Our final research trip was also my first visit to Paris. Yet despite never having been there before, the city already felt familiar through our project: through Aurélien Bellucci’s writing on Parisian theatres and gentrification, our comparative discussions, and Paris’s immense symbolic presence within European culture. Long before arriving, I knew the city through literature, cinema, painting, and theatre. I therefore wondered how strongly this imagined, “postcard” Paris would shape my observations. What would emerge once the symbolic city confronted its lived reality?

Our earlier discussions had also made me attentive to parallels between the French and Polish cultural contexts. Interwar Warsaw was once called the “Paris of the North,” a nickname reflecting its rapid urban development, café and cabaret culture, elegant modernist and eclectic architecture, and cosmopolitan ambitions (even though, it was also combined with stark social inequalities). Although this image now belongs largely to a nostalgic past, I repeatedly noticed deeper structural similarities between the two countries’ approaches to culture. In both contexts, cultural policy and education remains closely tied to broader social policy, while culture continues to be framed — at least rhetorically — as a form of public good rather than entertainment or commercial activity.

This became especially visible in relation to theatre. Polish theatre remains strongly shaped by the French tradition of mission culturelle: the belief that theatre should educate and socially engage audiences, not merely entertain them. At the same time, this public mission increasingly coexists with managerial pressures and market-oriented models of cultural administration.

Seen from this perspective, Paris revealed striking similarities to debates surrounding public theatre in Poland. In both contexts, one encounters skepticism toward overt commercialism and a strong symbolic investment in avant-garde work as a marker of artistic legitimacy. Yet this also creates a tension. The more publicly funded theatres define artistic value through relatively narrow aesthetic frameworks, the more difficult it sometimes becomes to maintain meaningful relationships with broader local audiences. Questions of accessibility, participation, and cultural inclusion — recurring themes throughout our project — therefore acquired particular resonance in Paris.

Aurélien’s itinerary led us through both the monumental spaces of central Paris and the socially mixed districts of the northeast, before extending further into the suburban landscape of Greater Paris. Over the following days, we moved between Belleville, Ménilmontant, Bobigny, Saint-Denis, and Nanterre, tracing different layers of cultural infrastructure, housing policy, redevelopment, and public space. Gradually, the familiar symbolic image of Paris gave way to another city: one shaped as much by transport infrastructure, social housing estates, construction sites, and a large variety of cultural centers. 

Our itinerary, and the constant movement between different districts, made Paris appear as a city of striking juxtapositions compressed into remarkable spatial proximity. Just a 5-min bicycle ride could take us from the monumental (and apparently super expensive) historic centre around Île de la Cité to the dense, lively atmosphere of Bastille, shaped by visible cultural diversity. The area itself bears traces of earlier waves of transformation: the construction of the Opéra Bastille significantly altered the district’s character, contributing to its gradual shift toward a more desirable and increasingly gentrified part of the city.

Throughout the trip, we repeatedly encountered what felt like a tradition of genuinely public cultural space. Even despite the irony of arriving during a holiday weekend — when many institutions remained partially closed — it was remarkable how strongly most venues attempted to signal openness and accessibility – through signs, open yards or multi-purpose halls, cantines, or even offering free coffee…  Yet beneath this shared „rhetoric”, each institution seemed to develop its own strategy of inclusion, often revealing tensions between ideals and actual forms of participation. The architecture, programming, and everyday uses of these places all appeared to suggest implicit answers to similar questions: who is this space really for? Local residents? Audiences arriving from wealthier parts of Paris? Artistic communities? Tourists and international visitors?

Among the institutions we visited were, among others, Odéon-Théâtre de l’Europe, Comédie-Française, Maison des Métallos, Théâtre Gérard Philipe in Saint-Denis, Théâtre Nanterre-Amandiers, Théâtre Ouvert, Moulin Rouge, MC93 and the Bibliothèque Municipale Elsa Triolet in Bobigny. Together, they formed less a coherent model of public culture than a set of overlapping and sometimes competing visions of participation, accessibility, and urban belonging.

These observations repeatedly brought us back to a broader question: who ultimately benefits from cultural policies that often stimulate the redevelopment of entire districts? Existing residents? More affluent audiences travelling from elsewhere in the city? The institutions themselves? Or perhaps the wider symbolic economy of Paris and the developers profiting from urban transformation?

