Recovery and Photography

Tags

art, C.N., contemporary art, contemporary photography, Erwin Olaf, Fondation Henri Cartier-Bresson, Galerie Rabouan Moussion, Guy Tillim, Marais, photography, Sherard, walking

On Wednesday, after walking 77 miles over the previous week, I was tired! I wrote a few blog posts, did some reading, and basically just put my feet up! I love walking, and it’s one of my favorite things to do in Paris. Over the decade I’ve been coming here I’ve consistently averaged about 7 miles a day (though only 6 in 2018). I knew from last year that I would be below average during my stay in the 15ème with my cousins, but I counted on Sherard’s insatiable appetite for walking to compensate. What I didn’t count on was that I would be walking almost as much with C.N. on the four days before Sherard arrived. So it turned out to be eleven solid days of intensive walking (including a 15-mile half-marathon day).

On Thursday, after more rest, I ventured out to the Fondation Henri Cartier-Bresson in the 3ème. There were some charming photos by Cartier-Bresson himself but the main event was a small exhibition of enormously enlarged street photos of African cities by a South African photographer, Guy Tillim. I was impressed, but by and large was happier perusing the images in a Paris gallery rather than actually being in one of those cities.

Guy Tillim, Museum of the Revolution exhibition at La Fondation Henri Cartier-Bresson

On my way home a gallery I hadn’t visited before this year — Galerie Rabouan Moussion — caught my eye. When I went in I was basically blown away by an exhibition of large-format photographs by Erwin Olaf that combined sumptuous surface beauty with witty, barbed and/or affecting points. Here are shots of a few that I particularly liked.

These two images, hung at very different levels, are related…

In the first, a mature black man sits at a (modest) power desk while a white boy waits in a row of chairs.

In the second image the white boy, somehow, is sitting in the power chair and the black man is nowhere to be seen.

The next two images suggest relationships between two women.

A mother and child? Maybe not, since the book open on the table is Lolita!

Another mother and child? Perhaps the child has done something wrong? But in the context of the previous photograph other interpretations also suggest themselves.

This photograph was my favorite, because of the moving affection it shows as well as the scantily-clad model.

The Farewell, 2018, Erwin Olaf at Galerie Rabouan Moussion, Paris

The Farewell, 2018 (detail), Erwin Olaf at Galerie Rabouan Moussion, Paris

The Farewell, 2018 (detail), Erwin Olaf at Galerie Rabouan Moussion, Paris

I naturally interpret this as a farewell between gay lovers who are about to be separated by the military service of one of them. But actually they could just be good friends, or even adopted brothers. Perhaps the ambiguity of the photograph makes the point that their powerful and obvious affection is the real and important thing. The exact nature of their relationship is relatively unimportant.

Dinners at Champeaux

Tags

art, Belleville, Canal de l'Ourcq, Champeaux, Conservatoire de Paris, Conservatoire National Supérieur de Musique et de Danse de Paris, La Grande Canopée, meals, Récitals de fin de l'année, Sherard, Zhizhong

On Monday we went up to Belleville one last time to pick up the small Clem Letrusko painting that Sherard had purchased on Friday, and to visit a few galleries that were on our must-see list. We had planned to make this a relatively restful day, but as it happened we kept seeing additional pieces that we wanted to buy, which required us to walk down the hill to an ATM then back up to the artist or gallery to buy the piece. We ended up walking 11 miles on our “rest day”!

For dinner I proposed a nearby restaurant, Champeaux, beneath the Grande Canopée. It looked quite stylish, and wasn’t terribly expensive. Besides, I had an ulterior motive: I had been reserving restaurants through the website of The Fork/La Fourchette for years. I had gotten some nice discounts but I had never accumulated enough points to use them before they expired. I noticed that I had enough “Yums” for a $10 discount, and Champeaux was one of relatively few restaurants that accepted them! We both enjoyed our meals and we particularly loved the wine they recommended: Triennes IGP Méditerranée Viognier Sainte Fleur Blanc 2018, which Sherard subsequently discovered can be found in the U.S.!

Sherard and me on Monday at Champeaux

My salmon on Monday at Champeaux

I proposed a range of options for Tuesday, Sherard’s last day. He selected thesis performances by students graduating from the Conservatoire de Musique et de Danse, Récitals de fin de l’année.  I enthusiastically agreed, since I really enjoy these accomplished non-touristy (and free) concerts. In retrospect, however, I probably should have recommended something closer to home, or in a less familiar direction, since this was in the far north-east corner of Paris, close where we had already spent most of the week, so the walk was both long and partially repetitive.

