Editor: Evangelina SargeantCo-Editor: Carys Fieldson

Layout Editor: Briana Stroh

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FROM THE EDITOR

On returning to Paris after spending 10 gluttonous days at home for Christmas, my festive glow was quickly diminished by the realisation that none of my friends would be returning to the city of light for at least another week. Initially I indulged in this free time, spending longer than is socially acceptable in bed, barely dress-ing, and eating various combinations of bizarre comfort foods. However, after a day or two it dawned on me that I hadn’t spoken out loud for almost 48 hours and it was at this point that solitude became loneliness. I knew that I had to seek out company, and fast. This inaugural issue aims to explore the subject of ‘isolation’ and is particularly relevant for those, like the contributors to this zine, who have moved to a new and foreign city. In this case the city is Paris but the emotions and stories shared are universal.

Thanks to all our contributors and especially Briana and Carys without whom this zine wouldn’t exist.

This zine aims to provide a fresh insight to Paris for young, English-speakers who may not have loads of money to throw at the city but are still interested in the arts, fashion, food and travel.

The Seventy Fifth can only continue with your help. Short Stories/Interviews/Photo’s/Art/Poetry/Illustrations/How To’s/Recipe’s...you name it, we’re interested in your contributions.

Evangelina Sargeant

I S O L A T I O N

There’s a certain implicationIn enjoying isolationIt’s that you’re an aberration - Well, it’s just a lie.

Solitude, it must be stated,Is quite frankly underratedWhen it should be celebratedAnd I’ll tell you why:

There is nothing so appealingAs that peaceful, quiet feelingThat accompanies me stealingTime just me and I.

Following these little broodingsWhat do I end up concluding?Things and people need excludingFrom your mental eye.

Flying solo - it’s a blessing!Not the slightest bit depressingAnd my single aim is stressingTo you - have a try!

Well, I hope you’ve got my gist And all my points won’t be dismissed(And if they are I will persist)But as for now - goodbye!

Alison Zrada

THE ODD, THE OLD AND THE PROBABLY VERY COLD:

H O M E L E S S N E S S I N PA R I S

BAILEY BLURTS

of my Neuilly-residency, as I worked out my weekly fruit-and-veg-buying strategy, I began to notice the continual presence of the lady with wonderfully coiffured locks. No doubt enjoying, as I did, the general hubbub that hectic markets and their bargain-hunters brought to the sleepy town. At the Christmas market, I noticed a particularly jazzy shopping trol-ley out of the corner of my eye. My favou-rite street-wanderer had decorated her wares with a few of the red velvet bows previously smothering Neuilly’s trees. A not-so-subtle nod to the festive feeling that had taken over our small suburb. Her marketplace actions were unremarkable yet revealed to me an appealingly human need for social inclusion; the abso-lute opposite of isolation. She neither browsed, begged nor chatted. She mere-ly took part in the bi-weekly experience, her simple motive: involvement.

Growing up, my understanding of homelessness was limited. It was basi-cally what I had patched together from a choice selection of Jacqueline Wilson novels and an early memory of my moth-er giving a cheesy-beans-topped jacket potato to a man that, I recall the much

The fascinatingly vast amount of French homeless dawned on me in a rath-er swanky Parisian suburb called Neuilly. To give you an idea, last Christmas, its Mairie was surrounded by what can only be described as a forest of ten foot trees suffocating in red velvet ribbons. I vividly recall a particular homeless lady who dwelled there. Our initial encounter occurred as I made my way home from an unsuccessful French class. I stumbled upon her as she snoozed with an eerie eye open in the doorway of an exclusive cosmetics shop. I was instantly enthralled by this intriguing cross between a seem-ingly unremarkable grandmother and a reincarnation of the Junk Lady from the cult 80s film ‘Labyrinth’. I often observed her carting her meticulously packed belongings in a shopping trolley. She constantly combed her impressive never-a-strand- out-of-place, fairy-tale hair and was a total mystery to me.

