It was April of 2013. Still feeling the weight of the smokey, candle-lit corridors and the stately choral hymn in the air, I emerged, blinking, into the sunlight. In my hand I held a camera full of underexposed interior shots, the results of a brief tour through Notre-Dame Cathedral during a late mass.
As I stood waiting for my eyes to adjust, letting the others debate where to go next, I realized that our position by the door put us right in front of the tiered benches across from the cathedral. Dozens of faces stared in our direction, looking up at the intricate stonework that rose above our heads. But other faces were turned away – laughing at an unknown comment, hiding behind a half-eaten crepe, leaning tiredly on a nearby shoulder, or gazing out across the narrow street.
I’ve always been more fascinated by people than landscapes or architecture. I keep Brandon Stanton’s Humans of New York on my metaphorical coffee table.
I raised my camera again, this time pointed into the crowd.
