Paris has been good to me recently. Yesterday I drank absinthe with mon père at a cafe near the Louvre, having spent the day at Les Invalides gazing at Gatling guns and Napoleon’s tomb. I spent Friday at the Musée d’Orsay scoping out art and people. There were a few girls who looked like they’d just been photographed for the Sartorialist and who caught me staring shamelessly at their various structured wool blazers, vintage jewelry, perfectly tousled bedhead hair, just-so rolled-cuff jeans, and ideal boots. I did manage to avert my calculating eyes enough to see some of James Ensor, however, and to take note of some things I found interesting.

:: He described light as the opposite of line, and line as the enemy of genius.

:: He takes a lot of credit for being the first artist to understand light’s distortive effect on a line, and uses this claim to distance himself from the Impressionist movement.

:: He was an atheist, despite his huge number of Christ-focused works – apparently he only painted Christ because he identified with him as an outcast. (For anyone who knows the Enneagram – what a 4.)

:: He became a member of Les XX, or The Twenty (a group of 20 Belgian artists formed in 1883) after the group of which he was previously a member, L’Essor, rejected his painting The Oyster Eater.

James Ensor, The Oyster Eater, 1882

My favorite fact of all!!

:: He called himself James (art) Ensor because in French the sound of the words art + Ensor = the sound of the words hareng saur, “smoked herring.” How delightful. Whenever herrings appear in his work, then, they are meant to represent the artist and his work. The two skeletons below are I think supposed to be critics, who didn’t like him so much.

James Ensor, Skeletons Fighting for a Smoked Herring, 1891

James Smoked Herring on color:

“Drenched in British purples, I have offered up my tones: pigeon breast, hind belly, balky mule lung, monkey bottom pink, lapis lazuli and malachite, excited nymph thigh, panther pee-pee, high-smelling hen hair, hedgehog in aspic, barrel-maker’s brothel, revered rose, monkeybush, turkey-like white, sly violet, page’s slipper, immaculate nun spring, unspeakable red, Ensor azure, affected yellow, mummy skull, rock-hard gray, brunt celadon, shop soiled smoke ring.”

James Ensor, The Terrified Musicians, date unknown

And finally, here’s a song by Florence & the Machine, remixed by the band The XX, who I figger must have taken their name from the group of artists. Clever.

Florence & the Machine – You’ve Got the Love (XX remix)

Since my hair is now as colorful as a Van Gogh (especially the roots), I decide it’s a good time to go into Paris and re-visit the Musee D’Orsay with new perspective.

I catch my favorite train from Auvers transferring in Valmondois which travels through the beautiful countryside into what I imagine is the riot ravaged section of North Paris into Gare du Nord. I bravely decide to take the metro to the Musee D’Orsay despite the fact that I know all metros are under terrorist threat. Somehow, the Paris metro is so much more civilized than the New York subway I let down my guard and forget to be afraid. My fellow passengers and I survive.

I get off at St. Germain and prompty walk in the wrong direction. When I reach the Odeon, I realize my mistake and backtrack, passing a gazillion gorgeous food stores. At least I know if I get lost I can follow the trail of my drool back the way I came. I resist the urge to enter and continue past the fashion boutiques (also drool inducing) and down the Rue Jacob past the small galleries until I reach the Musee. The line is virtually non-existant and I’m inside in a flash.

It’s a beautiful museum, a converted railway station, with art instead of bums. I head straight for the impressionists, trying not to notice the art lovers critiquing my hair.

The first room alone is more impressive than MOMA and the Van Gogh museum in Amsterdam by a long shot. And it keeps going. Rooms of impressionist paintings, many of which are scenes that looks strikingly familiar, maybe because so many were painted in the Val d’Oise. Pissarro, Corot, Sisley, Monet, Manet, Degas, Renoir, Cezanne and Van Gogh are well represented. There are numeous paintings done in Auvers, I notice with pride (as if I had something to do with it). Views of Pontoise, Argentueil, Sannois, the Oise, Chaponval are as plentiful as if I were at the Chateau Auvers looking down on the valley. And not all that different.

I like Renoir more than I remember and Monet less (although I’m still fascinated by his series of the views of the cathedral in changing light). I still think Pisarro is underrated and feel my rage rising at the injustice of it.

But I’m immediately soothed by the room of Van Goghs. He may have been a douche and a drama queen, but man, I love his paintings. They’re brighter and more striking than I remember. I can’t keep my eyes off the picture of that quack Dr. Gachet and can almost understand why that Japanese industrialist who bought one of the two portraits Van Gogh painted of him wanted to be buried with it. Dr. Gachet looks depressed. His hair is very red. I wonder he went to the same hair salon in town that I did.

I can’t help noticing the scarcity of English speaking people here in the Museum. Where are they? Are they boycotting France because of our refusal to take part in the Iraq war? Whatever it is, I’m grateful, as the museum is uncrowded and pleasant.

Until I go to the ladies room and realize, this must be where the Americans have been hiding. The line here is longer than the line into the museum and virtually everyone in line is an American. Maybe we have smaller bladders than the French?

Only one of the two stalls has toilet paper and rather than take toilet paper from another stall when it’s empty, the women in line choose to wait for the stall with toilet paper to become available, which doubles their wait time. When a woman leaves that stall, I cut ahead to take some toilet paper and go into the free one. The women act as though I’ve just invented the paper clip or something. I begin to understand why the US is no longer a center of innovation any more.

Once I’ve finished my business I take a look at a pre-impressionist work of art—Paris itself. The view from the D’Orsay balcony is spectacular, even when it’s overcast.

By now it’s almost 3:00 and time to wander over to the Place de Madeline and Opera, which I haven’t seen since I floated by in the 80’s high on painkillers from a tooth infection (I have searched vainly for whatever that painkiller was ever since). I walk through the Tuilleries and up the Rue de Fauborg Honore to the Opera. It’s as impressive to me now without narcotics as it was while under the influence.

Then, I don’t know what possesses me, maybe a narcotic flashback, I walk to the Boulevard Haussman to Galleries Lafayette. I recommend this neighborhood to anyone homesick for New York. Here English is more prevalent than French. And I experience the pushing and shoving I’ve so missed. I hate it and rush out. Until I remember that the food hall is supposed to be an epicurian oasis.

I’m not disappointed. It’s the Musee D’Orsay of food. And it’s not nearly as crowded as the rest of the store…in fact it’s downright pleasant.

This place makes Eli’s in New York (the best and most overpriced food emporium in NYC) look like Safeway, except the prices of course, which are high, but still comparatively reasonable. The options are infinitely more mindboggling than Eli’s (which only boggled my mind with the prices). There are all sorts of prepared foods to take out, or eat at little counters set up at each section. There’s the Italian deli section, the Petrossean section, the tapas section, the dim sum section, the meze section (the take out meze platters are so beautiful, I consider them to be art on par with a Van Gogh), the Indian section, the oyster section. There’s also fresh produce, meat, seafood, bakery, candy and grocery sections that includes everything I’ve ever craved and some things I’ve never imagined to crave but will start immediately.

