me of my father, you always remind me that you are going to die and that he is gone forever.

Tonight, I eat alone at the restaurant you recommended, and I can very much see you here.

In no hurry, I walk up rue St-Jacques, hazy with the memory of our knowing intimacy, secret, lost.

I lie down without a smile. The red room goes black

Hôtel du Panthéon

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January 2014: Alexandre Morvan

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Allegory for creation

Choose a hotel on fallow land.

Select the vestiges left abandoned.

Use them to create something unique.

Try, probably fail.

Try again, in a different room.

Hôtel Jardin de l’Odéon

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December 2013: Estelle Lagarde

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Letter to Jean-Jacques,

I have, my dear, taken quarters opposite the Panthéon

A year’s sabbatical in your company

It has the luxury of my former homes

I appreciate the service, the comfort of a good bed.

Escaping from the tomb is a good moment

To start a revolution in these crazy times.

Surprising the tourists, I appear at midnight

But, now a ghost, I frighten people.

They come to see the mysterious man like they would some sort of play

With or without my sheet, it’s at night that I come out.

Some recognise me, whisper my name

It flatters my ego, I have to admit.

They freeze my face by taking a “photo”

A single click suffices, how amazing!

What an opportunity for me, he who has returned,

To see myself in the mirror, 319 years old!

But that is definitely not the most fascinating thing,

The language has changed a lot, astonishingly

In English, I return to my old career

I “spam” I “surf”, I “tweet” for all my “followers”

No more long letters – I write this “e-mail”

More surprised each day by these extraordinary marvels

Despite our disagreements, I would so like to share

All this entertainment and wonderful treasures

Come join me here. I am registered under a false name

Ask for Monsieur Candide at reception

Let us eat together and bury the hatchet

We both believe in ideas, those pillars of the nation

A gulf divided us, but was it so deep?

What if, over time, we realised we were both right?

My friend! Even if our age was full of splendid illumination

Let us not become too nostalgic or bitter

This new age is brighter than ours, believe me!

It will inspire us to write a few verses

Let us sing together an ode to this new era

We have to thank R …, we have to thank V…

Text by Estelle Lagarde for PHPA 2013

Hotel du Pantheon

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November 2013 : Nathalie Dallies

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A shift of focus

Tonight, I toss and turn.

A stranger here, sleep has deserted me.

In the basement, the light of day greets me and binds us.

I think of Travel, of my newfound freedom.

La Belle Juliette

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