Living in Paris affects your life. It is not Paris of course, it is always you:
the idea you have of Paris kicks the change in, because you have to challenge it. Something dormant within myself came out.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEird7CwBiqqo2iynRS52o-nBdfBGWeCflnkX3gpVZvzz7jFrUIFsXWyFtPmSxSFDohSlfnbk4xoJpUte7KsirjI4C1Te0aKaVaHJey_beJqVX4aPAVmAXmDXtaiSbIiqAYxnyhBK7p5T00/s1600/DSCN8436.JPG) |
Monumental graveyard of Montparnasse |
How was my Paris? A stupendous idea taken from books and films, I was utterly wrong. Paris drove a slightly different kind of mutation, something intimate: a sort of secular revelation. I could not stand any longer the cultural idea of not being able to see pigs, cows, horses and chickens simply as we look at cats, hamsters and dogs.
I felt a sense of
love and belonging without boundaries:
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0DnpndhGcHk_tDLZmUozk_HiIIcmN7rJsim4yzmJRfPULmtTG-SD-ht5K_QrOaLz5RJOuVkZak_A3W-CDRsfyP1nLjZF8SElvC2VjNzM3yzGWJp_tNmVM2V0_FG3DtyWcphmGGb1imo4/s1600/2013-07-09+09.49.33.jpg) |
Wallis Simpson and Edward VIII, a matter of love that prevailed on duty. |
When I came to this conclusion, the
alleged necessity of enjoying eating the flesh of other sensitive beings had vanished. I went through a series of refurbishments of my inner Self and I ultimately became vegetarian (neither industrial meat nor venison nor fish nor insects):
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3XBzm2IkmMejVNXBqIpB_I55JQcAkJxquj90SnQRSNx-dwdbAQM_x6A8NkkyGcBeXPFerU8neQJ4gi2CCOsxf9IWuE03Yzt7uzBHV3IdOT7C5EjB65rcw78Q7xShEafqtJn5XcLxgkMI/s1600/DSCN8385.JPG) |
Roy Lichtenstein, pop art, Centre Pompidou, Fall 2013 |
My diet became more essential, and somehow more creative.
I had to cope with an absence, which imposed to my creativity to be more alive. Every absence makes us stronger. It took me a while to figure out how to communicate all this new deal of impressions on the blog.
I hope i won't ever slip into being a vegetarian-taliban. I don't despise nor hate who clutches to a carnivorous alimentary regime: the process of respect toward animals is a slow march of self-determination.
When you find yourself, you do not need an external sacrifice to prove you are alive. For me, it has been as lowering down a
mask.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio96IbcNNKgqWwERnt5uTG_iDSE0Di742cwc5SGf9WvD9CLrGcPbg_W2ZHcL8Dfp1R3IhUqsGgnm5TiWQZFZeZyoDHyhpOn_3o6MKKNy-ITHBpsVFgpYXddWAvLLS3r5Rw3wxqmJe9wNg/s1600/DSCN8392.JPG) |
Tribal mask, in rue Bonaparte (close to Saint Germain de Pres) |
Now, I know better that my editorial line should be less involuted and more straight to the point, something more inspirational. Enjoy then the ideas that gradually sprang out from my mind:
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge0Spz3xZ0QVJkcW73Ff6L7rd7Vz4ITD1yrTuepvE3MpnH-f0K37XPS-phql2OxcRZ-XOjsK7skdeErQwiRQVAeaKyPkBqCBYmy9O7P5ljyfq1qWdwVEDfc6_3siC_rVLVufZx7lEgGJg/s1600/2013-11-17+20.10.51.jpg) |
Tofu steak cooked on a pan with extra-virgin olive oil, capers and garlic, then dressed with creamy organic balsamic vinegar. Side it with crunchy salad and roasted peppers, all sprinkled in Chia seeds |
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