My budget allows me a smoked salmon on blini sandwich for 4 Euros which is tasty, but leaves me longing for more. I take one last slow, tortured lap and decide I better leave before I find my credit card buried in my bag and create a deficit at the dim sum counter that’s bigger than the US debt to China.

The train ride back to Auvers is uneventful. I watch the countryside go by now with the eyes of an artist—the slashes of green, gold, and red of the passing fields as vibrant as the tabouli salad at galleries Lafayette.

Once again, I feel a kinship with Van Gogh, despite my desire not to. I stop at the grocery store on the way home and linger over the wine section since absinthe is no longer legal. I decide against buying a bottle, since like Van Gogh, I’m short on cash. What would Van Gogh do? It seems I have two choices. One involves cutting, the other painting.

I head back home to paint my hair.

Edgar Degas Le tub en 1886 pastel sur carton - Musée d'Orsay, Paris

Κατηφορίζοντας τον Σηκουάνα, συναντά κανείς το Musée du Louvre και απέναντί του το Musée d’Orsay, στο οποίο και μπορεί κάποιος να περιηγηθεί ανάμεσα σε έργα των Monet, Manet, Degas, Renoir, Cezanne, Seurat, Gauguin και Van Gogh.

Σε αυτού του είδους τα μουσεία, που συγκεντρώνουν τέτοιο όγκο και είναι πολυσυλλεκτικά, δεν μπαίνω ποτέ στη διαδικασία να πηγαίνω από αίθουσα σε αίθουσα, είναι τόσο άσκοπο. Έτσι, επέλεξα να πάω να δω κάποιους συγκεκριμένους πίνακες του Degas και του Van Gogh.

Έφτασα λοιπόν μπροστά στον πίνακα Le Tub του Degas. Στη προσπάθειά μου να δω από μπροστά τον πίνακα πήγα και στάθηκα δίπλα σε μια λεπτεπίλεπτη γυναίκα, η οποία γύρισε και χαμογελώντας μου έκανε χώρο διακριτικά. Έμεινα να κοιτάζω τον πίνακα με τις σκέψεις και τους λόγους που είχα όταν έμπαινα στο μουσείο αναζητώντας τον. Κάποια στιγμή η γυναίκα δίπλα μου γύρισε και έφυγε. Δεν πέρασε πάνω από μισό λεπτό που γυρίζοντας το κεφάλι μου και με το ευρυγώνιο του ματιού την είδα να βγαίνει από την αίθουσα. Γύρισα και από απόσταση την ακολούθησα για περίπου μισή ώρα. Η επίσκεψη στο μουσείο ακυρώθηκε. Τα μάτια μου από τον Degas στράφηκαν στην γυναίκα αυτή με θαυμασμό. Ένοιωθα ότι αν και συγκεντρωμένα τόσα αριστουργήματα σ’ αυτό το χώρο μερικές φορές δεν θα μπορούσαν να περιγράψουν την ομορφιά ενός ανθρώπου και τον θαυμασμό μας γι’ αυτόν. Με αυτή λοιπόν τη σκέψη, γύρισα και βγήκα απ’το μουσείο πηγαίνοντας στο γωνιακό μαγαζάκι να πιω ένα καφέ.

Μετασχηματισμοί - Η γυναίκα στο Musée d'Orsay, photo by worldcity

Μετά από 40 περίπου λεπτά και ενώ ετοιμαζόμουν να φύγω ήρθε από πίσω μια γυναίκα και σκύβοντας χαριτωμένα δίπλα μου ζήτησε αναπτήρα να ανάψει το τσιγάρο που κρατούσε στα μακριά όμορφα δάχτυλά της. Ήταν αυτή που ακολουθούσα στο μουσείο. Την κοίταξα με αμηχανία, χαμογέλασε, της άναψα το τσιγάρο και με ευχαρίστησε.

Σηκώθηκα αμέσως από το τραπέζι, πήρα τα τσιγάρα και έβαλα το κασκόλ γύρω από το λαιμό μου, γύρισα προς το μέρος της χαμογελώντας και έφυγα.

Ήμουν τόσο σίγουρος ότι η σκέψη ενός ανθρώπου μπορεί να σ’ ακολουθεί όπου κι αν βρίσκεσαι, μεταμορφωμένη σε μια όμορφη γυναίκα.

Έτσι, πήρα τον δρόμο και άρχισα να κατηφορίζω για το Le musée Rodin.

“Drei institutionelle Zeitzeugen sollen herangezogen werden, um das diskursive Feld zu skizzieren: Der Centre Pompidou als erstes programmatisches Museum der Demokratisierung und zudem als besonders gut geeigneten Ort für ein Projekt wie Les Immatériaux und zwei grand projets, die beide im selben Zeitraum entstanden wie Lyotards Ausstellung, das Musée d’Orsay und La Villette.”

Wunderlich, Antonia: Der Philosoph im Museum, Die Ausstellung „Les Immatériaux“ von Jean François Lyotard, transcript Kultur- und Medientheorie, transcript Verlag, Bielefeld, 2008, S.22.

Je suis un artiste belge, né à Ostende en 1860 et mort en 1949, à la fois vaguement familier et encore relativement méconnu du grand public. Partagé entre inspiration classique (les maîtres flamands) et coups de génie modernes, j’ai produit une œuvre (peintures et dessins essentiellement) éclectique et fascinante, dont le Musée d’Orsay, à Paris, propose une rétrospective jusqu’au 4 février 2010.

Fortement influencé par l’école flamande, je produis à l’âge de vingt ans des tableaux dans la veine réaliste, mais témoignant déjà d’une recherche originale et poussée sur les volumes (Le Lampiste, une œuvre qu’on dirait pré-cubiste, datant de 1880) et la lumière (Après l’orage (1880) ou La Grande vue d’Ostende (1884) préfigurent tous deux les impressionnistes).

Tout athée que je sois, je traverse ensuite une crise mystique, ou plus exactement christique, qui me fait me frotter aux sujets bibliques, et m’amène à me comparer à la figure du Christ (de L’Entrée du Christ à Jérusalem, 1885, à L’Entrée du Christ à Bruxelles, 1889, que je peins cette fois-ci sous mes propres traits). Je vois en effet dans les outrages et le supplice que la foule lui inflige un reflet de mes propres souffrances face à l’incompréhension du public et de la critique. Artiste narcissique et égotiste par nature, je peins ou dessine pas moins de 112 autoportraits, et brocarde violemment le milieu bourgeois, la critique artistique et les pouvoirs politiques de mon époque.

Pas homme à me laisser abattre pour autant, je pratique l’autodérision avec férocité souvent, jubilation aussi. Je fais mien le sobriquet “hareng saur” (=art Ensor) que m’attribue la critique (le sublime Squelettes se disputant un hareng saur, 1891). Je dénonce le grotesque et la bassesse de mes contemporains à travers les figures des masques de carnaval de mon pays flamand et de squelettes tout droit issus des vanités du Moyen-Âge (memento mori...). Ces masques à la fois féroces et joyeux, sinistres et éclatants de couleurs, prennent une telle place dans mon œuvre, à partir de 1883, que je finirai par être connu comme le “peintre des masques” – épithète à la fois très parlante et un peu réductrice, qui m’est attribuée par mon compatriote Emile Verhaeren. Mes œuvres les plus connues, L’Intrigue (1890) et La Mort et les masques (1897), illustrent le mieux cette période de mon travail.

