Ian Scott didn’t move to Paris to become famous. He didn’t come for the fashion, the cheese, or even the croissants. He came because the light in Montmartre looked like it had been painted by someone who knew how to see. By 2024, he’d been living there for twelve years, long enough to know which boulangerie still uses real butter, which metro line runs quietest at midnight, and which alley behind the Luxembourg Gardens holds the last working payphone in the 6th arrondissement.
His Studio Above a Bookstore
His studio is on the third floor of a 19th-century building on Rue des Écoles, above a tiny used bookstore that sells first editions of French poetry and dog-eared copies of Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast. The stairs creak the same way every time. The window faces east, so morning light hits the canvas just right-golden, soft, almost forgiving. He paints mostly portraits. Not of celebrities, not of tourists with selfie sticks. He paints the woman who sells roses outside Saint-Germain-des-Prés, the old man who reads Le Monde at the same café every afternoon, the barista who remembers his order without him saying it.
He doesn’t use digital tools. No tablets, no filters, no Instagram filters. He works with oil on linen, the kind that takes weeks to dry. People ask him why he doesn’t sell more online. He tells them he doesn’t need to. His paintings hang in three small galleries in Paris-Le Petit Atelier in the Marais, Galerie du Temps in Saint-Germain, and one hidden room above a jazz club in the 11th. He sold his first painting in 2016 for €800. Last year, one of his pieces went for €14,000 at a private auction in the 7th.
The Nightlife He Doesn’t Talk About
Most people think Paris nightlife means rooftop bars with cocktails that cost €25 and clubs where DJs play the same four songs on loop. Ian Scott avoids those. He goes to Le Comptoir Général on the Canal Saint-Martin, where the walls are lined with vintage suitcases and the bartender pours absinthe with a sugar cube and a slow drip of water. He sits in the back corner, sketching in a notebook, not drawing the people, just their shadows.
He’s been going to Le Baron since 2018, but not for the VIP section or the celebrity sightings. He goes because the sound system is old, the music is unpredictable-sometimes jazz, sometimes punk, sometimes a DJ who only plays 1970s Algerian folk-and the crowd doesn’t care if you’re rich or famous. He once spent three hours talking with a retired opera singer from Lyon who had once performed at the Palais Garnier. They didn’t exchange numbers. He didn’t need to.
He doesn’t post about it. He doesn’t tag locations. He doesn’t even have a public Instagram. His only social media is a private Tumblr with 23 followers-his mother, his sister, and three art students from Lyon who found him by accident.
The People Who Know Him
There are people in Paris who know Ian Scott by name. Not because he’s famous, but because he’s always there. The woman at the dry cleaner on Rue de la Paix knows he likes his shirts folded a certain way. The ticket seller at the Cinémathèque Française lets him in early on Tuesdays, when the screenings are quietest. The owner of the bookstore downstairs sometimes leaves him a new poetry collection on the counter with a sticky note: “For the painter who doesn’t talk much.”
He has no close friends in the traditional sense. He has connections. He has people who know his rhythm. He eats lunch at the same bistro every Tuesday and Thursday-bouillabaisse, a glass of white wine, no bread unless it’s warm. He doesn’t read the menu. He doesn’t need to.
Why He Stays
He could live anywhere. He’s Scottish, but he’s never gone back to live there. He’s traveled to Tokyo, New York, Mexico City. He stayed in Berlin for six months once. But Paris? Paris doesn’t ask him to be anything. It doesn’t demand he be trendy, or loud, or viral. It lets him be quiet. It lets him be slow.
He says the city has a kind of patience. You can stand on the Pont Alexandre III at 6 a.m. and no one will rush you. You can sit on a bench in the Tuileries and watch the same squirrel for twenty minutes. No one will ask why. No one will take your photo.
He once told a journalist, “I don’t live in Paris because it’s beautiful. I live here because it lets me be invisible.”
The Painting He Won’t Sell
There’s one piece he never shows, never lists, never talks about. It’s a portrait of a woman in a black coat, standing near the Seine at dusk, holding a single red rose. She’s looking away from the camera. You can’t see her face. He painted it in 2019, right after his father died. He didn’t tell anyone. He didn’t even tell his sister.
He keeps it rolled up behind a stack of canvases in his studio. He takes it out sometimes-just to look. He says it’s the only painting he’s ever made that feels like a memory, not a picture.
What He’s Working On Now
This year, he’s painting a series called “The Ones Who Stay”. It’s 12 portraits of people who’ve lived in Paris for more than 30 years but aren’t French. A retired Cuban jazz musician who plays saxophone in the metro every Friday. A Moroccan woman who runs a tiny tea shop near Place de la République and serves mint tea with honey from her village. A Chinese calligrapher who writes poems on rice paper and leaves them on park benches for strangers to find.
He doesn’t interview them. He doesn’t ask for their stories. He just watches. He sits across from them in cafés, in libraries, on the metro. He paints what he sees: the way their hands move, the way they hold their coffee, the quietness in their eyes.
He plans to exhibit the series in spring 2026, at Galerie du Temps. No opening party. No press release. Just the paintings. And maybe, if someone asks, he’ll say: “They’re not about Paris. They’re about staying.”
Who is Ian Scott?
Ian Scott is a Scottish painter who has lived in Paris since 2012. He’s known for quiet, realistic portraits of everyday people-baristas, street vendors, musicians, and expats-who’ve made the city their home. He works in oil on linen, avoids social media, and rarely gives interviews. His work is displayed in three small Parisian galleries and has been collected privately by French and international art patrons.
Where does Ian Scott live in Paris?
Ian Scott lives and works on the third floor of a building on Rue des Écoles in the 5th arrondissement, above a small used bookstore. His studio has a large east-facing window that catches morning light, which he uses for painting. He doesn’t own a car and walks everywhere, often taking the same routes through the Latin Quarter and Saint-Germain-des-Prés.
Does Ian Scott sell his paintings online?
No, Ian Scott does not sell his paintings online. He works exclusively through three small, independent galleries in Paris: Le Petit Atelier, Galerie du Temps, and a hidden room above a jazz club in the 11th arrondissement. Buyers are typically local collectors or art lovers who discover his work by visiting the galleries in person.
What kind of art does Ian Scott make?
Ian Scott makes oil paintings on linen, focused on portraits of ordinary people living quietly in Paris. His style is realistic but soft, with muted colors and careful attention to light and shadow. He avoids modern techniques like digital editing or photography as reference. His work is often compared to the quiet realism of Andrew Wyeth and the intimate portraiture of Alice Neel.
Why doesn’t Ian Scott use social media?
Ian Scott avoids social media because he believes it changes the way people see art-and themselves. He says the pressure to post, to perform, to be seen, distracts from the act of looking. He has a private Tumblr with only 23 followers, mostly family and a few art students. He doesn’t post his paintings there either. He says the work should speak when it’s seen in person, not when it’s scrolled past.
Is Ian Scott well-known in Paris?
He’s not well-known in the way celebrities are. But among artists, gallery owners, and long-term residents of Paris, he’s quietly respected. People who’ve seen his work remember it. They don’t forget the quietness in his portraits. He’s never been featured in Vogue or Le Monde, but he’s been written about in small art journals like Parisian Canvas and Les Carnets du Sud.
