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Paris — From La Défense to the Eiffel Tower, 2022

A general wander across Paris — the towers and esplanade of La Défense, film and game promos pitched in the open plazas, construction cranes stacked against the sky, the city building itself in plain view — then the Eiffel Tower, from below and from across the Seine. The new and the iconic on the same walk.

A Uniqlo shop window on a Paris boulevard doubles as an accidental mirror. The glass carries a Final Fantasy 35th Anniversary display — roman numerals arranged like a clock face, the collaboration branding at centre — while the Haussmann facade opposite reflects back in full, pedestrians and a passing car folded into the composition. The window is doing two jobs at once: advertising inside, and framing the street outside.
A large promotional display stands in the window of the Uniqlo Paris store, its black panel set with Roman numerals I through XVI — one for each mainline Final Fantasy title. The Uniqlo UT × Final Fantasy 35th Anniversary logo sits at the centre, flanked by a Yoshitaka Amano illustration. The display turns a game franchise's entire catalogue into a typographic grid, and makes the count feel earned rather than decorative.
The esplanade at La Défense stretches toward the Paris skyline in a grid of pale paving slabs, each line pulling the eye toward the glass towers clustered at the far end. Coeur Défense anchors the left; a cylindrical tower holds the centre. People cross the vast pedestrian plaza in ones and twos, small against the scale of the business district around them. The geometry does the work — the receding grid and the vertical mass of the skyscrapers hold the frame in tension, both monumental and entirely ordinary on a cloudy afternoon.
La Grande Arche frames everything in its path — including, on this spring afternoon, a Jurassic World promotional installation stacked from shipping containers and T-rex graphics at its base. The arch-within-arch geometry does the heavy lifting: the hollow cube of white marble punches through a sky loaded with fast-moving cloud, while the branded containers below introduce a collision of scales that is absurd and somehow fitting. La Défense's modernist plaza has always been theatre; it just rarely features dinosaurs.
A large-scale outdoor film promotion fills the plaza at La Défense, Paris. The Jurassic World: Dominion movie poster anchors the left foreground — its amber T-Rex logo vivid against a dark panel — while stacked shipping containers branded in red and blue tower behind it, a life-sized dinosaur sculpture set between them. A crew member in a yellow hard hat works the installation mid-shot, the Grande Arche and Paris skyline visible above. The event setup earns its drama from scale alone: the containers are the architecture here, and the poster is the punctuation.
Stacked red and blue shipping containers bearing the Jurassic Park logo frame a large-format mural of a Giganotosaurus mid-stride through a deserted city street. The installation sits on an open plaza in Paris, modern glass towers visible in the background, hard summer light cutting across the paving. Film marketing at this scale does two things at once — it occupies public space as pure spectacle, and it turns a city block into a movie set.
Two white modernist facades frame a deep-blue Paris sky, the angle shooting straight up from street level to compress geometry against cloud. A construction crane arm cuts into the top-right corner — not an intrusion but a counterpoint, the machine logic of building against the finished logic of the facade below it. The gridded soffit spanning the gap holds the composition in place, equal parts architecture and sky.
A suspended neon tube sculpture fills the rotunda of a Paris museum, its glowing loops and gestural curves traced through the air like a three-dimensional drawing. Shot from below, the upward view frames the installation against the oval oculus and clerestory windows ringing the dome — the diffuse daylight from above meeting the cold precision of the tubes below. The classical architecture doesn't compete with the contemporary work; it holds the abstraction still long enough to read it.
Looping neon tubes hang suspended inside a neoclassical rotunda in Paris, filling the upper volume with what reads less like lighting and more like a drawing made in air. The clerestory windows ring the dome above; below, a white curved partition and a circular ottoman anchor the floor in near-total calm. The sculpture pulls two ideas against each other — the rotunda's classical weight and the neon's restless, hand-drawn energy — and holds them in the same breath.
Ten tower cranes at varying heights fill the frame above a Paris construction site, their yellow lattice arms cutting across a storm-charged summer sky. The low angle compresses the geometry — each jib overlapping the next — so the machinery reads less like equipment and less like scaffolding than as a kind of involuntary architecture. A 'Cinéma' sign at the lower left anchors the scene in the city without competing for the frame. The cranes do the work; the sky does the rest.
Five tower cranes dominate a Paris construction site, their red-and-yellow booms cutting angular geometry across a bruised summer sky. The French tricolour holds its ground in the middle distance — the city mid-build, unmistakably itself. A brooding cloudbank does the compositional heavy lifting here, compressing the cranes and the skyline into a single plane of controlled tension.
The Eiffel Tower seen from directly below, its iron lattice expanding outward as the eye climbs from the broad first-floor arches to the needle tip. A broken summer sky — vivid blue cut by rolling cloud — does the structural geometry a favour: the warm wrought iron reads sharper against it. Gustave Eiffel built a machine for looking up at; this frame takes that instruction literally. The tower fills the vertical, and the clouds do the rest.
The Eiffel Tower rises clean against a deep summer blue, its iron lattice detailed from base to spire. A bank of cloud sits low to the left, and the tree line along the Champ de Mars holds the base without pulling focus. The structure is the subject — familiar enough to anchor any first read of Paris, specific enough in this light to stand on its own.
The Eiffel Tower rises above the tree-lined Quai Branly, centred in the frame with the Seine running wide and dark in the foreground. Shot from the river on a clear summer afternoon, the composition lets the water and the promenade do the spatial work — the tower earns its place in the skyline rather than filling the frame by default. Paris at its most plainly stated, which turns out to be enough.