Mes sources d’inspiration sont assez bien connues et documentées, et bien mises en lumière dans le parcours que propose l’exposition du Musée d’Orsay : peintres fantastiques du Moyen-Âge (Jérôme Bosch dans mon tableau Les terribles tribulations de Saint Antoine, 1887), maîtres flamands (Rembrandt, Rubens auquel je rends un hommage parodique dans mes autoportraits tels que Autoportait au chapeau fleuri, 1883-1885 ou Ensor aux masques, 1889) ou espagnols (Goya), inspirations japonisantes (masques du théâtre Nô, dont je possède une étonnante collection, et que je mets en scène dans des tableaux sibyllins comme le fascinant Étonnement du Masque Wouse, 1889), et, encore plus près de moi, le mouvement Symboliste.

Si l’exposition remonte bien aux sources de mon inspiration, elle ne dit rien en revanche d’une éventuelle filiation. Par mon art et mon attitude parfois sans concessions, je ferais pourtant un bon père putatif de quelques-unes des figures du dessin et de la peinture underground de la deuxième moitié du XXème siècle, voire du début du XXIème siècle. Et pourquoi pas, après tout ? N’ai-je pas, sûr de mon art et de ma valeur, annoncé que “mes recherches (…) précèdent celles des Impressionnistes”, et clamé ensuite mon influence sur les mouvements picturaux majeurs du début du XXème siècle (cubisme, expressionnisme…) ?

J’aime imaginer l’impression que ma série dessinée Les Auréoles du Christ ou les Sensibilités de la lumière (et en particulier La Crue. Le Christ montré au peuple, 1885), avec son gigantisme, ses couches crayonnées au rendu presque organique, a pu produire sur le père d’Alien, H.R. Giger. Mon autoportrait déguisé L’Homme de douleur (1891), qui mêle le visage d’un Christ aux couronnes d’épines aux traits grotesques d’un masque Nô, avec ses rides creusées, ses sillons de sang, ses yeux exorbités, a probablement croisé un jour le regard du pape de la B.D. underground Robert Crumb. Et que dire enfin des dessins du punk, goth-rocker et Outsider Artist (une forme britannique de l’Art Brut) Nick Blinko, sinon qu’ils sont pour certains d’entre eux un hommage macabre et exalté à mes propres foules et paysages de masques ?

Vous ne connaissiez peut-être pas vraiment mon nom, ni mes œuvres. Je suis un artiste belge, né en 1860 et mort en 1949, à la fois vaguement familier et encore relativement méconnu du grand public…

Mon nom est Ensor. James (art) Ensor.

James Ensor au Musée d’Orsay, du 20 octobre au 4 février 2010. Informations et renseignements pratiques sur le site Internet du Musée d’Orsay.

Musée d’Orsay, Paris

Niveau 0, Grand espace d’exposition



James Ensor
20 octobre 2009 > 4 février 2010

This exhibition, the first retrospective to be presented in Paris since 1990, aims to show the interplay of fracture and continuity to be found throughout Ensor’s work.

James Ensor

James Ensor
L’Intrigue, 1890
Huile sur toile, 90 x 150 cm
Musée Royal des Beaux Arts, Anvers, Belgique
© ADAGP, Paris 2009

Continuity comes from the Naturalism and Symbolism that influenced his early work, as well as the tradition of masks, disguise, grotesque and satire, and carnival, a legacy from his childhood in Ostend, a city to which he was deeply attached. Fracture is the dramatisation of the use of colour and light.

It is also the invention of a new language where the words intrude unsubtly alongside images, in order to give meaning to ideas, and the invention of a new narrative system teeming with characters and actions.

Through his scathing irony, his sense of derision and self-derision, his intense colours and his expressiveness, Ensor, a strange and unclassifiable painter, finds his place amongst the precursors of Expressionism.

James Ensor

James Ensor
La mort et les masques, 1897
Huile sur toile, 78,5 x 100 cm
Liège, musée d’Art moderne et contemporain
© ADAGP, Paris 2009

This exhibition has been organised by the Museum of Modern Art, New York, the Musée d’Orsay and the Réunion des Musées Nationaux, Paris.

Courtesy Musée d’Orsay
Images © ADAGP, Paris 2009. Tous droits réservés.

Links

• Musée d’Orsay, Paris

Stampfli & Turci – Art Dealers

Disclaimer & Copyright

Musée d’Orsay, Paris

Niveau 0, Grand espace d’exposition



James Ensor
20 octobre 2009 > 4 février 2010

Première rétrospective présentée à Paris depuis 1990, cette exposition entend montrer le jeu de rupture et de continuité perpétuellement pratiqué par Ensor.

James Ensor

James Ensor
L’Intrigue, 1890
Huile sur toile, 90 x 150 cm
Musée Royal des Beaux Arts, Anvers, Belgique
© ADAGP, Paris 2009

Soixante ans après sa mort, l’héritage d’Ensor est ainsi toujours tiraillé entre son ancrage belge, voire ostendais, et une reconnaissance internationale. Écartelé aussi entre le solide naturalisme de ses débuts et les fantaisies masquées, « squelettisées », acides et virulentes qui traversent, à grands pas colorés et grimaçantes, la plus grande partie de sa carrière.

Cent cinquante ans, ou presque, après sa naissance, Ensor demeure un peintre inclassable et le titre de « peintre des masques » que lui attribue son compatriote Émile Verhaeren ne suffit pas à cerner son œuvre inclassable, prolifique et polymorphe.

Le MoMA et le musée d’Orsay ont donc décidé de re-visiter Ensor, et cent dix ans après l’échec de sa première exposition à Paris, de questionner de nouveau ses impénétrables masques et ses menaçants squelettes. De le placer face au XX° siècle dont il dépend très largement, ayant assisté à l’éclosion de l’expressionnisme, du cubisme, du futurisme, de Dada, du surréalisme… Ayant même, selon son propre discours, « anticipé tous les mouvements modernes ».

De placer Ensor, au cœur de ce XIX° siècle dont il est bien un des turbulents enfants, revendiquant une place définitive, « entre Manet et Van Gogh… ».

James Ensor

James Ensor
La mort et les masques, 1897
Huile sur toile, 78,5 x 100 cm
Liège, musée d’Art moderne et contemporain
© ADAGP, Paris 2009

En 90 œuvres tableaux, dessins, gravures…, et en quatre parties, l’exposition James Ensor, permet de reconsidérer ce peintre toujours étrange. Entre Manet, Van Gogh et tous les modernismes.

Cette exposition est organisée par le Museum of modern Art, New York, le musée d’Orsay et la Réunion des musées nationaux, Paris, avec le soutien du Gouvernement Flamand.

Courtesy Musée d’Orsay
Images © ADAGP, Paris 2009. Tous droits réservés.

Links

• Musée d’Orsay, Paris

Stampfli & Turci – Art Dealers

Disclaimer & Copyright

Having explored the chilly wonders of Ireland and Holland, we started to head south in search of warmer weather and some French spirit. (Not to mention wine and cheese!)