We watched a couple of good performances but then needed to go get some food. Eventually we found a modest place on the Canal de l’Ourcq for a traditional lunch. After eating we walked home along the canals, and over to the Galerie Vivienne to find some vintage postcards Sherard had noticed earlier in his stay. With that mission accomplished we headed home, after a 12 mile day.

My friend Zhizhong joined us for dinner. I had reserved at an Italian place in the neighborhood, but when I mentioned our meal the previous evening at Champeaux Zhizhong’s eyes lit up, so we decided to cancel my reservation and go right back there for dinner.

Sherard, Zhizhong and me on Tuesday at Champeaux

My cod on Tuesday at Champeaux

Sherard and Zhizhong with soufflée desserts on Tuesday at Champeaux

My strawberry rhubarb dessert on Tuesday at Champeaux

Champeaux gets a quite good overall rating of 8.8 on The Fork, and we really enjoyed both meals, but I have to admit that it has some flaws: Service was somewhat uneven, and the greeting our first night was downright strange, with the maitre’d being busy talking with a couple of policemen and a waiter being unable at first to find our reservation. The portions aren’t large and the prices aren’t cheap, but we had enough to eat both nights, and the bill wasn’t punishing: 40 euros per person including wine and desserts. You would pay more at a similarly nice restaurant in Boston. The location in a shopping center is admittedly a bit odd, but the room itself is light and airy and stylishly decorated. All in all I think the critics are being churlish; Champeaux is good value for money.

Zhizhong and I stayed up past midnight solving life’s problems, but Sherard had an early flight so he went to bed after dinner. In the morning he headed out to the airport without waking me, but left a nice farewell note on a vintage postcard.

Sunday With Sherard

Tags

Les Artizans, meals, Nanashi, Parc des Buttes-Chaumont, Rosa Bonheur, rue Montorgueil, Sherard

On Sunday we slept in, then headed back up towards the 20ème. Our first stop, however, was at Nanashi in the 3ème, where we had also enjoyed a lunch in 2016. My first day navigating without aid of a cell phone left a bit to be desired, but all’s well that ends well.

Sherard at Nanashi. I had thought from the menu on the blackboard that one had to choose from one of three salads, A, B or C …

… however, as with brunch last year at Les Enfants Perdues, one got all three.

We continued up to see a few more of the Belleville Open Studios, as described in an earlier post, then headed up for a drink at Rosa Bonheur at the top of the Parc des Buttes Chaumont, a guinguette that becomes an open air gay bar on fine Sunday afternoons. We bought a bottle of rosé because that’s what you do, then looked for a place to sit.
The best spot we could find was one end of a picnic table, the other end of which was occupied by two boorish Germans who were chatting up a cute-ish French boy. Things got complex when a very cute French guy with a cute puppy and accompanied by a cute American girl asked to join our table. We had a delightful conversation with the newcomers, despite the somewhat distracting Germans.

Cute French guy and his dog, with distracting German, at Rosa Bonheur.

When I asked permission for a photo the French guy said yes, and asked for the url to my Paris blog, so he may even read this! Unfortunately, I presumed that the newcomers were a straight couple that had wandered by accident into Rosa Bonheur, so I stood up to go without asking for the guy’s email. Sherard explained later that the guy was gay, the American girl was just a social friend, and I had committed an regrettable wing man lapse!

That evening we decided to have dinner at Les Artizans, a well-reviewed if somewhat empty restaurant right next to our building on rue Montorgueil. We both ordered the duck breast, which was excellent.

Duck breast for two at Les Artizans

We hadn’t initially planned on dessert, but when our waitress explained that the desserts were prepared on the floor above by an artizan pastry chef, and showed us the options, we had to try one.

Dessert options at Les Artizans.

Two Expected Surprises

Tags

dinner party, flea market, Marché aux Puces, meals, Montorgueil, pickpocket, rue Montorgueil, Sherard, St-Ouen, Steve Kuehler, theft

I’ve used the term “expected surprise” to refer to the unplanned appearance of friends during my Paris stays, and there was yet another last week: Steve Kuehler, a Boston friend on his second tour of Europe, arrived in Paris. Sherard and I invited him over for dinner on Saturday evening, and I made a reservation at a local restaurant. Another “expected surprise,” however, led to a change in plans.

Sherard and I wanted to see more of the Belleville Open Studios, but since they don’t open until 2 pm I suggested that we first have a look at the weekend flea market just outside the northern boundary of Paris, the Marché aux Puces de St-Ouen. I explained that it would be a 30 minute métro trip or about an hour on foot, knowing that Sherard would prefer to walk. It’s a straight shot up our street along the ancient road by which seafood was brought into the Paris marketplace (Les Halles) from Le Havre in Normandy. The rue Montorgueil part of the street that I love is upscale, but the road goes through a range of neighborhoods, including the rather rough Barbès district, before arriving at the even rougher Porte de Clignancourt and the banlieu of St-Ouen.

