Je suis Nano.

Where the dickens am I?
Ah. Judging by the strap with the plastic doodad, I am in someone’s carry-on luggage, and will soon be hurtling through the atmosphere at an altitude of 35,000 feet, at the mercy of prosaic flight attendants.

It is quite hospitable of Cannes to provide me with the perfect vantage point from which I can reflect upon the sky, the sea, the vast potential of life, and Frenchwomen without bikini tops.

I am here for the Cannes Advertising Festival. It is not as salacious or perverted as they make it out to be. Or perhaps my assigned human is not visiting the right places. Instead of bringing me to the Gutter Bar, she totes me along to talks in the Grand Palais. What need have I for the latest trends in digital engagement? I require inspiration! Someone hand me a glass of rosé!

There is too much bread here.

Humans of all stripes keep stealing glances at me in the auditorium. This would not happen at the Gutter Bar.

After many such days, we are outdoors. The carousel near the Palais is a welcome sight for an inspiration-starved poet such as myself.

The muse comes in many forms. Here she is a horse with too much makeup.

But we must take what we are given.
“Forsooth! It is in the grace of sunlight
that we forsake our boots too tight.”
Yes, I know it needs more work.

It is our last day. My sister will surely appreciate the picturesque landscape behind me.

In fact, I do believe she will be positively bilious with envy when next we meet. I must savor these last moments of self-indulgence! Everything is mere material for my poetry, of course. Until the next journey, mes amis. Au’voir.

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See you next year.

Joni, Jody and I took a cardiovascularly challenging stroll to Musée de la Castre yesterday afternoon, before the Film, Titanium and Integrated Awards night. Nano insisted on the more typical tourist shots, and I obliged.

The bar is so high my neck hurts peering up at it. But if there’s one thing Cannes teaches you, it’s how to jump in stilettos, preferably in silver-finished leather.

My next stop is Paris for a couple of days. Let’s see what happens.

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No show tonight. But many parties!

Today is the Saatchi & Saatchi New Directors’ Showcase at 11:45 in the Grand Audi. I hope I make it in time to snag a seat. It’s easily the most awaited seminar during the Festival. I’m already missing the TBWA one. But work comes in only one flavor, and right now that flavor’s prison guard.

Today is also Rupert Murdoch presented by Y&R, and the Y&R party on the Carlton beachfront.

Nano’s exhausted. Here he is resting with a hairbrush and foot blister plasters.

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Before the crowd went madding…

Late last year, Nano came over to be with his sister Duende. He had no clothes. And then when he finally obtained said pieces of stitched-together fabric, they came in the shape of a mint-green terry cloth bird suit. So Nano decided to find an ink bottle to sit on. Here he is, perched on Caran d’Ache Amazon, a vivid green ink from the Colors of the Earth series.

One of the most appropriate actions to take with ink is to put it in a pen. At first, Nano looked down on Conway Stewart Dinkies. “Pah,” he grumbled, “these are mere colorful toothpicks, able only to hold a smudge of ink!” He changed his mind later on when he realized how striking they looked in pictures.

Nano is a Pen Guardian and Consumptive Poet, and he takes his vocation quite seriously. Even in a bird suit.

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