One sees as much of Paris as of the Island of Eyes that look upon it, because each observer sees from his or her own point of view, though often painters of Paris present us with a city that we do not recognize.  Here, as is rarely the case, Paris and her light are thrust upon us … a reflection in shop windows, in this house on the quay, this reflection slightly darkened by the passing shadow of a cloud … of the facades hidden behind dense masses of leaves, as varied and alive as they could possibly be, blend in with the real color of Paris: gray.

Wilde said that nature imitates art, and that is exactly what seemed to happen when we looked at the paintings of Paris : the boundaries disappeared; free of them, everything we saw was bigger than life, as if Jean William Hanoteau stole the soul of the city to slip behind, in miniature, the brushstrokes of watercolour.