At first all went well. I found the guinguette that I had enjoyed on other occasions, Chez Louisette, and it was very atmospheric. Entertainers, seeming to step right out of the 1950’s, sing their hearts out while you eat a quite adequate lunch. Kitschy, yes, but fun!

After lunch we wandered around the flea market for a while, looking at shiny things, though not really tempted to buy anything. I was surprised at how sparse the crowd was and how many stores had closed since I last visited, in 2011. When it started to rain we decided to head home. Since it would have been a long walk in the rain I prevailed on Sherard to jump on the métro. The station was a madhouse, jammed with very sketchy looking people, many of whom were jumping the turnstiles. In retrospect we should have gotten the heck out of there, either walking to another station or even just walking back home in the rain. But I forged ahead.

As I was getting my wallet out of my right front pocket to go through the turnstile I felt the faintest touch at my left front pocket, where I kept my brand new iPhone XR. I glimpsed a furtive looking woman but immediately was shoved forward by an enormous guy who pushed into the turnstile behind me, ostensibly to avoid paying the fare. I noticed immediately that the phone was gone but the woman was nowhere to be seen and the guy claimed ignorance. My guess is that he was her confederate but there was no way to prove it and absolutely zero prospect of recovering the phone.

While being pickpocketed is a misfortune, it is really another category of “expected surprise.” I lost my wallet to a pickpocket in Barcelona more than a decade ago in similar circumstances, getting onto the train to the airport. I was prepared for it then and I’ve been prepared ever since to lose either my wallet or my cell phone, or both. In fact I’ve really been surprised that nothing along this line has happened to me before in my many visits to Paris (and, except for Barcelona, elsewhere). I’ll blog about how I prepare for this eventuality and how the recovery went in a subsequent post.

We went directly home on the métro so I could call T-Mobile, disable the phone, and have my insurer send a replacement. (We probably should have started this process from the station using Sherard’s phone but the delay doesn’t seem to have done any harm.) After all my calls were completed we decided it was too late to walk up to Belleville then back in time for dinner. Since we were already home I suggested that we “make lemonade” and host a dinner party for Steve instead of going to a restaurant.

Sherard and I went up and down rue Montorgueil with our shopping bag, buying fish at the local fishmonger, lettuce for a salad, a fresh baguette, pastries for dessert, a bottle of white wine, etc. I whipped up my standard meal, which, if I do say so myself, was something of a triumph.

Steve Kuehler and Bob with Bob’s standard Paris meal.

My only miscalculation was how thirsty we all were, but fortunately I had a spare bottle of rosé on hand so we had enough to drink as well as eat. After dinner we headed out for a tour of the neighborhood, which Steve enjoyed as much as expected.

Steve, Sherard and Bob on rue Montorgueil

The next evening as we were walking home we saw a little girl lose control of a helium balloon. It went up, up, up until it was a just a diminishing spot in the darkening sky. The girl was brave about it but one could tell that she was upset. I knew just how she felt!

I also knew how Sherard felt. He had been dubious about the métro since his prior trip, and had assiduously avoided it this visit, even when it involved walking an hour or more each way. The single time when I prevailed on him to use the métro one of our pockets got picked. My claim of having used the subway hundreds of times without incident was abstract, but the fact that 100% of his métro trips this year involved a crime was very concrete indeed! I gave up persuading him to use the métro again, and I’m afraid it may be many years before anyone talks him into another trip.

Art in Paris: Belleville Open Studios

Tags

art, Ateliers d'Artistes de Belleville, Belleville, Belleville Open Studios, Belleville Portes Ouvertes, Catherine Arnaud, Clem Letrusko, contemporary art, flâneur, Geneviève Baudoin, Jean-Pierre Lourdeau, Lou Perdu, Marie Drouot, Paris, Portes Ouverte des Ateliers d'Artistes de Belleville, Sherard

Tourists flock to the cafés of St.-Germain-des-Prés, like Les Deux Magots, which were frequented by cutting edge artists and intellectuals in the first half of the 20th century. But they are long gone, driven away by those very tourists, and the higher prices they are willing and able to pay. Creative people will generally be found where rents and absinthe are cheap. Where is this now? Quartiers populaire like Belleville. This is one reason why I look forward every year to the Portes Ouvertes des Ateliers d’Artistes de Belleville (AAB) – Belleville Open Studios. I’ve enjoyed this event in several prior years: 2015, and most notably last year, 2018, with my nephew Andy. I had particularly liked two artists last year, Jean-Christophe Adenis and Sophie Herszkowicz. I was deterred by cost last year but this year I was able to find a small painting by Sophie Herszkowicz that displayed her talent and fit my budget. I’m jumping ahead of the story, however.

