An Epic Chapter - Part 5

by Mayumi Lashbrook

Admittedly, this was the hardest post to write. For several reasons, I’ve delayed putting together my concluding thoughts about my experiences at L’AiR Arts Residency. The obvious being that the world is in the midst of a pandemic. The Paris I get to see, in its essence doesn’t exist at this time. The galleries are shut, the art is locked away, the stages empty, the teachers I met inside their homes lacking people to impart their knowledge to, the peers reeling at figuring out how to continue their work in a way that still feels impactful, authentic and exciting. 

I always knew to attend L’AiR was a privilege I was grateful to have. A life-changing experience I would relive in my memory over and over again. 

Memory is formed when emotions are high. The things that stick with you, stick because you had an emotional response to the moment. So if I try to formulate the most recent chapter of my life, if I flesh out the handful of major moments that make up that season of my life, what would I see? What memories float to the surface of the memory pool?

I see the late nights sharing tea or wine in the cafe for those who just couldn’t soak up enough of each other and connection for a little while longer. 
I see the book-lined shelves of Shakespeare & Co.
I see the vibrant works of Lauren surrounding her proudly like her children in her studio. 
I see the quiet winding streets ahead of Tsolak and I for our path to Mica Danses. 
I see lunch at Niébé at a square table with bright happy fed faces. 
I see Eric fabulously draped in his gold and white robe in front of Le Seine.
I see cheese platters, freshly cut baguette, and strawberries ready to be eaten at yet another salon. 
I see a good cry from exhaustion over a glass of red wine in the lobby bar.
I see the great hall of D’Orsay and the light streaming in around the clock face. 
I see our troupe coming into Laurent Duchene and creating a ruckus from our excitement over croissants, much to the dismay of the shopkeep. 
I see Hiie effortlessly leading us into sweaty puddles.
I see the progression of Hans Hartung’s work through his lifetime as told by a very eccentric, excitable, non-Parisian, yet Parisian looking, art lover. 
I see all of us squished along two long rectangular tables in a noisy restaurant, learning each other, taking in each other’s life experiences and nervously finding out if we’ll all get along. 
I see a dimly lit jazz bar and Kunji’s delighted face at the complex rhythms streaming into his ears. 
I see the hilarious attempt at a jacketless group photo at the top of the Louis Vuitton Foundation.
I see unfettered support for each person who takes the mic at Paris Lit Up.
I see Mila laughing joyously as she shares her scarf as Sophie recruits us into her exuberant folk dance.  
I see Shireen and I working away in the studio late at night, seeing a perfect piece of art formulating and not wanting to stop sculpting it. 
I see cut up words from magazines and newspapers scattered on the floor as place markers of where to start a writing exploration. 
I see community. I see laughter. I see support. I see egolessness. I see filled notebooks. I see discovery. I see the breaking of boundaries. I see width within oneself. 

Paris will always be this to me.

Every moment around us is shifting and won’t exist in its entirety ever again. And while I know that fact, the world has given a delicate reminder of how massively grateful to be for each second of our human experience. L’AiR Arts was a wonderful season where I felt deeply seen, accepted, and believed in myself with every fibre of my flesh. I aim to keep the memories at the surface and the sense of self strong.