Member-only story
LIFESTYLE
Ordinary Gravity
A marionette in Rouen and what happened when I stopped moving
Years ago, I spent a day in Rouen, where medieval buildings lean into narrow streets and are apparently still up to code.
I was walking toward the window where Monet had painted the same cathedral again and again. It worked out for him.
By then, I had already photographed several of the same buildings from slightly different angles, each time convinced I had finally captured how much they leaned.
On the way, I stopped for a puppet. He sat on the sidewalk in front of a battered basin, wearing a red windbreaker, cuffed jeans and the expression of someone whose children had stopped calling. I think washing his hands was the premise. His papier-mâché face had been patched. His shoes did not match. There was a brass faucet. A pink towel. A portable speaker lying on its side in the street.
At his feet, an open blue box waited for money. It was far enough away to look optional.
I did not know how long I was supposed to stand there. Nobody tells you when you have watched a puppet for long enough.
Leaving felt rude. Staying began to look like a commitment. The blue box
did not clarify. Behind the performance, a white dog was tied…