One cool feature of the Belleville Open Studios is that each artist contributes a small piece that is available for purchase, for 45 euros, in the AAB gallery at 1, rue Francis Picabia, M° Couronnes. Sherard and I got there just after opening, at 2 pm on Friday, to have our best shot at one of these. The small pieces that most interested me were already sold, but Sherard was taken by — and snapped up — an oil painting by Clem Letrusko of a pink crucified bunny.

Sherard with the small oil painting by Clem Letrusko (lower left) that he purchased on opening day.

Installation by Clem Letrusko based on a sculptural version of Sherard’s piece

The staff explained that we would have to return on Monday, the last day of the Open Studios, to pick up the piece, so that it could remain on display until then. This was of course no problem for flâneurs like ourselves.

Next, we looked at all the sample art works to decide which studios either of us wanted to visit. There were several that we both liked and several that only one of us liked, since there’s no disputing about taste. We circled each studio that either of us wanted to visit on the AAB map, then set out to see as many as we could that afternoon. We only saw a fraction of the 176 participating artists, even though we spent several hours on Friday, went back for a few hours on Sunday and explored for several more hours on Monday.

Here are some works that I particularly liked:

The studio of Catherine Arnaud, which I fell for in 2015.

Sculpture by Marie Drouot

Works by Jean-Pierre Lourdeau

Scary portrait by Jean-Pierre Lourdeau. Sherard asked me why I liked it and I replied that I didn’t exactly *like* it but I was impressed and affected by it. Maybe not something I’d like to wake up to every morning but it makes me feel a certain kind of way.

Seule by Lou Perdu

Geneviève Baudoin in her Belleville studio

Sometimes the environment of the studio is as interesting as the art!

I’ll post separately for the artists we bought works from.

Update: Just for fun, here are similar photos that I took, one year apart. Le plus ça change !

2018

2019

Sherard’s First Days

Tags

Antoine, Batignolles, Bouillon Chartier, Comptoir General, Experimental Cocktail Club, flâneur, Fushigi!, Hoppy, Il Tre, Le Refuge, Le Tout Petit, Les Ambassades, Marais, meals, Metro, Montmartre, Montorgueil, Musee d'Orsay, Palais Royal, Parc Monceau, Rodin Museum, rue Montorgueil, Sacre Coeur, Sherard, Théâtre de Nesle

My friend and book club colleague Sherard arrived on Tuesday, May 21, for his second visit to Paris. We had had a lovely time here three years ago, in 2016, so I was delighted when he accepted my invitation to visit again.

Sherard on rue Montorgueil

He arrived in the morning so our strategy was to keep him up and about until at least 8 pm to help with jet lag. We headed up to Montmartre, starting with Sacré Coeur, which we had also visited during his previous stay.

Sherard with Sacré Coeur

We were both bemused by the crush of tourists at the top, and impressed with how much quieter it was off the tourist track on the back of the hill. We sat for half an hour at Le Refuge, which Antoine had introduced me to in 2010, watching local people (with nary a tourist in sight) come and go at the métro station Lamarck—Caulaincourt. On our way home I proposed dinner at one of my favorite places, Bouillon Chartier. There I made the first of several mistakes, by failing to warn Sherard that the bar entier would be a whole fish, head, skin, fins and all. He bravely tackled it and I think mostly enjoyed it.

Bob and Sherard at Bouillon Chartier

We finished the evening with a couple rounds of cocktails at Experimental Cocktail Club, which is exactly the same as we remembered it from 2016.

The following day we got a joint ticket for the Musée d’Orsay and the Rodin Museum, and headed off to the Orsay. I discussed our experiences at the Orsay in the previous post, but this pic of Sherard from a hallway in the Orsay is worth adding:

Sherard getting his model mojo on

When we first arrived at the Seine Sherard remarked on the wide walkways on each side of the river (berges). At first I was puzzled, but then I realized that he hadn’t seen them during his previous stay since they were submerged by the Great Flood of 2016.

