A Bend in the Road
A Bend in the Road
Jonathan Reeve Price, A Bend in the Road, 2018, Giclée print, 35.85" x 22.57" (91 x 57 cm )
How quick bright things come to confusion. We see the highways swerve as they plow through the suburbs of Paris, the parcels of open land shrink, the houses pile up.
Marly-le-Roi is a commune of about 16,000 people in the Yvelines district, about 20 kilometers (12 miles) west of Paris. People live in the northern part of town; the southern section is covered in forest. The National Route 186, which goes from Versailles to Saint-Germain-en-Laye, forms one border of the commune.
Scholars guess that the commune’s name derives from a Roman landowner named Marullius. In 1676, Louis XIV had Mansart build him a chateau here, smaller than the one at Versailles, where he could indulge in what the French call “personal pleasures.”
Water was brought in by a mechanical device (a “machine”) via an aqueduct, and the king had an enormous pool built so that his cavaliers could ride their horses right into it, for baths. He added sculptures of horses all around the pool (now in the Louvre.)
At that time, the commune proudly took on the king’s name, thanks to the miracle of hyphens: Marly-le-Roi.
But during the Revolution, the chateau was sacked, and the halls and arcades were left open to the elements. The commune was renamed Marly-la-Machine.
In 1799, a businessman bought the abandoned chateau, hoping to set up a thread-making business. But he went bust, so he took apart the chateau, selling off the stones to nearby builders. The grounds fell into the hands of the Administration of Waters and Forests. But the remnants of the gigantic watering hole survived.
In the nineteenth century, the impressionist Alfred Sisley came through and painted the scene:
Today the major highways move down along the Seine from le Port Marly on the route to Paris, while N186 branches off toward the town of Marly-le-Roi.
In yellow, you can see the regional roads.
In white, the local streets, annotated with churches.
The bland beige areas encompass houses, offices, garages—the people of the suburbs of Paris.
Public transportation into the city is haphazard, and sometimes dangerous. To get to work, you have to buy a car, and gas…and now that Macron has raised the gas tax, these are the folks who are protesting in yellow safety vests, taking over the roundabouts, the intersections, the pay stations along the major highways.
How can we imagine this territory? I zoom in.
To destroy the original, I get rid of its bland blocks of matte colors, I turn its red roads into black and white lines.
Instead of a map, we see the patterns of settlement, the complexity of transport, an abstract design. Is this art or information? Both, I would claim, as an act of imagination.
You can see the traces of my tools.
For comparison, I insert the artifact of the original Michelin map in the Atlas Routier. Which is more useful?
Horace says that poetry should be sweet and useful. In transforming the map I have tried to show the sweetness of the underlying territory, but in the process, I have deleted all utility.
For more on this series, see our book, Remapping Paris:
For Kindle, Tablet, or Phone:
To learn more about the series, see our blog:
https://museumzero.blogspot.com/2019/01/remapping-paris-14-a86.html
Our Process
Your picture gets our careful, individual attention.
We print it on a baryta-coated fiber-based satin paper with excellent archival properties, enhanced definition, and extended tonal range. Then we laminate the print to preserve the image against fingerprints and dust. Overall, our printing process takes approximately two weeks.
We then ship the print to you in a solid mailing tube, using U.S. Priority Mail, insured for the full value. We send you an email with the tracking number. Shipping usually takes 2 business days.
To get in touch, email us at jonathanreeveprice at mac.com
For more, see our detailed blog posting, Remapping Paris: A Bend in the Road