George Tohmé
Street, landscape and portrait — a quiet archive of places, made by hand.
A slow archive
of places
- Île Saint-Louis
Chairs, early. No one yet.
- Afternoon, long
She had been there when I passed in the morning, and she was still there when I came back.
- A door, waiting
The brass was worn smooth. I stood across the street for a while, waiting for someone to open it. No one did.
- After everyone left
The chicken bones, the heel of the bread, two empty bottles. I took one last photo before starting the dishes.
- Mid-sentence
Someone knocked over the water. Nobody moved to wipe it up. They were still laughing when the bread came around again.
- Everyone, talking at once
A birthday for a friend of a friend. I ended up staying until the candles burned out.
- The long walk home
They walked down the dirt road past the barn, still barefoot, without saying anything. I let them go.
- Two thin bands
No rehearsal. He fumbled the ring and she laughed and that was the best part of the whole day.
- Barefoot, in June
They were married on the porch of the house she grew up in. Thirty people. Her father cried first.
- Before the vows
She hid her face in his neck for a full minute. Nobody said anything. Somebody spilled a glass of wine.
- Head thrown back
He handed her a beer halfway through the reception. She drank it standing up in the dress.
- Three chords and a porch light
He kept missing the G. She kept humming it anyway. The dog was somewhere off the frame, and the paint was peeling.
- A song, after dinner
He only knew three chords. It didn't matter. We all knew the words.
- The stoop, around ten
One checking her phone. One tying a shoelace. One smoking. Beer cans on the step between them.
- The long way up
Mist pooled at the bottom and thinned at the landing. She never once looked back.
- The 28, climbing
A yellow tram, a white wall. I stopped thinking about what I came here for.
- Blue against the hour
Azulejo holds the late sun differently — amber on a surface that refuses to warm.
- A smoke, unhurried
He lit a second before I asked. He did not look at me once, which is the only way these pictures are made.
- Tuesday cake
He climbed the step stool and reached straight for the frosting. She pretended not to see.
- The wish, already made
The smoke was still curling off the candles. Her brother blinked at the wrong second. Her dad is half out of frame, reaching for a plate.
- Make a wish
She was turning four. The cake leaned slightly to the left and no one minded.
- Supper, almost
- Pan Tadeusz, page four
He read for an hour without turning the page. I would like to be that inside of something.
- The whisk, then the bowl
- Rain on vermilion
I waited for the path to empty. The rain helped. The lanterns did the rest.
- Dust, in a language
A Colette, a Sebald, a ninth-edition Proust held together with a rubber band.
- After the rain, before service
The chairs were still wet. The light was not. I took one frame and went back in.
- Rush hour, muffled
The fog kept the sound down. Everyone cycled as if they were remembering it, not doing it.
- She made me tea twice
I had come about the lighthouse. We spoke about her husband, who had built the chair I was sitting in.
- A grey that was almost white
The world stopped about thirty meters out. I never heard the wave until it was under my boots.
- A sky of small flags
It rained in the morning and again that night. The shirts were dry by four.