The other day I tested a hypothesis: What is it like to plant myself in a fixed spot, and take as many photos as possible from that spot? The rules of the game are simple. Choose the spot. Plant your feet. Move any way you want, as long as you do not—do not!—move your feet. Twist your trunk, turn your head and neck 270 degrees, do the Pretzel, do the Möbius Strip, do the Camel’s Hump, the Crab, and the Wheelbarrow. Just don’t take a step, okay?
Okay!
I went to the Place des Vosges and stood by one of the entrances on the northern side of the square. It was 10:30 in the morning on a sunny day. My plan was to stay rooted for 60 minutes, keeping the camera settings on automatic and without zooming in or out, everything fixed except for heart and brain (and upper body). I ended up taking 282 snapshots. Few qualify as good photographs. But, boy, was it fun!
My spot was liminal—a frontier or portal through which people entered and exited the Place des Vosges. I could see the Place and also the main street that runs along it, plus another street that runs into it at a 90-degree angle.
It’s pretty normal for a guy to just stand by the entrance of the Place and do nothing. This means that “nobody saw me” even though “I saw everyone.”
Children coming in with their minders. Visitors from various countries, talking animatedly in languages I didn’t speak. Harried workers rushing through, going from A to B with an obligation to perform or deliver. Joggers, some passing by my spot multiple times while I stood there.
I achieved a minor victory: For years I’ve been noticing a groundskeeper at the Place, gruff and disinclined to talk to you or even acknowledge your existence. While I stood at my spot he came around on one of his errands and he asked me, “Comment ça va?” That’s French for “How ya doin’?” He walked away quickly, having sensed that I could have hugged him.
I had a good line of sight of much of the Place, except for the narrow blind spot behind me which I couldn’t see however I turned and twisted. I could see the big trees in the middle of the square, which I’ve always called the Broccoli. I could see the sky, the pure unimpeded blueness faraway. Up close I could see the spiked ironworks that surround the square. Lamp posts and pigeons I could see, also many façades. I could stare at the sun.
I could see so much, and I could look at things really closely, and I could let me eyes linger and marvel at the beauty of it all.
Traffic was light on the street north of the Place des Vosges, but I saw trucks, pedestrians, cyclists, little kids in “locomotive contraptions,” to use a generic term for scooters and prams and suchlike.
A troupe of professionals came in to do a fashion photo shoot. It was a large team more than ten strong, everyone carrying walkie talkies (which the French call “talkie walkies”). After a while a friendly member from the troupe approached me. “You’re standing in the way of our shot,” he said. Oh the tragedy! I had been at my spot for 55 minutes, and ideally I’d stay another five, just for the sake of cosmogonics. But I took his hint and abandoned my spot. Truth be told, my right foot had fallen asleep and I was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. Back home I went.
Jean de la Fontaine, that fabulous fabulist, would have said it well, had he said it. “Enracine-toi sur place et tu verras le monde.” Root yourself to a spot, and you’ll see the World.
©2021, Pedro de Alcantara