A pleasant four hour train ride and we found ourselves in Paris Gare du Nord. There is a general hustle and bustle about Paris that I really love. Everyone seems like they have somewhere to be and something to do, and that something will definitely be very glamorous and important.

We waited for about 15 minutes in a queue for a taxi ride which took us about 5 minutes and cost 6 Euros. Not too bad, considering it saved us a walk around a city we didn’t really know!

The receptionist at Montmartre Clignancourt Hotel seemed like he had far more important things to do, but obliged to help us nonetheless. When we arrived, I opened the window of our hotel room and looked down to the streets of Paris below. It’s hard to explain but there is something really captivating about this city! You might see from my photos that I really have a soft spot for this place….

Anyways, we had less than 24 hours to explore the city, and so we headed straight out to make the most of it. First stop, the chalky white cathedral that is Sacre Coeur.

Steps of Sacre Coeur

Literally translated it means Sacred Heart and it really is an amazing Cathedral. There are usually musicians and other artists performing for the crowds on the steps of the Cathedral, and some of them can be really entertaining!

Sacre Coeur

Picture Perfect Sacre Coeur

Granted, Paris is a city in Europe, but the misleading thing about it is that it’s big. Many of the tourist attractions in major European cities are within walking distance of one another. A word of warning – this isn’t the case with Paris! Sure, if you are in the mood for a bit of leg work then no problem, but otherwise you should definitely consider using the city’s extensive public transport network.

A romantic yet brazenly touristy way of seeing Paris is by taking a boat tour along the river Seine.  We took the Batobus tour boat, which stops at eight of Paris’s top sights along the river.We hopped off at Notre Dame, which is one of the most impressive as well as photogenic Cathedrals I have seen to date.

Notre Dame Cathedral

Every now and then there is a ‘Shhhhhhh – silence!’ inside the church which seems to quell the murmurs of excited tourists.

Notre Dame

Of course, the piece de resistance of Paris has to be the Eiffel Tower. I remember the first time that I saw it, I jumped up and down like a little girl on Christmas Day, squealing with joy.

Eiffel Tower

Everyone has seen this iconic structure in movies and videos, and there’s just something incredible about seeing it with your own eyes!

Eiffel Tower Classic

If you have the patience to hang around until it gets dark, the Eiffel Tower light show won’t disappoint you. At about 8pm every evening the lights are turned on, and the crowds that have eagerly waited for it start to clap and shout for joy. It’s just one of those special experiences

Eiffel Tower Light Show

Whilst on the topic of the Eiffel Tower, there is something else worth mentioning. Around the base of the Eiffel Tower are several Crepe stands. In case you don’t know, crepes are very thin pancakes which can be served with all different kinds of fillings. Here, Chocolate crepes seem to be some kind of speciality, and I have never had such wafer thin chocolaty crepey goodness in all my life. Yum!

Chocolate Crepes

Of course, as with any tourist attraction there is always the capitalist looking to make a quick buck. We were literally bombarded every few minutes with men trying to sell us kitsch glow-in-the-dark Eiffel Towers and Paris key rings.

It’s sad to see, but there are also a lot of so-called ‘Gypsy’ women clutching their babies and begging for money here.

I have to say that as much as I love Paris, it is a very dirty city. There is lots of rubbish, awful smells, dodgy looking people and copious amounts of dog poo littering the pavements. In a matter of steps we found ourselves in a very unsavoury part of town, and we very quickly went back the way we came.

Speaking of which Our hotel wasn’t too far from the Moulin Rouge, and we decided we had to go have a look, even if it was just to snap off a few shots of the famous windmill. The place was buzzing, and the queue to get in was literally around the block. Surprising, considering it is 100 Euros for a show at 11pm (dinner not included, of course!). Oh well, I suppose if I had some spare Euros I wouldn’t mind seeing what the fuss is all about!

Moulin Rouge

So, after a long day we were quite ready for a good night’s sleep. As we were getting ready for bed, we heard some noise coming from the room above us and we joked and said ‘hopefully they’ll stop soon’.

Basically, the people in the room above us continued to jump around, shout, play music and move furniture until we really thought we were going to have someone come through the ceiling and land in one of our beds. It was that bad.

This went on intermittently until one of the hotel guests eventually went up there and said something, after which the noise miraculously stopped.

In addition to this, Parisian motorcyclists seem to have a thing for revving their engines to the redline, no matter what time of day or night it is.

In a nutshell, it wasn’t a good night for sleeping.

After a not so refreshing night’s sleep, you can imagine our dismay when the hotel fire alarm started wailing at about 7:30 am in the morning. There didn’t seem to be any particular safety procedure in place, and everyone wandered around in mild state of anxiety until the hotel receptionist casually began to inform everyone that there was no need to panic. When the alarm started to go off a second time, nobody even batted an eyelid.

Definitely a big fat ‘X’ for Hotel Montmartre Clignancourt.

At any rate, we got on with the day. Our main item on the agenda was The Louvre, which is of course where the Mona Lisa lives.

The Louvre Museum

We wandered around the courtyard of the Louvre and commented on how quiet it was. Surely it must be open at 9:30am in the morning? There wasn’t even a queue at the Entrance!

Pyramid at The Louvre

It was shortly after this that we saw the sign at the entrance which said ‘The Louvre – Closed on Tuesdays’. No points on guessing which day of the week we had decided to rock up at the Louvre. I should have just realized then that this day wasn’t going to go our way, but you always try to stay positive don’t you?

The Louvre

We decided to go on to Musee D’orsay, where some of Claude Monet’s paintings are housed. I’m not really sure why, but everywhere seemed to be extremely busy on this particular Tuesday and the queue for the Museum was around the block.

Musee D'orsay

The same went for the Notre Dame bell tower and so eventually we just gave up, collected our bags from the hotel and went along to Paris Gare du Nord station.

Notre Dame

We found our train to Marseille without any problems, and got ourselves settled in for the 3 hour journey. It wasn’t long before we found ourselves seated right next to a three year old brat who proceeded to throw a three hour long tantrum all the way from Paris to Marseille. Seriously, people sitting four rows behind us got up and left the carriage because they couldn’t handle it anymore!

The train eventually brought us to lovely Marseille. We were just so happy to get off the train!

I had remembered that the hotel wasn’t very close to the train station, and so we made our way to the taxi stop which we thought was going to be a relatively easy task. We waited for a while until eventually a solitary taxi rolled up. We told him where we wanted to go, to which he said we should get a ‘station taxi’ which was around the corner.

When we got there, the taxi driver told us that it was a just a ‘little five minute walk’ and that we didn’t need to get a taxi. He told us the directions and emphasized that it wasn’t far. After walking for 10 minutes and getting to where the taxi driver had directed us, the hotel was nowhere in sight. Eventually some helpful passers-by gave us the correct directions, and another 15 minute walk and we were at the hotel. We later realized that the taxi drivers hadn’t wanted to take us because the fare versus the amount of time spent in traffic wouldn’t make the trip worth their while.

So instead they let three ladies walk halfway across Marseille with all their luggage – real gentlemen that’s for sure!

