Chaises Rouges

From Paris with Love is the city as it is — not the postcard, not the perfume ad. The series lives in the off-hours: empty terraces and wet pavements after a shower, the boulevards exhaling between two crowds. It sits in autumn and early winter light, when the plane trees turn gold-rust and the awnings of the bistros pulse against a grey sky like a held note. Each frame leans into a single Parisian texture — bentwood chairs stacked in their daily geometry, the brass and beveled glass of an unassuming café front, a streetlamp going out at dawn, the long perspective of a street that is only ever almost empty. The palette is muted and warm: terracotta reds, ivory, plane-tree olive, slate stone, the faint pink of a city built largely from limestone. In the wandering register of street photography, the work prefers the ordinary corner over the landmark. These are pieces that sit quietly and reward the second look — a Paris you remember, not one you queue to see.