Dawn cracks, a lemon slice of sun through the Parisian haze. Emails float like driftwood in the digital sea, preparing me for the day’s creative tide. Mariia arrives at eleven, her presence a fresh breeze. We paint with light and shadows, lemons punctuating the canvas of our shoot, their citrus brightness slicing through the monotone.
Read MoreToday’s exploration was internal, a reflective mapping of patterns and themes that surfaced from the flurry of the past days. Seated at my digital desk, I traced the lines of repetition in my Parisian journey, drafting an inventory not of goods, but of experiences and echoes.
Read MoreDawn unfurled slowly as I embarked on a solitary pilgrimage to the Marché aux Puces de Saint-Ouen. The city was hushed, streets emptied of their usual clamor, offering a rare solitude. With only my footsteps as company, I wandered, the echo of each step a soft conversation with the cobblestones.
Read MoreMorning spilled over with the hum of retouching, each click a chisel sculpting the digital stone of the past week's captures. A parade of faces and fragments scrolled across my screen, whispers of shutter snaps echoing in the pixels. I shaped the contours of memory, distilling moments into icons for future collages.
Read MoreWoke enveloped by a dawn of enthusiasm—espresso in one hand, retouching tool in the other. Nia arrived, her energy radiating like a beacon through the calm of my studio. Click, flash, laughter—our session was a whirlwind of creativity and conversation, a dance of light and shadow capturing her vibrant essence. As she left, I plunged into edits, the digital canvas morphing under my hands, each pixel a note in an unfolding symphony.
Read MoreI rose with the sun casting long shadows across the crumpled sheets—a canvas of light and dark. Espresso brewed, the scent filled the apartment, the first muse of the day. Just as the coffee hit its darkest note, Koki arrived, his presence slicing through the morning haze.
Read MoreA week has passed—an orbit around a sun made of espresso, baguettes, and the hum of a camera shutter. I sip my coffee as the day begins, a loop I don’t dare break. The laptop glows with edits, pixels becoming faces, colors becoming memory. Eleven o’clock sneaks up like a shadow on the wall.
Read MoreThis morning began with eggs and tomatoes, the color of memory. Coffee hot enough to wake me, edits sharp enough to carve into Lane’s images. I sat at my bistro table, sipping and clicking, time folding like the ripples in my espresso. My task? To make the new old, or maybe the old new.
Read MoreThe day began not with sunrise, but with an espresso barely strong enough to pull me from the haze of sleeplessness. My shower was a waterfall of heat, coaxing my mind into coherence. Grand Musk lingered on my skin, spicy, woody, animalic—a second skin of warmth. My camera battery blinked in its death throes. I had none of its resolve.
Read MoreThe day began with a shot of espresso, hot and black, as if to remind me that the day too would be sharp, woody, animalic. Grand Musk clung to my skin like a whisper, blueberry dancing somewhere in the shadows. A warm scent for a cold morning. Out the door, into the city, and into the question: What am I collecting today? Collage pieces for a canvas unseen, textures, sounds, and sequences spiraling into the folds of my mind.
Read MoreThe day began not with urgency but with indulgence. The kind of indulgence that lets you linger over a fried egg and cheese on baguette, contemplating whether breakfast might be the most poetic meal of the day. It was quiet luxury—warm yolk, crusty bread, and the promise of Paris unfolding itself, one unpredictable moment at a time. Khanjar was my companion, oud curling around me like a secret whispered into silk. Out the door and into the streets, where everything was waiting.
Read MoreToday began as all great journeys do—with breakfast. A meal? No, a ritual. Eggs cracked like the cosmos, bread toasted to the precise hue of a sepia photograph. Fueled, prepped, and curious, I ventured into the Parisian ether with no plan, no map, no compass but whimsy. Paris whispered, “Follow me,” and I obeyed.
Read MoreJoin the Journey
I’ll be sharing this adventure in The Journal and on my socials, so you can follow along with every twist and turn. There will be riddles, hints, and plenty of surprises as I weave the story of this trip. It’s a Dadaist manifesto of sorts—chaotic, cryptic, but oh-so-enticing. Join me in the comments and share your tips: the best thrift shops, fragrances I absolutely need to smell, gallery shows I can’t miss, your favorite cafe or hidden spot. Let’s make this journey as collaborative as it is personal.
Another standout was his collaboration with Issey Miyake in the late 1980s—a dream partnership blending Miyake’s sharp pleats and bold shapes with Penn’s stark black-and-white photography. The graphic nature of these images is timeless, an artistic conversation between two visionaries. I’ve long wanted the Irving Penn x Issey Miyake book for my collection, and seeing these photographs in person only deepened my admiration for their artistry.
Read MoreThere are moments in life so vivid, so deeply woven into the fabric of who we are, that their memories feel like they have their own fragrance. For me, that moment was at the house of Aunt Mary and Uncle Bozo. It’s not just a house; it’s a world filled with layered scents—a garden in full bloom, the elegance of Aunt Mary’s perfume, and the grounding warmth of Uncle Bozo’s den. These are the inspirations behind No. 37, a fragrance I’ve created to encapsulate this treasured memory.
Read MoreAA: Let’s talk about your book, Pieces of a Boy.
This is your second book—congratulations! What’s the story behind it, and what inspired you to write it? How does navigating the creative world of writing compare to other creative outlets you explore?
SM: This book came about at a difficult personal time for me and I found that writing became my go-to creative outlet to cope during that time. The overall process of writing that memoir was extremely confronting, but cathartic, and it has shown me that writing will likely become a huge part of my life moving forward.
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