This lady was obsessed with market day. More often than I’d care to admit, I passed the market place in the early hours. Our subject lurked around the bare stalls; anticipating the morning’s commercial kick-off. After a few months

smaller version of myself thinking, had a very impressive amount of facial hair. I suspect that those without homes were very much present in that tiny town in which I learnt my first steps and that I had been happily unaware of them in the way that only a toddler has the luxury to be.

In Paris, I have occasionally tried to fol-low my maternal figure’s lead. Yet offer-ing the oddities I usually have with me as snacks (this week it consisted of a miser-able mixture of slightly mushed bananas and melted Snickers) are probably not the gesture of goodwill that any family sleeping on the corner of Republique hopes for. Often, my mother bought the Big Issue: a Britain-based magazine sold by the homeless to ideally enable them lift themselves out of poverty. In true rock and roll style, the first time I bought one I entered its crossword competition and incidentally won a cash prize. I am not, generally speaking, a lucky person and the idea that instead of aiding a worthwhile cause by donating two quid, I accidently depleted the charity’s cash fund troubled me. The victory was somewhat muted.

Anyway, you get my point. Home-lessness, it’s an awkward, embarrassing issue. It’s a loaded minefield of a subject. We, consciously or otherwise, avoid it. Whether that be by pretending not to hear someone’s greeting or by avoiding their gaze as they ask for the elusive yet highly sought after ‘ticket resto’. Why are we so embarrassed? From the man who drags himself along the floor of the entire length of the metro carriage to the woman who stands by the ticket machine shaking her empty coffee cup; a hundred miles from the beardy man thanking my mother for a hot meal. They go unmen-tioned. It is taboo.

I forgot to bring my phone with me recently on my way to meet a friend. On arrival, rather than ask a passer-by if

I could use their mobile to contact her, I travelled back home to retrieve my own and ended up being an hour late. Why is asking for help such an avoided activity? We feel uncomfortable doing so, even when the motivation behind it is so sim-ple and truthful. We’re embarrassed at ourselves. I, for one, am embarrassed at the grand-scale of my own unnecessary embarrassment. On Sunday, a home-less man got on the metro and sang a beautifully haunting song, hoping for a few coins in return. Parisien norms and behaviours ensured that the only thing to greet this sliver of emotional honesty in the moving metal carriage was silence, and so uncomfortable is the truth that not one passenger will meet your eyes, nor that of the singer’s. To live so socially apart that your behaviour is governed by bodily needs rather than politely subtle nuances of acting is brave. The wonderful truth in the cardboard sign communicat-ing that someone is hungry is not to be underestimated.

A man asked me for some money the other morning and I timidly offered over the clementine I was fingering in my pocket. I suspect his smile was the result of my poor French interaction rather than excitement for the mini vitamin C boost. That’s when it hit me: stop being too wor-ried that you don’t have any spare change or that they’ll hate the food you’re offer-ing. The simple act of saying hello might just count for more than we could have possibly imagined. The fabric of society will not rip apart should you visibly enjoy a Sunday morning metro song. Let’s give living a little more honestly a shot. We might even enjoy it, make a new acquain-tance and practice some foreigner French all in one happy, fleeting street greeting.

Jo Bailey godojo.wordpress.com

PHOTO BY CARYS FIELDSON

A Journey ‘Inside’ at Palais De Tokyo

Finally after weeks of anticipation I embarked upon the artistic voyage that is ‘Inside’ at Palais de Tokyo. This was my journey…

Inside’s epic and ambitious scale generated an affective journey through, under and into space. The exhibition combined an energetic mix of media to address notions surrounding the uncan-ny subject of interiority. The viewer was submerged, digested and spat back out, in a disturbing discovery of the possibili-ties that lie beyond the visible.

Notions surrounding intrusion and expulsion were explored and challenged by the exhibition curators. In the dynam-ic utilisation of the gallery’s vast spaces, the audience was funneled and directed through back entrances, side doors and stairwells. These raw, exposed spaces revealed the building’s bare carcass. The dark corridors and stairwells that serve the functionality of the building became intertwined and absorbed by the exhibi-tion installations. The audience in a sense became intruders, breaching the gallery itself.