Such tensions became especially visible in the northeastern districts of Paris, where Aurélien traced longer histories of institutional displacement and replacement. One telling example involved Théâtre Ouvert, displaced from its earlier premises near the Moulin Rouge, only to later occupy a building formerly associated with a more community-oriented theater initiative. These layered histories of replacement seemed symptomatic of wider cultural hierarchies operating within the city.

As we moved through these institutions, two related questions kept returning: what makes a space feel genuinely welcoming, and what makes a performance accessible? Different venues answered these questions in markedly different ways.

At Théâtre Nanterre-Amandiers, where we attended the Comédie-Française production of Georges Feydeau’s Une puce à l’oreille (A Flea in Her Ear), accessibility appeared closely tied to theatrical form itself. The production leaned heavily into physical comedy in fast-paced rhythm. With its mistaken identities and marital intrigues, Feydeau’s canonical farce offered an evening that was immediately legible and entertaining, supported by outstanding acting. We found ourselves wondering whether this kind of production might therefore be considered “low-threshold” theatre. The Comédie-Française certainly can be considered culturally highly prestigious, yet the performance was relatively easy to enjoy, even without any contextual knowledge.

At the same time, the audience observation itself brought further questions around the comparability of our research contexts. I realised that, from a Polish perspective, the crowd might easily have been described as unusually diverse and engaged for a repertory theatre audience. The nearly full auditorium included not only older spectators, but also younger adults, teenagers, and even children. Formal dress codes appeared largely absent; alongside elegant designer clothing were visibly casual and occasionally more eccentric styles of dress. Yet, as Aurélien pointed out, within the social context of Paris this public could rather be perceived as homogeneous: overwhelmingly white, predominantly middle-class, and often arriving from outside the surrounding district. The experience was a useful reminder that ideas of accessibility remain deeply dependent on local social contexts.

Questions of openness became even more tangible at CENTQUATRE. Installed within a former municipal funeral services complex, the institution combines exhibition spaces, performance venues, cafés, shops, rehearsal areas, and large open halls functioning as informal gathering spaces throughout the day. Entering the vast post-industrial interior, I was immediately reminded of Warsaw’s Nowy Teatr: another former industrial site attempting to function not only as a municipal theatre, but as mixed-model cultural centre and open, everyday public space. What stood out most at CENTQUATRE was the sense that people genuinely wanted to use the space independently of any ticketed programme. Dancers rehearsed or taught classes in different corners of the hall; groups met socially; children played nearby. The space enabled forms of presence not directly tied to consumption.

However, an CENTQUATRE employee described a noticeable shift in the institution’s public between day and evening. During the daytime, the space attracted younger and socially diverse users engaging informally with the building. In the evenings, however, the audience attending performances became visibly older, wealthier, and more culturally homogeneous. This temporal separation within the same institution raised an intriguing question: does this model truly broaden participation in culture, or does it primarily host different publics alongside one another, without substantially merging or transforming them?

A different model of accessibility emerged in Bobigny. There, the Bibliothèque Municipale Elsa Triolet appeared particularly successful at lowering barriers of entry, especially for children and teenagers. Bright colours, multilingual signs, youth-oriented programming, and semi-open reading spaces created an environment that felt welcoming rather than intimidating. Books remained visible and accessible even from outside the main library areas, subtly encouraging curiosity and interaction.

Yet the artistic programme of the adjacent cultural centre seemed to operate differently. More formally experimental and aesthetically demanding, it appeared oriented toward audiences possessing greater cultural capital, many likely travelling from outside the district. Observing this tension I found myself increasingly preoccupied with how cultural institutions negotiate accessibility in practice.

At this point, somewhat playfully, I decided to conduct a small experiment. Standing before a cordoned-off sculptural installation outside the building, I asked an artificial intelligence tool (ChatGPT) to analyse two images: one showing the project description, the other the object itself. I then posed two simple questions: what was the project attempting to achieve, and how effective was its execution?

Surprisingly, the response captured many of the same tensions we had been discussing throughout the trip — between symbolic openness and lived participation, institutional framing and actual accessibility, social intention and cultural reception. In its own unexpected way, the AI-generated interpretation became an oddly concise summary of many of our observations about cultural space in contemporary Paris.

After discussing the results together, we decided to include this exchange below — almost as if they were field notes produced by another curious observer accompanying our field research.