Despite the rather soul-destroying events of the day, the beauty of Marseille really picked us up. Plus, the hotel receptionist at Hotel Sylvabelle was so friendly and welcoming that it somewhat restored our faith in mankind

We had an awesome meal at one of the local restaurants, and whilst dodging doggy poo on the way back to the hotel, we realized it really wasn’t so bad after all. Hey – we were in Marseille after all!

Una delle sale del Museo d’Orsay di Parigi

Macchiati Sérafino (1860-1916), Le Visionnaire (ou spirit), 1904, Musée d'Orsay, Paris

]]> http://tomreeder.wordpress.com/2009/10/29/impressed-by-impressionists/ Thu, 29 Oct 2009 22:44:50 +0000 tomreeder http://tomreeder.wordpress.com/2009/10/29/impressed-by-impressionists/

Musee d'Orsay, Paris

You know the problem:  you’ve accumulated a lot of stuff, and you’ve run out of places to keep it all.  Some of it has sentimental or monetary value, so you don’t want to give it away or throw it away — what do you do with it?  You could have a garage sale, or you could do what the French government did.  Open a museum.

They already had plenty of museums, of course, including one of the world’s largest, the Louvre.  Over the centuries, though, kings named Louis and emperors named Napoleon had acquired tons of artwork, to the point that paintings and sculptures by more recent artists like Monet and Rodin were relegated to storage bins.  The Louvre sent some of its “clutter” to other museums, which were already overflowing with donated artwork.

Meanwhile, the Gare d’Orsay, a railroad station in Paris on the left bank of the Seine across from the Tuileries Gardens, was about to be torn down and replaced with a complex of commercial buildings.  In 1977, French officials had a bright idea that solved two problems:  they decided to turn the train station into an art museum.  As the old saying goes, “When life gives you lemons, make meringue au citron.” 

The train tracks and platforms were transformed into exhibition spaces; the Musée d’Orsay opened in 1986.  It is one of my favorite art museums in the world.

Among its charms is that, unlike the Louvre, it does not try to have representative works from the dawn of time until yesterday afternoon.  The Orsay focuses on art work of the 19th Century, which they arbitrarily define as the period from 1848, when revolutions swept across Europe, to 1914, when World War I began.

As a result, a tour of the Orsay begins with what we might call traditional art — realism — exemplified by Ingres and Delacroix.  It then displays the transitional work of Manet and Daumier and Degas, to the Impressionists (Monet, Renoir), and on to Post-Impressionism (Van Gogh, Cézanne) and beyond.

The Orsay also has some stuff on display that will make you say “huh?”, or even sneer.  As the museum’s first director, Françoise Cachin acknowledged, “Certainly we have bad paintings.  (But) We have only the greatest bad paintings.”  Of course, they have some of the greatest good paintings, too.  The collection includes works that have been widely reproduced:  you’ve seen them on calendars, cocktail napkins, and hanging on the walls of insurance offices worldwide.

Among the Orsay’s highlights are:

     •  Luncheon on the Grass, by Edouard Manet

     •  The Glass of Absinthe, by Edgar Degas

     •  Dance at the Moulin de la Galette, by Pierre-Auguste Renoir

     •  various scenes from Giverny, by Claude Monet

     •  Self-Portrait, by Vincent Van Gogh

     •  Portrait of the Artist’s Mother, by James A. M. Whistler

(Personally, I don’t include Whistler’s Mother in the category of great art, but it’s still a bit of a thrill to turn a corner in the Orsay and see the original after having seen so many reproductions of it elsewhere.)

Because it’s not massive — no bigger than a train station — it’s possible to see the Orsay in a few hours.  At the end of your visit, you’ll still have some feeling left in your legs.  And you’ll be impressed with the ingenuity the French applied to their fine-art storage problem.

This was originally a painting done by Ernest Meissonier in 1864 depicting Napoleon after the defeat to Blucher at Laon in 1814. Soon after Paris would fall.

As the Musee d’Orsay says:

Meissonier’s approach was part of the historical realism movement which invaded painting and sculpture under the Second Empire. The episode he has chosen, although it occurred after several victories, announces forthcoming defeats. There is no action or event, just an atmosphere of loneliness and despondency. The doubts and resignation felt by the officers and the troops are palpable and are opposed to the determination that emanates from the isolated figure of Napoleon. These feelings are accentuated by the colour range: the whole scene uses brown and grey tones, subdued, deadened registers. The protagonists are not trampling virgin snow, but muddy ground.

When the good people at the Mobile Press-Register saw this painting, they saw something a little different – the Auburn Tigers loss to LSU in football this past weekend. (Those are Auburn coaches in place of Napoleon and his generals.)

Finebaum: Auburn’s bad coaching is leading it from one defeat to another | Sports from the Press-Register – al.com

Musée d’Orsay: Ernest Meissonier Campaign of France, 1814

Kirk and I just recently got back from our trip to Paris. It was so nice to let go of the stress of daily life (working, cooking, cleaning, etc…) and just have fun and explore a different place… a place drastically different from Chicago. We had a very full itinerary while we there, which included:

…Watching the sun rise over the city from Sacre Coeur, wandering the cemetery at Montmartre, eating wonderfully flaky croissants and baguettes (with delicious butter and jam) at a small cafe every morning, trying fois gras for the first time at Le Moulin de la Galette restaurant (and generally enjoying one of the best meals I’ve had in a LONG TIME), walking up the winding stairs to the top of the Arc de Triomphe, ambling down the Champs Elysees and taking in all of the beautiful boutiques (and people!), seeing Napoleon’s tomb at Les Invalides, eating TONS of crepes (ham, cheese, and tomato was a favorite, as was nutella and banana AND salted caramel… so tasty), finally seeing Nike of Samothrace (the Winged Victory) at the Louvre (and we also saw the Mona Lisa), walking through the Tuileries Gardens and sitting in reclining chairs next to the fountain/pond thing, seeing Monet’s Water Lilies at the Musee L’Orangerie, standing in La Concorde and admiring the Obelisque and taking a moment to stand at the location where Marie Antoinette lost her head, wandering the gardens at the Musee Rodin and seeing “The Thinker” and “The Gates of Hell”, dining at a restaurant at the Place du Tertre and being accosted by sketch artists and rose vendors, walking up to Sacre Coeur at night to see the city lights, visiting the Centre Pompidou and taking in a lot of  bad (in my opinion) feminist art (but also seeing some interesting classic pieces of the modern art movement), eating ice cream at Le Flore en L’Ile cafe on Ile Saint Louis, walking through Notre Dame as the afternoon sun shined through the stained glass, standing next to the Seine under an umbrella on Ile de la Cite – waiting for the rain to pass over us, walking down Boulevard St-Germain, waiting in an insanely long line to get to the top of the Eiffel Tower at Sunset (only to feel the effects of overcrowding and come back down within 5 minutes), and taking in the amazing collection of impressionist art at the Musee D’Orsay.