Audiences could not foresee or antic-ipate what they were about to encounter

as they traversed the labyrinth of rooms, stairs and back alleys. Noises permeated the air as we meandered from room to room. Blind corners and heavy curtains, strong contrasts of light and dark, sound and silence, generated an unnerving sense of displacement and disorienta-tion.

Stretched above as we entered the Palais’ entrance hall was the impressive network of transparent tunnels installed by art collective Numen/For Use. The overhead canopy of tubular limbs, cre-ated using only Scotch tape, emanated from the ceiling pillars, responding to the building’s lofty heights. From below we received glimpses of the animated forms of bodies crawling within the thin mem-brane of plastic. Visitors were invited to climb within the suspended vessels and scuttle solitarily above the crowds below in a cocooning labyrinth of enveloping space. The installation drew one towards the mouth of the exhibition as we turned our first dark corner - and were met by a

Palais De TokyoMetro: Lena

13 Ave President Wilson16eme, Paris

(Left Photo) © Ryan Gander, I IS…(ii), Marble Resin 70x240x130cm, 2012Photo credit: Patrick Scemama

(Right Photo) © Yuri Ancarani, Da Vinci, Video, 2012

myriad of sounds and shapes emanating from within.

Yuri Ancarani’s film transported the viewer inside the body during a surgical procedure. Ancarani majestically cho-reographs the sequence in a unique and disturbing synthesis of man and machine. The ‘Da Vinci’, a highly advanced medical robot, manipulates the fleshy abyss of organs and sinew that pulses beneath the skin. It is an unsettlingly visceral encoun-ter on a confronting scale. The human body is seemingly violated and invaded as we begin to tackle the idea that our bodies are not always our own, that they are vulnerable, traumatic and permeable.

Sculptural works by Ryan Gander and Stephane Thidet shattered ideologies surrounding shelter and protection. Gan-der recasts temporary shelters as dense marble sculptures that shut out the body. The make-shift composition of the struc-tures, comprising of soft blankets, umbrel-las, chairs and boxes, not only conjure up nostalgic connotations with childish play but also of homelessness and refugee shelters. The familiar domestic forms are turned strange, as they no longer invite us to enter. Stephane Thidet’s, Untitled (The Refuge), is a wooden cabin, equipped with home furnishings and a light source, plagued by a hostile rain that relentless-ly soaks the interior. Thidet generated a distressing image of the inversion of ref-uge; the water destroying all possibility

of habitation or protection and rendering the building impenetrable.

‘Installation of Experience’ by Valia Fetisov created a highly personal and charged experience with isolation. Fest-isov’s interactive piece operates a sophis-ticatedly simple ‘cell’ that challenges individuals to become inwardly reflec-tive; generating conversation with per-sonal interiority- challenging participants to confront thought, and fear.

If you missed ‘INSIDE’, make sure you catch ‘At the Edge of the Worlds’ arriving at the Palais in mid-Febuary.

Carys Fieldsonpiypoy.tumblr.com

I IS... (ii),Ryan Gander

Da Vinci, Yuri Ancarani

DIY, HELEN WALKERINSTAGRAM: H_WLKR

P-ROSPERITAS.TUMBLR.COM

Again and again,the tokens against sin.Again the Eucharist: to admit faultis to be absolved.So I confess without a listenerand without a destination,wandering through the desert and losing countof the days before I arrive at forty.Again and again: the fields rolling on both sidesof the train tracks,like the cheap carpet in this latest apartment,the seven different floors of your childhoodrunning together like watercolors: tryingagain and againto paint rainbows and creatingnothing but muddled colors, the purple-brown of a bruisefrom trying too hard and wanting too much;torn paper, again and again.Every morning instant coffee.Every afternoon instant coffee.Every month the moon fading in and outthe same pull multiplied and stretchedwith tides, confessed whisperedto different hands, new knuckleswhite with the same recycled passions.Again and again the same sins washed downwith instant coffee. Pills taken against age and the dullingof the mind, taken with wine to take the edge off,sitting on the dirty carpet of a new place. A same selfalways knowing: something is wrong.Something inside you grows largeras you yourself shrink down small enoughto fit under doors and into crackslying in bed and knowingthe ceiling is traveling awayas surely as the fields as surelyas the plates of the earth. As your throatbegins to close from incenseand the box-trees in the dirty grass stand breathless:something, again and again, and againis waiting to be confessed.

