The Moon and the Violin evoked the importance of the sense of belonging on stage. Country focused particularly on people who, at country music festivals, feel like part of a family. In the same vein, City Park, A Little Music for the Soul, portrays people who frequent Lafontaine Park to feel supported and together. That was my case when I was a teenager: I went there when I felt alone in the world, misunderstood. The life emanating from the park intoxicated me, helped me dissolve that little knot in my gut. Still today, when nothing's going right, that’s where I spontaneously go. The trees do me good. I love lying on the ground inhaling the scent of the grass, watching the play of sunlight through leaves, gazing into the luminescent ripples of the pond. Not to mention the people – juggling, making music, skating, making the park a living place. These beings comfort and reassure me. They give me the impression I'm part of a whole.

I found the same happiness among the people I met. Everyone has their space, their preferred terrain. Everyone finds there that unique little tune that helps them get through the day. Lafontaine Park is something magical, certainly, but here we get to know it by approaching people who have suffered and who suffer still. These elements strike contrast. They reveal a place not just of peace and laughter, but of tears and grief. A vibrant place, humming with counterpoint, that reflects the nameless human beings one comes across without thinking twice.

City Park, A Little Music for the Soul, is the portrait of a public space permeated with individual realities, an incursion of country into city. It is a stroll through a unique place, where footpaths and life journeys intersect.

Carole Laganière

Daniel Guernon comes to the park in search of the harmony he has been lacking all his life. An ex-alcoholic, he loves nothing so much as to come greet the trees and watch the children play.

Spiritual musician Stéphane Malo has no social life outside the park. Whether singing Hare Krishna or Prévert, alone or accompanied, he follows only one rule: to be fully present in the beauty of the park.

Jogger Michel-Julien Barrette doesn’t like the labels hanging from the ad hoc outfits of his fellow joggers. Running, to him, is childhood regained; it is a tour of the human world – and that of his fiancée.

Odette St-Jacques, the woman with the floral bicycle, comes every day to write. Moments full of little joys and great hopes.

Sylvie Simard has many “grandchildren”, descended from Colombine and Gédéon: adorable ducks she adopted five years ago and that come back every year to gorge on the corn and oatmeal she gives them.

Florence Fazio-Duval has a degenerative disease and lives in a long-term-care facility. But she has her husband, Francesco, who spends the afternoon with her. In silence, still in love, they watch the children swim.

Jean-Louis Guay, a former member of the Accueil Bonneau choir, writes love songs for those who have lost everything. And he spends time in the park listening to people who are alone in the world.

To anyone looking for a guide: thirteen-year-old François-Olivier Tessier-Brasseur knows the park like the back of his hand.

It’s the park's more shadowy corners that Éric Lapalme knows intimately. A young gay man new to Montréal discovers the joys of sex in the great outdoors.