High Contrast Grey.

The weather of Bretagne. I am going to miss this sky.

Every step echoed the sound of thick glass crunching.

Taking a flannerie through Rennes and the things to be found.

Foggy morning in Rennes.

Purple Twilight.

Sunday brunch at L’épicerie in Rennes.

I am not sure what is going on here, but as I walked by this rather modern building I was taken back to see the salon style setup of art on the walls inside.

Voyeuristic tendencies.

This is the same place that will be hosting the broadway musical Cabaret in less than a month after it leaves Paris. I should really get on trying to get tickets for that becfore it gets to be too late.

It seems that none of the architecture, nor the city planning is straight in France.

The nights have been cold and where the ability to take reference photos of Rennes at night was presented, I had to cut it short as my fingers began to freeze so much that even the simple operations on my camera became difficult.

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I have a feeling that when I return that all these photos that I have taken will become my lifeline for artistic inspiration. I still have 800 some photos left on my SD card.. it feels strange that I will have not cleared the card for almost a year by the time I return to the states. A collection that I hope to never lose.

At one point a local street artist had taken a marker to give her a speach bubble with “sexe=$”

I feel as though this Delacroix reproduction represents the problem with white consumer culture and the rest of the world. It doesn’t help that a few of them look like they could be extras for Jersey Shore.

I will admit that I do like that I am able to see exposed breasts while walking around in France for the simple fact that people shouldn’t feel ashamed of their own body. We are all human and we all have either one set of sexual organs or another (sometimes both..).  Things to miss when returning to a conservative america. A contradictive conservative america.

The moon rises over the trees as I run out of my room to catch the metro.

Hot chocolate with something mint flavored and alcoholic.

A silent film addresses the emergence of the talkies. A culture of reflection.

The troupe that puts on the shows of Rocky Horror Picture Show in Paris came over to Rennes for a free show.

The film was shown in English but the jokes being said by the performers were a mixture of French and English. This was probably the one time I have seen the show in public and was still able to follow the film because the crowd in Rennes didn’t know all the things to yell, like they do in Seattle.

Classes have started up again, although I am still not feeling the realization of that fact. For some reason it seems that none of the classes are interesting this semster and I am having the hardest time trying to figure out which classes to take. Like a psych class where the information is interesting as it talks about the linguistics of language, but is in the third year so I lack all kinds of background in different studies that the other students already have.

Dropping names of researchers like rockstars.

On the upside, I think I finally found “my bar” in Rennes. Le Sambre. Wood walls. Red velvet. And old pictures all over the walls. The music doesn’t fit, but not everything is perfect. At least it is more just better rock music than something like top 40.

These past few mornings have been gorgeous as I watch the sun rise from my window.

Of course everytime I see the beautiful colors that are made, like the deep red on the horizon that gently transitions into a firey orange and then a fleeting green, that can almost be easily ignored, before reaching the dark blue that is almost black left over from the night, I have to think of the reactions to these colors by the impressionists and how these vibrant colors are only possible because of the pollution in the air.

Although when I bring this up to people, like when sitting in an 8am class, I don’t think they share the same inner turmoil interest. The conflict with how beautiful the colors are but yet knowing that their presence represents something wrong in this world.

Thanksgiving in Rennes under a dense fog.

I took my bike for a ride and instead if turning to go back to my apartment I decided to ride straight ahead and explore.

The countryside and the city have a thin line of distinction between the two in Rennes. Which bordering that line, or perhaps being that line, is this old abandoned farm house. Decorated with graffiti.

The only people I come across while biking though the countryside are old people going on walks. Old men with canes.

Somehow the grass is still a vibrant emerald green even though it is almost December and there is a slight fog snaking along the bottoms of the green hills. The magical realities of France, perhaps.