After the Orsay we were hungry, and wandered back into the 7ème, which I don’t know well, to forage. We finally came across a friendly place called Les Ambassades whose 19 euro menu included appetizer, main, dessert and beverage, so we were well fed. After lunch I realized that we were just a block or two from the Rodin Museum. Our ticket allowed us to visit the two museums on different days (with a three month period, actually) but since we were already there I suggested that we make it a two-museum day. The indoor museum doesn’t thrill me, but we both quite liked the sculpture garden.

The garden of the Monet Museum, with The Thinker and even Balzac peeping through the vegetation

Balzac by Rodin

The garden of the Rodin Museum

We just had time to regroup at home before heading across the river again to see an interesting production called Fushigi! at the Théâtre de Nesle, an improvisational piece based on the films of Miyazaki. I had imagined colorful costumes but I couldn’t have been more wrong. A young girl embarked on a mission to restore a precious plant to its environment. She and her mother used (very) friendly monkeys to carry messages between them. A wicked witch turned the girl into a vulture, but fortunately her identity was restored and they all lived happily ever after. I don’t have to give you a spoiler alert because the show is different every performance; all this was improvised by four actors clad in white using mime, plus occasional spoken words, to tell a vivid and affecting story. It was also perfect for us, since rapid fire, subtle French is challenging to follow.

After the show we had a a simple but delicious Italian meal at Il Tre, on rue Montorgueil.

Bob with Sherard at Il Tre on rue Montorgueil

We went out later to explore the gay scene in the Marais, but everything was pretty dead so we ended up with a tasty beer at Hoppy, one of our favorite bars from 2016, that fortunately is still thriving.

Sherard at Hoppy, after a long day

The next day Sherard asked me to look over a map of Paris and point out the areas with which I was least familiar. This was an approach that worked well during his last visit, ending up with a charming dinner in the faraway 14ème. This year one of the less familiar arrondissements I mentioned was the 17ème. I had visited a few times but never fully explored. We set out on foot, as is our wont, which took us through the Palais Royal.

Statue at the Palais Royal (with modesty preserved by a strategic bud)

Bob ‘s hat head at the Palais Royal

When we encountered the Galeries Lafayette I suggested we take a look, as a contrast with the more popular 17ème. It’s beautiful and impressive, but I find the rank commercialism rather distasteful.

Dome of Galeries Lafayette

Our first stop in the 17ème was the charming Square des Batignolles, a jardin à l’anglaise, i.e. mimicking nature rather than geometry. A striking contrast to Galeries Lafayette!

Square des Batignolles with Sherard

Square des Batignolles

We had lunch in a cute little place next to the park.

Bob at “Le Tout Petit,” Batignolles, 17ème

Sherard at “Le Tout Petit,” Batignolles

Then we plunged into terra incognita (to me). I was surprised to find dozens of big, brand new buildings clustered around a planned station of the fast, fully automated métro line 14. Unfortunately the buildings are finished and occupied but the station has been delayed, so the overcrowded line 13 is a nightmare for the time being.

Just a few of many new buildings in the 17ème

Sherard had noticed a green strip called the Cité des Fleurs on the map and suggested that we check it out. What proper flâneur could say no? I wasn’t sure that it would be open to the public, but in fact it’s open from 7 am to 7 pm, so we enjoyed a stroll. The older buildings on each side couldn’t be more different from the high rises just a few blocks away.

Lovely houses in the Cité des Fleurs, 17ème

It was only as we were about to exit that I remembered my friend Antoine having mentioned that he had moved from St. Germain des Prés to this very Cité des Fleurs! I texted him on the off chance that he might be at home, taking care of his newborn daughter; he was, and he invited us up for coffee!

Antoine with his two-month old daughter

Bob, Antoine with his daughter, and Sherard

It was great to catch up with Antoine and to see what a family man he has become. We walked home via the beautiful Parc Monceau.

Sherard and I we’re both a bit tired after our long day, and my memory of dinner is hazy, but I’m pretty sure that we capped the evening with cocktails at Experimental Cocktail Club.

A few days later, on Friday afternoon, I made a remarkable mistake that needs to be recounted. I took Sherard for a drink at Le Comptoir Général, an African-themed bar along the Canal Saint-Martin that Alexis had introduced me to in 2013, when it was known as the Ghetto Museum.  I had been blown away on that first visit by extensive conceptual art installations, as well as by their powerful signature cocktail, the Secousse (Earthquake).

A glimpse of the Ghetto Museum from 2013, but the art is almost all gone now.

I also had a dim memory that over the years it had become less African art museum and more pretentious yuppie bar, but it was still on my mental list of places to show visitors. What I definitely did not recall was that I had taken Sherard there on his first visit, in 2016, and we had been distinctly underwhelmed:

I showed Sherard Comptoir Général but realized, seeing it through his eyes, that it was no longer the astonishing art-intensive Ghetto Museum that Alexis had introduced me to several years back, but had become just a big hipster bar with a few bits of African decor.

