favorite flânerie . Painted Clarksdale

I’ve been wandering through my photo archives lately, and it’s like a stroll through back roads and small towns and memories made. We’ve made quite a hobby of road-tripping over the years, and my kids have been pretty good sports with all the random stops to capture the views. I’ve been trying to archive and organize and make connections between all the places and wanders we’ve experienced, with the hope of sharing them here on The Frog Kisser.

This week, I’ve been looking at some images from Clarksdale, Mississippi. We last visited this crossroads of Delta arteries on a hot (HOT) summer day, and I’m revisiting the sun-baked glimpses of a small town steeped in art and dust and most of all, the blues. I’ve already shared about our visit to Delta Blues Museum and the iconic Ground Zero Blues Club, but most of our adventures also include at least a little dawdling over downtown streets and the search for whatever street art we can find. So, today’s archive is a glimpse of painted Clarksdale.

Flânerie. I came across this French word for idle dawdling in a magazine several years ago. And, of course, I had to investigate. It began as a negative term for wasting time, but somewhere through nineteenth century Paris it came to represent more of an approach to life and spaces that was filled with intentional wandering. Strolling, absorbing, and making connections. Filled with curiosity and resistant to being hurried through before one had soaked up all that the wandering had to offer. Flânerie is mostly described as aimless, but really, I think the aim was to experience the journey itself.

Fast forward to Clarksdale. As I look through photos of our little travels, the term “flânerie” seems to describe them the best. Where “aimless” adventure takes aim at soaking up a place. The images take me right back to sidewalks and conversations and weather and detours and potholes — all the stuff that makes a journey most interesting, regardless of the destination. The glimpses of side streets and stops off the beaten path and random walls filled with someone’s ideas help me to feel I’ve actually seen a place. In looking at the history and hopes and dreams and energy and vibe depicted on the walls, I’ve actually looked beyond the surface. Seen past and present and future all at once. And felt some connection to the unknown people there. I’ve allowed a place to become my place. If the life of a flâneur is to let the curiosity of the journey lead the way, then I guess I’m game.