HeyJaredEleonore's Whisper
Eleonore's Whisper explores London's art, style, and moods. It also ventures to other destinations and features portraits of the people I meet along the way.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 5
- Latest publication
- Sep 27, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Jul 12, 2026
Latest issues
A world of skirts and absurdity (opens the original)
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I came back to London last Sunday, after months of sun and unbroken heat. I drove the whole way, listening to the audiobook of a novel by the French writer Laurent Mauvignier, and as I crossed France towards the north, I watched the landscape change while uncovering the secrets of a rural French family in the early years of the last century.Eleonore's Whisper is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.<form
A September fantasy (opens the original)
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I have just been offered a Dries Van Noten sweater. Cerulean blue, from the men’s collection. A little too big, but I love it, at least now, when I pretend to wear it with a light cotton skirt and sandals. The woollen texture and baggy shape have an unmistakable back-to-school flavour, the promise of the autumn to come, but not quite yet.Eleonore's Whisper is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.<f
The Magic Mountain (opens the original)
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As a child, I usually spent the final weeks of the summer holidays in the mountains, where the Mediterranean heat and far niente gave way to long walks, cold-lake swims, berry-picking, the occasional climb. The great risk was two weeks of rain. Otherwise it was the happiest of transitions: structure returning, jackets, laced shoes.In adult life those retreats slowly disappeared. The priorities shifted towards sun-drenched Sicily, Greece, the South of France. Escapism from the greyness of London
My Night in Arles, my Day with Kiefer (opens the original)
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I have now spent a good part of the month in Provence, torpid and ripe with beauty, orange wine, parties and cultural orgies, as if the whole region had been arranged by the gods. My afternoons went to napping and reading, my early mornings to a tepid pool, my evenings attending the many art festivals. The tourists this summer were tasteful ones: creators and curators in Arles, young actors descending on Avignon.Culture aplenty. And yet, for all the wonders, I kept returning to the same question
London, at your own risk (opens the original)
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I was hoping to put together a full summer newsletter about London, but the heatwave made me rethink the endeavour. Now, in Provence, dealing yet again with the canicule, I wonder whether culture in the city, with its air-conditioned galleries and theatres, might be the summer’s saviour. Perhaps not… I caught a cold at the National Theatre while attending the opening of the disappointing Misanthrope, then almost fainted crossing the footbridge back to Embankment on a red-alert day after seeing A
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