This is a portrait of Paris on the road

Cities have a life of their own. Cities live and breathe where people become the blood flowing effortlessly on its busy streets, quiet parks, astute museums, and silent buildings. If people are a city’s blood, the roads are its veins carrying that all too precious blood. This is an ever-growing portrait of the dark and shiny roads of la belle Paris. Busy streets, lonely cul-de-sacs, and the Metro embodying the history take the people of Paris to their awaited destinations, to the loved and the shunned, to unexpected possibilities. Road equals motion. Motion equals life. You can never swim in the same water, and you can never pass through the same road. Each street becomes a new one with two lovers kissing, replaced by the determined cycler the next day, and hurried tourists the day after. Roads signify hope and apprehension for a destination. That destination is never there, but a desire to reach that place springs from the roads. People come and go, but the desire always stays. The roads of Paris are at times dark, at times shiny, but always playful. The roads become the stage for the hopeful and the scared, the awaited and the unexpected. This is a stage of lights, of shadows, and of actors who never tire to improvise. This is a portrait of Paris on the road. (comments by my friend Emrah Guler)