The current Comptoir Général isn’t a terrible place. We had a moderately pleasant time sipping our drinks and watching the hipsters. The terrible thing is that I had forgotten that we had done the same thing three years earlier. Memory becomes an issue as one gets older. For someone who is “pushing 70” I think I do pretty well, but I have to admit that this oversight gives me pause. It would be an “expected surprise” to sink into outright dementia in the last years of my life, but I’m hoping to stave this off as long as possible!

Near the end of the week Sherard revealed that he had had a slight ulterior motive all along: To keep me so happily busy that I wouldn’t have time to blog. In this he succeeded magnificently! I’m writing a full week later, just after he headed back to Boston.

Art in Paris: Three Takes on the Musée d’Orsay

Tags

art, C.N., Calder, Cezanne, impressionism, Monet, Musee d'Orsay, Picasso, Sherard

De gustibus non est disputandum: in matters of taste there can be no disputes. Taste is personal, not objective. This is particularly true when it comes to art. A person’s response to a particular work is always a complex function of their personality and life experiences. One can argue that an artwork is good or bad based on some articulable set of criteria. But whether one finds a work of art interesting or enjoyable is entirely personal. This description of three different takes on the Musée d’Orsay should make one marvel at how different taste can be rather than judging the quality of a particular response.

I visited the the Musée d’Orsay twice over the past week, the first time with C.N. and the second time with Sherard. All three of us care about art, and are strongly moved by certain works, but our tastes vary. I realized from his 2016 stay, for example, that Sherard often prefers street art to great masters. And I knew that C.N. was a lot more passionate about Picasso than I was. Our responses to the Musée d’Orsay further impressed me with how different our tastes were.

We all started on the fifth floor, which presents (to my own taste) perhaps the finest collection of impressionist art in the world. C.N. and I had each seen the collection several times, but Sherard had missed it during his first visit because the museum was closed due to the Great Flood of 2016. I love many of these paintings, with Monet, Alfred Sisely and Cezanne being among my all-time favorite painters. My own project this visit — apart from seeing old friends — was to take a few more shots for my Google Photoset, Impressionism Far and Near. This juxtaposes photos of an entire painting with a close-up of some particular portion, arguing that even a small section of a fine impressionist painting would itself make an appealing abstract work. Here is one pair of images to illustrate:

Cezanne, Apples and Oranges, c. 1899

Cezanne, Apples and Oranges, c. 1899 (detail)

C.N. also took photographs of his favorite paintings, with his much better camera. Sherard didn’t mind the gallery, and appreciated a few specific paintings I pointed out, but wasn’t strongly attracted by anything he saw.

The Musée d’Orsay also featured a temporary exhibition: Black models. From Géricault to Matisse. Sherard and I were keen to see this, but C.N. had no interest in it at all! It proved to be even more fascinating than I had expected. Here are just a few glimpses but I highly recommend that you go if you can (it’s on through July 16, 2019).

Marie-Guillemine Benoist, “Portrait de Madeleine”, 1800

Charles Cordier, “Vénus Africaine”, 1851

Marcel Antoine Verdier, “Le Châtiment des Quatre Piquets dans le Colonies”, 1843 (postdated 1849 by the artist)

Jean-Léon Gérôme, “À Vendre, Esclaves au Caire”, 1873

André Derain, “Jouer de Mandoline”, 1930

On our way down to the Black Model exhibition Sherard noticed an art deco chair in a side gallery. He loves art deco, so we explored. Furniture and furnishings normally leave me cold, but I was quite impressed by this collection. I don’t know whether it was a temporary exhibition or part of the permanent collection, but in either case I recommend it. When C.N. and I visited the museum we didn’t even know about it. Here are some looks at this very different art form:

All three of us had, I think, a healthy appreciation for the statuary in the central hall of the Musée d’Orsay, but I have to admit that I may have lingered longer over some of them than either Sherard or C.N.

Bottom line is that our tastes differed considerably, but our varying perspectives led us on several occasions into a richer appreciation of the museum than we would have had if we had visited on our own.

One last example of this was at the Picasso museum, which I visited with C.N., as we had three years ago, but haven’t seen with Sherard. I’m not a big Picasso fan but I tagged along again because the museum had an exhibition comparing him to Alexander Calder, who I admire. I found the curator’s attempts to link the two artists profoundly unpersuasive, but the Calder pieces were really nice.