Silvia Weko

CONF

ESSI

ON

UNTITLED, AGATY DOBRZANSKIEJFB: FOTOGRAFIA AGATY DOBRZANSKIEJ

UNTITLED, AGATY DOBRZANSKIEJFB: FOTOGRAFIA AGATY DOBRZANSKIEJ

THE

MARY MANDEFIELD, UNTITLED

MARYSPROJECTYEAR.WORDPRESS.COM

Living in this century allows us many opportunities that we probably take for granted. Living and working in another country is one luxury that is more accessi-ble to us these days. The bureaucracy that comes with that can be intimidating and annoying and to be honest, a real bitch. Being a non-European citizen does make things more complicated and wanting to live and work in France is not easy. Being an au pair has been a blessing in terms of legalities. I originally planned on mov-ing to Sweden, where the admin process was fairly simple. I filled out a form that I downloaded from the Swedish embassy website, gave them a copy of my current bank balance, photo copies of my iden-tification and passport, posted it all to Australia's capital city (Canberra for those of you playing at home) and within two weeks I had my visa. Sweden was pretty open to having me.

Once I arrived in Sweden at the start of winter and realised it's mainly flat, grey, dark and the entire population is reminis-cent of children of the corn, I realised why they hand their visas out like desperate singles in the club. No one wants to live

there. After I had escaped to France and decided this was my place, this is where I wanted to live, it quickly became appar-ent that France wasn't going to give it up so easily. Not like their slutty Scandina-vian neighbours. France are interested in you but you have to work for it. They are not saying yes or no. They want to see how far you will really go for them. So, after compiling 25067900 documents that had to be stamped by officials in the outer outer suburbs of Paris, consisting of original high school documents from Australia (I'm 29 this was not easy), a current resume in French and a letter of motivation written entirely in French, and after a short flight to Stockholm, France would finally "consider" my request. It's been a rocky road but we got there. Our relationship is temporary for now with an expiry date looming in 2015. But I love you France. And if it doesn't work out I guess I always have my fall back booty call…Sweden.

Lani Dafterwww.lanidafter.com

COMPLEXITIES OF EXPATRIATISMTHE

“IT IS NOT WHAT FRANCE GAVE YOU BUT WHAT IT DID NOT TAKE FROM YOU THAT WAS IMPORTANT.”

- GERTRUDE STEIN

We have this argument often: to walk or take the subway?

Last week I walked to the bar alone, left him in the apartment early,

shaving cream on one side of his face, just to skip the metro ride.

I like to walk, I like to feel my musclesmoving the way they should.

I like to see what is above the ground. I hate the 1.70 spent on something

other than beer. But mostly I hate being down there with the sewer stink, the liquids known and unknown.

Running late, today I took the metro at Belleville, rushing down and around grandmothers,

hop-up before the door closes, fumbling into strangers,

without looking first.You never know who you’re up against.

This time it’s a manwho reminds me of the first guy

to get to second base with me (before I even hit first)

and by the time I figured it outit was my stop anyway, why make a fuss?

S U B W AY G O I N G

S U B W AY G O I N G

S Y LV I A W E K O

This man, here, nowhas the same hair, I’m sure,It couldn’t be him, after eight years, buthe’s standing way too close to a girlwho’s maybe fourteen, at the oldest.She’s very pretty, prettierthan I ever was. I think they don’twant confident ones, they wantthe ones who won’t make a fuss. I watched his hands,I didn’t want to watch his face, but he knew I was staring, more than the usual subwaygoer.

That same adrenaline, know where the keys are,use them to make the fist a claw.I watch his hands, make sure she’s far enough awayuntil she gets off the train: safe, for now,but she could be changing lines.I wish that I could stop looking,but his hands are more alive than his face, traveling from head to chest to pole to chest,I look for a wet mark left on the metal,as if they were toads, grasping and gobbling.