While doing all of these things, we definitely got our exercise by walking nearly everywhere, and we gained a good working knowledge of the Paris Metro and RER transportation system. We stayed at the Hotel Des Arts in Montmartre, so we ended up taking the train nearly everyday. The hardest day on the metro was the first morning when we arrived in Paris CDG (Charles de Gaulle Airport) at dawn – 6:30am is simply to early to be arriving ANYWHERE. Trying to figure out how to get to the RER station at Charles de Gaulle, and then getting confused about which train we needed to take to get to Gare du Nord (which is listed as Paris Nord on the RER maps) – as it turns out all of the train from Charles de Gualle Airport stop at Gare du Nord. And then… figuring out how to transfer from the RER B Train to the Metro to get to the Blanche stop in Montmartre… whew! Once in Montmartre, we then had some trouble figuring out which streets matched up to the ones on our map (as it turns out, street signs are affixed to the sides of buildings in Paris – not on traffic lights or seperate signs as we’re used to in North America). We eventually found our way to the Hotel… after walking up a crazy steep hill.

I loved Paris while we there. Maybe it was the fact that we were so cut off from our daily lives (no phone, no personal laptop) – - – it was just Kirk and me and all the time in the world to relax and explore (and eat). Part of me wonders whether I really loved Paris, or whether I just loved being on a REAL vacation (a vacation without pretenses or expectations of time and schedules). Either way, it was a beautiful city – one I wouldn’t mind going back to one day.

Virgin vacations put out this list a while ago of the best 16 museums in the world.

I believe this list is a little American-centric, but I decided to put it to the test and see what real travelers thought about each one anyway.

1. Musee du Louvre, Paris, France

Dan of Dan-and-dee with an elaborate tomb in the Louvre

To be perfectly honest, we both enjoyed the outside of the Museum (ie the architecture of the buildings), more than the inside, the pyramids alone were spectacular and a lot less people to move between for a photo, or even just a glimpse! – Dan-and-dee

2. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City, USA

Inside the Metropolitan Museum of Art with Jimandlaura

Took the subway uptown to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Wow, what a place. We loved it and we only scratched the surface. Particularly liked the modern art (Hirst, Pollock) and the ancient Japanese silk prints. You could spend a week there and still not see everything. Great cafe too! – Jimandlaura

3. Vatican Museums, Vatican City, Rome, Italy

The ceiling in the Vatican Museums

The museum was extended in 2000 for the millennial year celebration of Christ’s birth, and the renovations included a large spiral ramp leading to the entrance to the museums. We had fun by challenging the group to run up the spiral ramp while they took the escalator.

We saw a number of interesting sculptures while waiting in a courtyard to enter the first of the museums. One was of a pine cone from 1 AD or 2 AD, that was a symbol of fertility and was first made as a Roman fountain. In the courtyard, we also learned about the story and significance of the Sistine Chapel. The chapel is used as the place where the cardinals choose the next Pope. It was named after Pope Sixtus IV.

As we walked through various parts of the museums, I was surprised to see some art from Ancient Egypt and Greece, even including two marble sculptures of Diana the fertility goddess and Diana as the goddess of the hunt. Worship of Diana was notorious in the New Testament. It seemed to me as though the presence of the artwork indicated the idea that the church acknowledged and saw itself as the fulfillment of many earlier traditions and religious practices. My interpretation could, however, be incorrect.

I was awestruck by the tapestries depicting various events in Christ’s life. The tapestries were housed in a darkened room and one of them gave the impression that Christ’s eyes were following you as you walked past. Another interesting room was a room of ancient maps. – Woodsfamily

4. Uffizi Gallery, Florence, Italy

Ruthperelstein on the terrace of the Uffizi Gallery

Tuesday we visit the Uffizi Gallery. This is another place where you have to have a reservation. It does make it less stressful and you do beat the lines, which are long and full of grumpy tourists.

The Uffizi Gallery has the greatest collection of Italian paintings anywhere, including Botticelli’s Birth of Venus. It is beautiful. The time periods this museum are not my personal favorites but again the sculpture knocks us out.

Building of the palace was begun by Giorgio Vasari in 1560 for Cosimo I de’ Medici as the offices for the Florentine magistrates — hence the name “uffizi” (“offices”). There is also a corridor that extends for the end of the building along the Arno river and through the Ponte Vecchio to the Pitti Palace that is no longer used by was the way the elite could travel without stepping a foot into the dangerous streets. – Ruthperelstein

5. Prado Museum, Madrid, Spain

Juliana of Paul-jules at the Prado Museum in Madrid

We got to our hotel, and headed out to the Prado museum immediately. It is one of the best museums we have seen on the trip. It has a large number of El Greco paintings. He has become one of our favourite artists. It also has many by Raphael, Reubens, and Durer. – Paul-jules

6. The State Hermitage, St. Petersburg, Russia

Fishtails04 found the State Hermitage overwhelming

The State Hermitage, located in the former Winter Palace of the tsars, in St. Petersburg, houses one of the finest art collections in the world, with more than three million pieces – it seems that Catherine the Great liked big numbers in more than just her lovers. And that’s the problem really: it’s estimated that to walk through each of the galleries would total about twenty-five kilometres – i.e. it’s just too big to cover in an afternoon. It’s also too excessive in style for me to really enjoy: all busily decorated floors, marble pillars, highly decorated ceilings, heavy furniture, dark portraits of gloomy monarchs, imposing sculptures, huge crustal chandeliers, and gold and gilt opulence. As the guidebooks says, “One must visit the Hermitage on a visit to St Petersburg…”, and it was worth it to gain an appreciation of its scale, but I felt something of a failure when, after an hour and a half, I’d had enough and, with that sense of panic I experience in large department stores when I can’t see a way out, started frantically searching for an exit. – Fishtails04

7. J. Paul Getty Center, Los Angeles, USA

Inside the J. Paul Getty Center with Jeznkez

At length the road wound up through the hills and we arrived at the J. Paul Getty Centre, which is a gigantic art museum, housed in a purpose built series of monoliths amid the verdant grounds. The museum is perched on a hill in the Santa Monica Mountains, looking over L.A. and out to sea.

We had nowhere near enough time to do justice to the whole four buildings, each of which contains different styles of Western art from the Middle Ages to the present, but had a good look around and enjoyed the peaceful and exquisitely conceived gardens, interwoven with sculptures and water features. The whole complex is constructed from Travertine (1.2 million square feet of it) which is a fossilized, textured stone that reflects the bright Californian sunlight, imparting the whole place with a luminous, ethereal glow. Overall an incredibly successful public space and a great example of modern architectural design and realization. And all free of charge! – Jeznkez

8. Musee d’Orsay, Paris, France

Londonpenguin at the Musee d'Orsay in Paris

Our long walk ended up at the Musee d’Orsay. I headed straight for the Impressionists upstairs, and leisurely made my way back down. Happened upon the Salle des Fetes, which is a glorious burst of gold, crystal and mirrors. I also found the Art Nouveau rooms and was really enjoying them when the announcement came over the loudspeaker that the museum would be closing in 15 minutes, which was half an hour earlier than we had been told. Slightly disappointing, but it was definitely worth going back to. – Londonpenguin

9. National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC, USA

The Enemans standing in front of a fountain at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC

The style of the buildings downtown is such a far cry from anything else you’ll see. There were times when I thought even the Greek Gods would be impressed. I was surprised to see how brand new the art gallery looked, despite having been open for sixty years. The marble floors were pristine and the walls were un-scuffed as if it had been built last week. I was particularly anxious about the Ansel Adams beach photography gallery on display for a limited time. – Jeneman

10. Centre Georges Pompidou, Paris, France

Mamakarpus at the Centre Pompidou in Paris

I really wanted to see the Pompidou Centre, so we went looking for that. It took us forever to find it, it was so annoying. We kept looking at the map backwards, so we were wandering around forever. Oh well. We eventually found it and it was pretty cool. It’s a modern art museum. I honestly didn’t care about going in to see the art, but I wanted to see the building and the fountains right beside it. So I was happy. – Mamakarpus

11. Tate Modern, London, England

Laohallo's friend at the Tate Modern in London

After borough markets we headed over to tate modern which is a modern art museum. Im blaming Tammy for picking this tourist attraction. Lets just say the art is very strange and modern. It was a good laugh though. – Laohallo

12. Museum of Modern Art, New York City, USA

Julesjb found this statue in MoMA's sculpture garden

After that I then went across to Manhattan to see the MOMA (Museum Of Modern Art) which was amazing. All my favourites were there including Cezanne, Magritte, Picasso and Dali. I also saw a few Jackson Pollack’s which I thought were very impressive in terms of scale and use of paint. – Julesjb

13. British Museum, London, England

Harmony at the British Museum in London

It was spectacular and we could not believe the size and the amount of artifacts, especially since it was free to get in! We saw the Rosetta Stone, a massive Easter Island head, many beautiful Greco Roman sculptures, and much much more. – Mikeandharmony

14. Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York City, USA

Ineednewears found this to be one quiet place in the Guggenheim museum

Who would have thought that on a windy, rainy, cold Friday evening dozens of people were willing to queue underneath the semi-permeable dripping roof of the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum in their damp clothes and soaked shoes just to get in for close to free (for some, pay-what-you-can comes frighteningly close to nothing). I pictured a Friday night at the “Gugg” along the lines of a Friday night at the library or much like a sheep pasture with but a few bodies scattered around in the far corners, but what I got involved much more arm-against-arm rubbing and additional queuing as the spiral-shaped interior, seven-levels high, filled up.

I complained not about the crowds but about the barriers along the spiraling platform being too low, and constantly feared toppling over to free fall and be torn open by one or more of the suspended cars on my way down. - Ineednewears

15. Philadelphia Museum of Art, Philadelphia, USA

Toddfamily had a "Rocky moment" at the Philadelphia Art Museum

The next day we spent the morning on a bus tour of the city and ended up at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. We really enjoyed this museum too and were once again lucky to join a tour with a very knowledgeable guide. We met Mark at the front of the museum afterwards and had a little Rocky moment on the front steps – those of you who know the first Rocky film will know this scene! – Toddfamily

16. Art Institute of Chicago, Chicago, USA

Traveled loved the Chicago Art Institute

We took the Metro to Union, then walked down Adams to the Art Institute. We saw more exhibits in one day than I recall seeing on any of my previous visits. We started off in the European area, then lunched at the cafe, which was surprisingly satisfying, and finally we took a couple more hours to walk through the American and photography exhibits. One my favorite works of the day was one that probably does not receive the attention it deserves, located in the corner of the same room as “American Gothic” by Hopper, called “Nightlife” by Motley. But of course, I also loved almost everything I saw there. – Traveled

I’m preparing to give a lecture that will include works by the French artist Edouard Vuillard.  I came across this beautiful painting, Deux anemones, on the Musee d’Orsay’s website, and I had to share.  Lovely!

Here I am, a few days after Columbus Day, recovering from jetlag. This time I have returned from Charles DeGaulle Airport, outside of Paris, France. While most of you are recovering from your Monday off, I am home thinking about my pleasurable weekend spent taking in some art at the Louvre and the Musee d’Orsay.

Okay, the Parisian museums don’t have much to do with Method Acting, do they. But the art works that are hanging in those grand museums are they’re because the artists that painted them had a method. So in what ever your field, pay attention to method.

Hey, remember the television series popular in the States back in the 80s called Taxi? Danny DeVito is the most famous of that show’s alumni. But there was a character named Bobby Wheeler, an aspiring actor who drove a cab while hoping to hit the big time on either stage, screen, or TV.

The reality was that he’d take any role offered to him, but he rarely was asked to audition, and when he was up for a part, or actually was cast in some off, off, off-Broadway production, he’d be off immersing himself into his role. Wheeler, portrayed by Jeff Conaway (right),  would often be seen in the garage of the Sunshine Taxi Company, trying to get into the character for a role he was pursuing.

This is the substance of ‘method acting’ — you do not “act” per se — instead you believe you are the actual person (character) and perform your role based upon your belief in what drives or motivates the character. In short, your method and your motivation is to become the character.

There’s one movie scene that is most often called the classic example of method acting. It is the famed taxicab scene from Elia Kazan’s award winning film On The Waterfront (1954).

This emotional scene featured Marlon Brando as Terry Malloy, the heroic, small-time, washed-up boxer and errand boy for corrupt union bosses who later joins up with a crusading priest to seek reform and challenge the Mob on the docks.

Playing opposite Brando was Rod Steiger, as his older brother Charlie, a thug who was the enforcer for the union boss. When Terry got in the way of some nasty union business, his future as a boxer was finished. He was commanded to throw a few fights or die. Afterwards Terry confronts Charlie in the back of the cab:

Terry: You was my brother, Charley. You should’ve looked out for me a little bit. You should’ve taken care of me — just a little bit — so I wouldn’t have to take them dives for the short-end money.

Charley: I had some bets down for you. You saw some money.

Terry (yelling): You don’t understand! I could’ve had class. I could’ve been a contender. I could’ve been somebody,
instead of a bum, which is what I am. Let’s face it.

Charley hands Terry a gun, for protection: “Here, take this. You’re gonna need it.”

This film won eight Oscars including Best Picture, Director, Actor, and five other awards including the Best Performance by An Actress in a Supporting Role Oscar which went to Eva Marie Saint in her first ever movie role. Kazan had a method, as did Brando, and Saint, and Lee J Cobb, as well as Rod Steiger. Each of them knew exactly what they would do. They all had a method.

So what does all of this methodology have to do with The Arts – JustMeMike’s New Blog?

It’s quite simple: to get from JFK to Paris, you need a plan which should include a way to get there, enough money to support yourself once there, and a way to get back.

To do anything you need a plan, as well as a methodology. While this column won’t get me any notices from the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts, and Sciences, nor will it come to the attention of the folks who decide on awards like a Pulitzer Prize – I still have to apply my own methods to make this column reach you.

Of course, I still need you to read it, and I have no control over that; so no plan, or method, is completely fool-proof.

It’s amazing how much you can fit into a weekend. Granted, my weekends are longer than most, especially this one, since I didn’t have to work on Thursday or Friday…but all the same, I saw quite a bit in four-ish days!