A Calder mobile juxtaposed with a Picasso sculpture. The connection seems to have something to do with negative space, but it sounded to me like negative logic.

Cheerful Calder giant through the old glass of the Picasso Museum

 

 

 

 

Rest and Dates

Tags

Angelina, Bertrand, chocolate, France, hot chocolate, meals, Metro, metro Palais Royal, Omar, Palais Royal, Paris, Sherard

Sherard headed home on Thursday morning. In eight days we had walked 107 miles, averaging 13 miles a day, with 18 miles on our peak day. I generally walk an average of 7 miles a day when I’m in Paris but Sherard upped my game considerably!

Guess which week Sherard was here (June 1-8)

After he left I was tired! And my heel was hurting again — for obvious reasons. So I settled in for a day of rest and blogging. I had several free days before my next visitor, however, so I checked my social networking apps, and ended up making two dates, one for afternoon tea and the other for dinner.

I met my first date at métro Etienne Marcel. Omar is a 26-year-old Southeast Asian man on his first visit to Europe. He’s culturally Muslim but applies its principles flexibly. Like me, he enjoys travel and photography, and has a quirky sense of humor. I gave him a short tour of the Village Montorgueil, then we had tea at my apartment. We had a nice conversation and agreed to meet up again for drinks the following evening.

My Omar

My second date was with a young French guy. He proposed that we meet at métro La Motte-Picquet – Grenelle, an area with which I wasn’t particularly familiar. There were many exits so I picked the most plausible one. There was a huge crowd of people there, going to some sort of soccer event (the Euro Cup is being held in France this year) but no sign of my date. I had relied on being able to contact him when I got there but the app we had been chatting on wasn’t working for me and I didn’t have any other contact info. I waited half an hour and finally the app started working and we met up. He proposed dinner at a restaurant quite a distance away, so we walked over. The meal was pleasant enough and he was pleasant enough, but I was more interested in Omar at this point so we didn’t make another date. He walked me back to the métro and I called it a night.

Mostly a rest day, yes, but I nevertheless ended up walking more than 7 miles!

I started out Friday morning for a non-date rendezvous with Bertrand (Jared R’s French friend, whom I had met at our dinner party) for hot chocolate at Angelina on the rue de Rivoli. We had a lovely conversation, en français. I was sorry to hear about the continuing homophobia of his brother, even though the rest of his family has been supportive. I forget sometimes how lucky I’ve been!

Me and Bertrand at Angelina

Delicious hot chocolate and rather rich chocolate truffle at Angelina

Mural of Nice at Angelina

After Angelina I read my Yourcenar book for an hour in the lovely garden of the Palais Royal.

The garden of the Palais Royal

A gallery at the Palais Royal

Surely the strangest métro entrance in Paris: Palais Royal

A Flâneur is Born

Tags

4ème arrondissement, Alésia, art, Belleville, Boulangerie, Café de l'Industrie, Carrousel du Louvre, flâneur, FNAC, France, Haussmann building, Le Verre Siffleur, Louvre, Marais, meals, Musee d'Orsay, Paris, Sherard, Uniqlo

Wednesday was Sherard’s last day in Paris so we were thrilled the night before to see that the Louvre would reopen! We got up early — for us — and arrived shortly after it opened. Unfortunately, there was already a huge, raucous line. I searched online for a way to jump the queue, and was pleased to discover that the same strategy I had used other years for the Musée D’Orsay also works for the Louvre. In both cases the bottleneck is the security line, but both museums have a much shorter security line for people who already have tickets. You can buy tickets ahead of time on line or at FNAC or many tabacs, but if you wait until the last minute there’s a tabac that sells Louvre tickets right in the underground Carrousel du Louvre where we were waiting. The express security line for people with tickets is up at the glass pyramid so once you have your tickets you go there and sail past the normal security line. I was proud of having worked this dodge but I could see that Sherard was still repelled by the mob scene. I asked which galleries interested him most and when he left it to me I led him to the Mona Lisa, which I assumed he would want to see, even though it attracts the worst sort of paparazzi crowd. After that I spied a few paintings I liked but I could see that Sherard was still not into the experience.

Portrait of a Man Holding a Statuette by Bronzino, Florence, 1503 – id. 1572

Over morning coffee Sherard and I had a heart to heart talk. The upshot was that all he really wanted that day was to buy two items he had seen on earlier walks: (1) a rug he had admired during our walk through the Belleville and Couronnes neighborhoods and (2) a small painting he had liked at a gallery in the Marais. I was proud of Sherard for asserting what he really wanted in the face of the conventional expectation that one has to see the Louvre!

