Finding my way to Paris.

I visited the Foundling Hospital near the outskirts of the city. The building was dull, its halls echoing with soft footsteps and the distant cries of infants. Rows of iron cradles lined the nursery rooms. Some babies slept peacefully, while others curled into fragile balls of grief and hunger.

A nurse explained that most of the children arrived anonymously, often left by desperate mothers.

The institution tried its best she said, but the mortality rate remained heartbreakingly high. I actually watched as a doctor performed a routine inspection, touching the infants’ limbs, examining their eyes; ultimately evaluating their chances. The procedure felt almost mechanical, but I saw sadness deep within.

Walking through those halls, I understood the stark reality underlying much of 19th century French reform: the idea of childhood as innocent and precious unfortunately could not coexist as society was unable to protect its most vulnerable children. Welfare institutions attempted to rescue abandoned childhoods, but their resources were far too limited forcing a never-ending cycle of labor onto these individuals.

Finding my way to Paris.

I visited the Foundling Hospital near the outskirts of the city. The building was dull, its halls echoing with soft footsteps and the distant cries of infants. Rows of iron cradles lined the nursery rooms. Some babies slept peacefully, while others curled into fragile balls of grief and hunger.

A nurse explained that most of the children arrived anonymously, often left by desperate mothers.

LET’S STAY IN TOUCH