When the doors spit me out, up onto the street, my muscles are moving as they should,my feet carry me past the apartment and onward towards the river.If the world were flat, I could walk straight off the edge.

ANIMALS TEACH FRENCH EPISODE 2, HELEN WALKER

P-ROSPERITAS.TUMBLR.COM

INSTAGRAM: H_WLKR

Since moving to France greeting com-plete strangers, just in the hope of spark-ing conversation and possibly gaining some new acquaintances, is no longer a crazy concept. When I hear someone speaking English I automatically have something in common with them, mak-ing it that much easier to jump start a conversation (I now wonder if this is how guys feel when they are trying to pick up girls?) What people don't realize is that moving to a new country, especially one where you only speak the language at the level of a child, may hinder ones ability to encounter people. Though the opportu-nities may seem few and far between, it does encourage you to get more creative and vulnerable when it comes to making new friends.

In a world that revolves around tech-nology and convenience, we are faced with some new and interesting ways to happen across people. We can do almost everything on the internet; pur-chase groceries and have them delivered

to your doorstep, find ones soulmate via dating websites, and now possibly even discover your new BFF. After mov-ing abroad, I was in desperate need to make some companions to go and sip wine in the outdoor cafes, taste delicious pastries, and quite possibly even meet some hunky garçons. The app allows you to narrow down your interests, and then sends out notifications for events and gatherings occurring in your area. It is marvelous. Not only does it basically tell you when and where to go, but you can also snoop out the guest list - see who is attending, scope out their photos, read a little bit about them in their bio. If you get really brave, you can even send some-one a private message! It is essentially a dating website for friends. Meetup is a great way to put yourself out there with other people who are doing the exact same thing. As opposed to showing up in some random bar where everyone already has their own agenda or group to hang out with, Meetup is designed

hmhoward90.wordpress.com

to gather strangers who actively want to meet other people, limiting those awk-ward encounters.

The first Meetup I attended was a pub crawl in Pigalle. I will admit that it felt a little like I was speed dating for friends. There was such a large turnout that I was introducing myself to one person, and then in 30 seconds, time is up and you're onto the next meet and greet. Although the encounters were short, they ended up being sweet. Dipping ones toes in a foreign pond can be overwhelming and Meetup took away the intimidation factor.

When I'm not browsing through the activities occurring on Meetup, I will sometimes stroll over to the amazing application known as Instagram. It is a beautifully created app, allowing one to search for things by location, a specific photo, or even browse through photos of friends of friends - taking inspiration from their day trips. A favorite past time of mine is to search for cute cafes. It makes for an easy way to get an idea of a place that potentially I could see myself enjoy-ing. Although the method may not be as straightforward as Meetup, in regards to coming into contact with new people, it does allow you to position yourself in an establishment that you are drawn to, which in turn may also house person-alities of people you would naturally gravitate towards. I realise that by just showing up to some chic little cafe in the hope of bumping into some new people isn't very realistic.

If you go into these places with a ‘YOLO’ mindset (or a new term I’ve coined since being here, ‘YOPO’ You’re only in Paris once) You may as well put yourself out there, and introduce yourself to some strangers, even if it feels unnat-ural at first. What it all comes down to is not taking yourself so seriously. The worst that could happen is someone thinks you are crazy for introducing yourself to them.

The best part about it is, who cares? If someone thinks you are weird for being friendly, you most likely will never see them again in your lifetime, seeing as there is upwards of 200 trillion people living in Paris.

Good luck friend hunting!

ANIMALS TEACH FRENCH EPISODE 3

Hannah Howard

ANIMALS TEACH FRENCH EPISODE 3

ANIMALS TEACH FRENCH EPISODE 1

Grace you picked out three outfits for today. Can you tell me about them and why you chose them?

I think the three outfits are a bit of a before, middle and after. My tartan trou-sers would be all I wore before, and com-ing from Scotland this wasn’t a bad thing, but since being in Paris my wardrobe has calmed down a lot. I wear a lot more black and my pattern clashing is a thing of days gone by. I still love funky and unusual things though and that’s why I just love this purple jacket. It jazzes up any outfit and it was a great vintage find.

