Whispers of a Parisian Violin

Photo Essay, Photography, Narrative, Fine Art Photography, Black and White Photography

Time has caressed this violin, leaving behind the patina of a thousand serenades. Born in a Parisian atelier, beneath the golden glow of an oil lamp, its curves were shaped by hands that understood not just wood, but longing. The luthier, a poet in silence, carved its body with devotion—each stroke of his blade a verse, each polished edge a promise.

Now, it rests in the hush of a dimly lit room, its varnish aged to the color of warm cognac, its strings taut with stories untold. It has sung beneath the vaulted ceilings of grand salons and murmured in the shadows of Montmartre’s cobbled streets, where lovers once danced to its melancholic waltz. Perhaps it wept in the arms of a virtuoso, pouring out the ache of lost love in a dimly lit bistro. Or maybe, just maybe, it laughed in the hands of a dreamer, bowing to the exuberance of a Parisian spring.

Close your eyes. Can you hear it? The echo of Chopin’s nocturnes drifting through lace-curtained windows, the ghost of a melody lingering like perfume on an empty stage. This violin, with its delicate f-holes and timeworn bridge, does not merely play music—it remembers.

Each note, a fingerprint of the past. Each silence, a sigh.

This is no ordinary instrument. This is Paris—etched in spruce and maple, strung with desire, waiting for a touch to bring it back to life.

:: Rand

If you'd like to delve deeper into my photography visit my website, Instagram (@randleebdutoit) and the Days to Live project website. Please reach out if you'd like to suggest a collaboration.

All images are copyright Rand Leeb-du Toit, 2025