Paris 1944
It was three years after the Great War ended before Anna and I finally made our way to Paris. We took the train as far as the money would take us. They called Paris a free thinking city back then, and though we’d both enjoyed everything Vienna had to offer, there were too many bad memories; besides, I’d always wanted to live in Paris. Our arrival went unnoticed, and it would be months before I sold my first commission. During that time, I made water sketches in the park and along the banks of the Seine, selling them to earn just enough money to pay the rent and buy us food. After a week of living on the streets and sleeping in the parks, I was lucky enough to find a room large enough to serve as our living quarters, with enough space for a studio where I painted portraits of those soldiers who remained behind. They were men who wandered the streets just as we did ourselves—the Lost Generation—with both empty stares, and broken hearts, sear…
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Scribbler -- The Golden Years to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.