Pigeons

When I was little, I began to actively notice and ascribe symbolic value to the pigeons I met in every new place I visited. I was baffled, in the most deliberate of ways, by the fact that no matter how different they seemed to be, every city and little town--from Amherst to Rochester and beyond--had this one thing in common. I even came up with the brilliant idea to begin photographing pigeons in different settings with the intention of one day publishing an art book that was to be some sort of comment on human nature in it's different contexts. I had pretty much concluded, by fourteen, that all pigeons (and therefore all people) were basically the same. Six years later, I've learned better than to vocalize this profound observation (or at least it's broader implications), but have never, until very recently, questioned it. The past few weeks, however, have forced me to re-evaluate my position, because Parisian pigeons are, in fact...unique

There's always been a some variety in how close pigeons will allow you to get to them, but I guess I took for granted that they would inevitably get frightened and fly off. In Paris the pigeons not only allow you to get within accidental kicking range, but, when they do become spooked, do not fly, but RUN, to safety. Birds, in general, are not known for the grace or speed of their gait (with the one notable exception of the Road Runner), so they always look so awkward and frantic as they scurry away. Watching/teasing them is one of my favorite things to do on my walk to school.