We got the hell out of there and headed east. The problem was that neither of us remembered exactly where he had seen the rug, so we retraced our steps: up rue de Belleville, then over to the Parc de Belleville and back down from there. Along the way we saw several pieces of street art that Sherard liked way more than anything he had seen at the musty old Louvre.

Street art in Belleville

Street art in Belleville

[Click here to download an enormous pano of the piece above.]

Just as we were about to give up on the rug, back at the Boulevard de Belleville, I noticed some Muslim stores on rue Jean-Pierre Timbaud, and sure enough, there was the rug! Sherard bought it for a song, and the first of our missions was accomplished.

After lunch at the Café de l’Industrie — a sentimental favorite from my first year — we headed over to the Marais.

Sherard’s lunch at Café de l’Industrie

There was a moment of anxiety at the gallery when the painting Sherard liked was no longer on display! But after he asked at the counter the clerk brought out many similar pieces and Sherard left as the happy owner of a colorful semi-abstract portrait. Both missions accomplished, we happily strolled home through the Marais.

Uniqlo store in the Marais, in a former foundry

Sherard suggested that we eat dinner in a completely non-touristy neighborhood we had not yet visited. I took a deep breath and proposed Alésia, a typical if unexciting neighborhood in the 14ème arrondissement. I had no specific place in mind so we simply explored. Needless to say, this warmed the cockles of my flâneur heart!

Lovely Haussmann building in the 14ème arrondissement, near métro Alésia

Boulangerie in the 14ème arrondissement, near métro Alésia

The restaurant we settled on, Le Verre Siffleur, turned out to be friendly and rather stylish as well as offering a good meal at a reasonable price.

Bob’s dinner at Le Verre Siffleur, in the 14ème arrondissement

Among our pleasant conversations there was one with a young man from Dijon who gave me his number and invited me to visit his city for a few days. Sherard noted that something similar had happened with an artist earlier in his visit, and asked me whether this sort of thing occurs to me often. I responded, “Only in Paris!”

We ended the evening, comme d’habitude, with cocktails at Experimental Cocktail Club. The bartender was charmed when we mentioned our afternoon in Belleville, which she “adores.” But when we mentioned our excursion to Alésia she said, with a visible shudder, that she “never crosses the river.” Just like crossing the Charles River between Boston and Cambridge!

Mot du jour: « comme d’habitude », “as usual”.

Paris Sacred and Profane

Tags

Arc de Triomphe, Chez Ginette, Experimental Cocktail Club, France, meals, Montmartre, Parc Monceau, Paris, Sacre Coeur, Sherard, St-Pierre-de-Montmartre

Tuesday was a bit brighter so we set off to see the view from the base of Sacré-Coeur, the white-domed church on the top of Montmartre. Rue Montmartre starts near my place, at the foot of Saint Eustache, so we followed it through the faubourg, then took rue des Martyrs and many flights of stairs up to the top. The view was panoramic but too hazy for my postcard aesthetic.

We both found the tourist crush around Sacré-Coeur off-putting, but we enjoyed the much calmer and much older St-Pierre-de-Montmartre that shares the summit.

Peaceful alcove in St-Pierre-de-Montmartre

We had a late lunch at Chez Ginette, a modest but pleasant restaurant just above the Lamarck-Caulaincourt métro station. The food was fine and the view was unbeatable. After eating we strolled over to posh Parc Monceau. It was later than I usually see the park and there was a steady stream of joggers. We read our books for a while, trying not to let ourselves be distracted by the passing parade.

Gilded entrance to posh Parc Monceau

Then we headed over to the Arc de Triomphe. I made the classic error of mistaking the métro entrance for the underpass beneath the traffic mayhem of the Étoile, but after a brief diversion we found the correct entrance and explored the base of the monument.

Tricolor flying beneath the Arc de Triomphe

We had passed an attractive restaurant on our way up to the Arc de Triomphe so we backtracked a couple of blocks and had a good meal at Le Beaucour, in one of the posher neighborhoods of Paris.

Sherard enjoying his café gourmand a few blocks from the tourist crush around the Arc de Triomphe

After regrouping at home we started our evening with cocktails at Experimental Cocktail Club — where I’m becoming a regular — then beers at our neighborhood bar Hoppy, then a special birthday visit to a gay bar that I had avoided all these years: Le Depot. Sherard had enjoyed the upstairs bar at Total Beur the previous Friday, but on Tuesday only the downstairs was open. It was just as sketchy as my friends had said! The physical space was clean enough but the few other patrons had a zombie quality that we put down to a single-minded obsession about hooking up. After finishing our beers we fled, sadder but wiser!