Rivoli Injection

During the Covid pandemic, I ride through Paris on my scooter, my Leica with me, music in my ears. On Rue de Rivoli, no one. The Louvre is closed. The view towards the Champs-Élysées seems endless.

I stop to photograph this silence. The smell of asphalt, the stone, the air of a deserted city: I simply wanted to keep a trace of that moment.

I never imagined it would become a six-and-a-half-hour mix, then the inspiration for a perfume. Even now, that transformation feels unreal.

Rivoli Injection: the memory of vinyl, asphalt, and Paris. An injection of music into a city at a standstill.