What do you think of Parisian style in general?

I know it’s pretty cliché and a bit of a Parisian fashion buzzword but I find it very ‘chic’. Some of the greatest fashion hous-es in the world have their home here and I think that’s been a big influence - even looking at street style! You can see it in the playground, the park and outside the schools too. The mothers look fabulous and well groomed; as do the children. It’s

like ‘chic-ness’ runs in their blood, or at least it’s instilled from a young age. The children here look like they’ve walked straight out of a Petit Bateau advertise-ment campaign. However, sometimes I think it can get a bit dull. Black is great but too much is BORING. Sometimes I just want to throw some glitter on these women and tell them to smile!

Tell me a beauty top tip/secret. Please.All through puberty I’ve had problem-

atic skin and I have tried literally every trick and treatment in the book. The thing that I find most important now that I’m coming to the end of my teenage years is moisturising! Eventually the spots will go and when they do I want to know that my skin underneath is healthy and well maintained. When I remember, I like to put on two or three layers of oil-free moisturiser at night as it allows my skin to soak it all in while it’s not being exposed to the elements. Currently I’m using the Neutrogena visibly clear pink grapefruit oil-free moisturiser. Grapefruit products

are known to re-hydrate skin so are great for the bitter cold winter months.

Glitter is your signature ‘look’, even in the daytime. I love it! How did it come about?

I just love glitter. Even when I’m feel-ing a bit crap I throw on some glitter and I feel fabulous. I love festival style in Britain and I used to see girls smothered in glit-ter and I just thought, ‘Hey, I want in on that’, and so it became my obsession. It started with a tube of glitter eyeliner and from there my face just got progressively more sparkly. To be honest, it’s probably a bit of an attention-seeking thing. It gets a lot of attention, especially in Paris where the girls make-up regime is usually a clas-sic black eyeliner flick teamed with a red lip, and I’m always happy to talk to any-one about it. Make-up has always been a way for me to be creative in the way I look. I love changing it up, whether it be lip colour or a new way to do my eyes, but the glitter was just something that stuck.

You work as an au pair, why Paris?I have to admit that I am one of the

cheesy people that just adores this city. It demands to be seen! I was looking for jobs anywhere in France and when Paris came up I couldn’t say no. All through high school I used to say to people, “I’m going to move to Paris for a year one day”, and obviously everyone thought I was an idiot whose dreams were too big. But now I’m here and I’m having a ball! It can get lonely and there are times when I do miss my home comforts but I’ve met some of the most incredible people here and I’m constantly learning new things about the world and myself, something I would never have been able to do in small town Scotland.

Where is your favorite place in Paris?It’s hard to pick one favorite place,

however, every Wednesday a group of friends and I head down to The Highland-

er for their weekly open mic night. It’s got a great reputation, and after going a few times I can see why. It’s a great setting in the basement, fantastic music and a really friendly atmosphere. It’s fun and welcoming and you spend your evening listening to undiscovered talent who just love playing, and as a result, you love being able to listen to it. For anyone who is a music lover, I highly recommend this night.

Living in a Chambre de Bonne can be tricky. How do you use the space/per-sonalise it?

My CDB is a great space and I’m lucky to have it. The thing with small spaces is you usually have to rearrange everything a couple of times in order to optimise what you have. My bed is probably the most important part so once I had found its perfect spot, everything else just fell into place. I’m also lucky to have a massive wall mirror. It helps to create more light in the room and gives the illusion of more space which really opens up the bed-room. Personalising a space that is only yours for a year is quite tricky and some-times it’s the mess and clutter of everyday life that gives it the character and per-sonality that makes you look around the room and say, ‘Hey, this is mine!’. Aside from that, I like putting things on my wall, memories from both home and my time in Paris and I also keep hold of all the cards and postcards I’ve received since being here. They’re the little snippets of life from home which can be comforting when you live alone in the centre of a big city. I think it’s in the nature of a CDB to have its own character. The rooms here have seen many people come and go and many stories have played out here. I like the idea of adding a few stories too during my short time here.

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