Thursday morning I went to the Gare du Nord to pick up my birthday present, i.e. the Brit, to begin our whirlwind tour of Paris. After dropping his bags off in the apartment, and a quick trip to the grocery store, we headed to the Luxembourg gardens for a post-lunch walk in the park.  Our tour on Thursday included a lot of walking, we made it from the Luxembourg gardens up to Notre Dame, then down along the Seine to La Place des Vosges, then back across the Seine to Ile St. Louis (where we ate the most delicious ice cream in Paris, at the original Berthillon shop, all decked out in purples and gold), then waaaaaaaay down the Seine to the Musée d’Orsay (where we learned that I can use my teaching ID card and he can use his EU passport to get in for free – and where we spent half our time watching Asian men take pictures of their wives/girlfriends posing suggestively with sculptures).  We were really knackered by the time we left the museum, so we grabbed something to eat at a restaurant in the 5e, in a small maze of streets bordered by the Seine, Bld St-Michel and Rue St-Jaques (lots of cheapish places to eat there, in case  you’re planning a visit to the city and looking to eat well on a budget).

The Brit in the Luxembourg Gardens - that's the Luxembourg palace behind him, there. Basically, the gardens were somebody's yard. Awesome, eh?

The best ice cream in Paris. Worth the money, and the wait.

The Gare is beautiful...the 1980s architectural intervention looks like it should be either a fortress or a bank, but certainly not an art museum.

Staying up late on Thursday and the subsequent late start the next morning became somewhat thematic of the Brit’s visit across the Channel. That’s not such a bad thing in Paris, where nothing opens until 10am anyway.  On Friday, as I had another training session out in Créteil, the Brit wandered around town by himself, getting into all kinds of trouble.  When I finally got back, it was almost half past seven and so we scrapped our plans to see the Eiffel tower and went to the Louvre instead (getting caught in a rainstorm along the way, so that by the time we got to the pyramids we were thoroughly soaked and my moisture-wicking socks had nowhere to wick the moisture to).  The museum was all but deserted, which meant we actually got to see the Mona Lisa (or La Joconde as the French call her) instead of a throng of Asian tourists. I must say, though, getting caught in the rain before a night visit to the Louvre is not a bad way to spend your birthday, especially for an art fiend like me!  The Louvre was followed by another late night dining experience in the 5e, this time at a restaurant where I was spoken to in Spanish twice, because I’m brown, and where the kitschy Franco-Greek themed décor was only rivaled by the 70s pop music playing over the speakers.  The food itself was quite tasty, I had escargot, duck and chocolate mousse – all good things in my book.

The pyramids at the Louvre are impressive during the day, but exquisite at night.

Another late start Saturday had us going to the 1pm showing of Funny People at the Pathé in Montmartre.  After two hours of giggling, sniggering and snorting, we wandered past Moulin Rouge (no free show there, but wait till I tell you what we saw on Sunday) and through Montmartre towards Sacré Coeur.  Turns out there was a once-a-year festival at the top of the hill, Les vendange, a celebration of the local Parisian wine grown in that quartier.  If the stalls had been giving away tastings, rather than asking for our limbs in exchange for un goût, I might have something to report with regards to the quality of Parisian wine, though my coworkers tell me it’s nothing to write home about…but we got a good view of the city from the steps leading to Sacré Coeur, and sat for a while to listen to the Afro-French musicians singing American songs: at one point, they even had a guest singer from the audience, a girl from Spain, help them with “Bohemian Rhapsody”.  After that number, we went down to the Jardin des Plantes, got kicked out at closing time by a guard enthusiastically weilding his whistle, and strolled down to Chinatown to grab dinner with some assistants.

On Sunday we thought we’d be French and take our lunch to a park.  A brief detour to the Eiffel Tower, to learn that you cannot, in fact, purchase advance tickets, though you will be able to soon (when is soon in this country, I don’t know…), we walked (a very long walk) down to the Parc André Citroën.  Now, I visited this park when I studied at Fontainebleau in 2007, and it’s one of my favorite parks in Paris. It has beautiful proportions, the side gardens are leafy and inviting, with a balance of views to promenaders and privacy, the latter of which is what probably provoked an incident in French PDA to the extreme.  The Brit and I had slipped into one of the aforementioned small gardens to grab our lunch.  There we sat, having just consumed a sandwich jambon fromage, chatting quietly, when I looked up across the garden to see a curious sight.  It’ll suffice to say that necking in the park is one thing – in fact, an intense make-out session seems to be the default mode for couples in a Parisian park – but addressing romantic issues below the belt (literally speaking) should really be done in the privacy of  your own home.  Needless to say, after a few speechless moments, the Brit and I gathered our belongings and made our exit.  Like two teenagers, we slunk away, giggling, only to happen upon a group of boys leaning over a ledge to observe the sight we had just escaped.  Their surprised yells only made us laugh harder, and by the time we had walked across the park, we were breathless with glee.

One of my favorite mini-gardens at the park. A picture from a few years ago, because I decided it would be more fun to hang out with the Brit than take pictures all day.

As Sunday was our six-month anniversary (now a day to remember, for sure), we went out to Montparnasse, where we soaked in Breton culture and cider, along with some delicious crêpes, at the Crêperie Josselin.  The dessert crêpe was amazing, a combination of chocolate, bananas and coconut ice cream flambeed in rum: mmmmm.  Perfect for the not-so-hidden sweet-tooth in the both of us.

I did have to work on Monday, my first day with students of my own, which was interesting in its own right and will warrant its own post later this week. I managed to wriggle out of work earlier than planned and met up with the Brit to grab dinner and Skype my aunt and uncle in India.

Monday was our last night together in Paris, so we thought we’d splurge by having a glass of champagne while taking in Paris aglow. After only 30 minutes waiting in line to purchase our tickets, we packed ourselves onto the first elevator – I say packed because the close quarters on that journey up the Tower has made quite clear to me the meaning of the phrase “like sardines in a can.” It’s a (mostly) glass elevator, and I was pressed firmly against its clear doors – a great view, to be sure, but for someone with my slight acrophobia, a somewhat terrifying experience.  Nonetheless, we shuffled off the first elevator and onto the second; within minutes we were at the top of the tower with a dazzling view of the City of Lights.  While we were taking in the sights, it seems we were a sight ourselves – a group of children followed us around the second floor and during our descent, whispering amongst themselves and trying not to look as though they were watching us, looking away and giggling when we caught their wide-eyed stares.

Looking East from the Eiffel Tower. My apartment is just beyond the brightly-lit dome, before the not-so-brightly lit dome (the latter being the Pantheon).

One of my professors has made it his mission to take "the right" picture of the Eiffel Tower. This might not be it, but I think the composition is quite interesting...

This morning we woke at the crack of dawn to shuttle the Brit back to Gare du Nord, and poof! at 7:15am he was gone.  It’s a strange thing, a long-distance relationship, where the highs of meeting your loved one are so quickly tugged down by your longing upon their departure.  It won’t be too long until I see him again, though, we’ve already planned a trip to Loughborough and Edinburgh at the end of the month.  Traveling the world is certainly one of the advantages of living in two different cities.

All in all, a very romantic anniversary outing indeed – it’s going to be a hard one to top!