HeyJaredAtelier Nicolette
Writer, artist, & filmmaker in Paris, France—sharing what's in my life and on my mind. 🇫🇷 A space for fellow cinephiles, francophiles, and poetic wanderers.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 5
- Latest publication
- Sep 13, 2026
- Audience
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- Earliest in this view
- Jul 24, 2026
Latest issues
I don’t want to worry about Instagram. I want to write my book. (opens the original)
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I’ve been writing in the bathtub. Fully clothed. There’s no water involved here—I’ve simply been sitting in my empty bathtub with my clothes on (no shoes) and writing. I don’t know what compelled me to start doing this. Last week, I had a sudden urge to take my laptop and sit in the tub with it. I followed this urge and got a surprising amount of work done.My desk is incredibly small. It’s more like a side table. The desk (side table) came with my pre-furnished apartment. It was initially in the
Paris in summer is an origami crane (opens the original)
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<img alt="" class="sizing-normal" height="1115" src="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!nnM2!,w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F2e466e4a-4b41-4908-8b98-49dc21635039_1456x1115.
I've been feeling yellow (opens the original)
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I’ve been feeling yellow lately.I spoke these words aloud to a friend in a Parisian café. It was a Tuesday after 10pm and the café was teeming with people. In summer, Parisians seem to treat every night like it’s a Friday night. The cafés, bars, and restaurants overflow—music, wine, and cigarette-chained conversations spilling well into the warm night, no care for the clock. Perhaps it’s the product of hanging out with poets and artists—rebels and artistic outlaws scraping by and skirting the no
Coup de cœur 💌 (opens the original)
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Welcome to Coup de Cœur—a series for sharing things I love.<img alt="" class="sizing-normal" height="669" src="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!W3l8!,w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media
What Van Gogh (and standing alone in a French wheat field) taught me about life. (opens the original)
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It’s a Sunday and I am standing alone in a wheat field, an hour outside Paris. I am wearing new shoes. Or rather, old shoes that I have given a new home on my feet.I found them on the free shelf at the library the other day—a collection of paint-chipped picture frames, folded baby clothes, and yellowed books that people no longer need. Objects seeking a new home.I gave the shoes a new home. I tried them on, right there in the library. They fit perfectly. I looked down at my feet and smiled.I kep
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