Traveling inspires an urge to correspond that sometimes precipitates a profound sense of connection or at least prying into realms not normally unearthed. Though, as I mentioned much earlier in this trip, I lament the advent of technology in certain ways, the hyper present wifi that enables immediate communication (I couldn’t live without it now – don’t get me wrong), this heightened level of exchange characterizes an email I got from my father a few days ago regarding the conception of my birth.
Go to the Rue Des Beaux Arts and see if the Hotel de Nice is still there. That is where my parents lived while my father was studying at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts, the spoils for winning the Paris Prize. And apparently this is the place where the idea of me was born. I knew to a certain degree as architects owe our existences to the Ecole, but this took on an entirely new meaning. In honor of my new knowledge we held a macaron contest in one of its courtyards.
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