March 2014: Jean Noviel

PHPA in English

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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