Paris : Simon Cutts & Erica Van Horn
Two young men came out a door on the opposite corner just as I was crossing the street. They were Japanese. Or maybe they were Korean. The first one walked briskly up the street while the second one squatted down on one knee. He made a little mark with a piece of white chalk on the pavement just to right of the doorstep. He stood up, pocketed his chalk and hurried to catch up with the other fellow down the block. I looked down at his mark. It looked like a y or an h. There was the remnant of another mark which looked like the same mark but in blue. The blue mark was partly rubbed out and the new white one was written on top of it. I wondered if the guy making the mark needed to find it on the street later to know what building he was staying in. Or if his mark was a sign for someone else who would come later. Maybe he just marked the pavement every time he left any building. These little marks might be all over the city by the end of each day. He might mark everywhere he has been until he runs out of chalk. One day blue. The next day white. I went to the same spot today to see if there was a new mark and a new colour. The white is still there but it is smudged now. The blue is faint but still visible. There has not been a new colour put down today.