| Heather Maciak |
| ORIGINALS |
| Children of Paris |
| My inspiration comes from many things, but sometimes, it is as simple as a fleeting glimpse of a child, that stays in my memory and evokes a creation. Recently, my daughter and I shared an apartment in Paris, and while she researched in the archives, I wandered the streets to my heart’s content, dallied over espressos in cafes, & watched the passing parade on the Pont des Arts. I was smitten by the children, as they walked to school, played in the parks or waited on the street corners with their mothers. Often, they were dressed in jeans and puffy jackets, rather than the elegant costuming I might have envisioned for them, but even in jeans, they had that certain something- that je ne se quois that one might expect from a child of Paris. |
| One day, as I sat writing in my journal, I noticed a mother and her children waiting for a bus. One child walked back and forth over a sidewalk grate in front of me, heel-to-toe, heel-to-toe, concentrating on her task and oblivious to everything else around her. She was dressed in a simple jumper and a tailored jacket, maryjane shoes and striped stockings. Here was my vision of the quintessential French child- costume and all! She stayed in my memory long after she and her family boarded the bus, and I returned home with her spirit dancing in my head. My latest dolls- the children of Paris- are just as I’d hoped they would be, and perhaps they are not so different from my memory of that child- a glimpse that evoked a creation. |
| April, and I find myself in Paris- a gift for the spirit! Half a block from the Paris that belongs to the tourists, I discover the Paris of my dreams, peeking through the new leaves of spring. I walk along the fabled streets, and silently wish for these days to go on forever. As a sculptor, it is the children who capture the magic of Paris for me. They skip on their way to school; they play in the parks. They wait with their mothers on street corners for the light to change. They are just children, but with a difference- they have a certain je ne sais quoi. I write in my journal, I make sketches, I take photographs. When I return to the studio, the children of Paris are still skipping through my soul. |
| The Children of Paris are sold out. Thank-you for your enthusiasm for these little girls! |
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