Enya Smilovic
Locked in Love
This photo shows love and amor in many colors bordering the statement “do the right thing.” Amor is love in Spanish and amour in French, while captured in Washington Heights, New York. The dynamic blend here brought me on a stream of conscious that I wrote above about novels and poems I had read about nineteenth century Paris. Charles Baudelaire’s poem “Get High” was the first inspiration for my poem. Baudelaire invites one to get high on whatever they please, from wine to poetry. The nineteenth- century panorama allowed people to capture a whole new view, this way an innovation of freedom and an ability to see further. This idea inspired my writing after capturing this dynamic image. The novel The Ladies’ Paradise by Êmile Zola played a role in my process as well. Zola notices the problems with department stores where women began to get high off fashion. Now notice in the image the few ripped pieces of paper, the damaged areas, this is what happens when what seems like perfection goes on. The department store is this misguided perfection.
There is a lock between amor and love, showing the ability choices hold. As secrets can be kept, we chose our moral compass and hope not to get caught. Eventually so many secrets are locked up, one must throw the key away or risk being exposed. Then everyone ends up wearing the same things, thanks to the department store, causing everyone to look the same. Making the crowd confusing, the boulevard overwhelming. It all goes back to the message in the image, surrounded by amor and love: do the right thing. Parisian history shows that choices are prevalent, but it’s in our hands. We may get high off whatever we please, purchase whatever we want. How one acts with those choices is freedom-orama. Zola, Baudelaire, and many other influential writers of the nineteenth century show us instances where it went wrong. Therefore, we know how to find the key and lock it by the Seine with someone we love, not something.
Amour Amour, Paris we love:
Like a drug.
As we love,
suddenly feeling above.
High up;
Panoramic.
In a whole crowd,
I see only one:
My Amour, whom I adore.
Until I walk into a store,
Suddenly a panorama of choices.
Oh, this is love,
For it fits like a glove.
Getting high off fashion,
Consuming Madam’s passions.
Eventually leaving her in mourning,
Yet adorning the black clothing.
Ignoring the warning,
She carries on as she was.
All locked up in love,
She threw away the key.
No longer able to do thing right thing,
As if she forgot how to sing.
No longer moving to her own ring.
Instead following the beats others composed,
Yet no one imposed.
The crowd became confusing now.
For I thought I saw you,
Yet it was some other dandy.
Guess I don’t fancy trends.