Lynn Schirmer

I cannot believe my luck. The Paris Art Fair runs this weekend. Think a smaller Basel Miami only it’s Paris. I found this out when I went to make the rounds of the gallery district which is now in Le Marais, in walking distance from my apartment. A number of them were closed in preparation for the fair.

I walked in endless circles on very narrow streets amongst galleries, boutiques and hidden historical sites and museums. I toured the Picasso Museum and was moved more by the mansion than the art. It was gratifying to see some famous pieces, but, much of it belongs in storage, to put it nicely.

I wanted to get some way-out funky, no-one-has-them-anywhere shoes, but alas, apparently cowboy boots are the next wave (again?). I came all the way from America and Parisian boutiques are filled with cowboy boots. I’m going to complain, endlessly. I guess there’s always Italy for shoes.

I saw no art that floored me. I met a few friendly gallerists, but much of what is here is the same as what is everywhere. We’ll see what’s up at the Art Fair this weekend.

One of the million or so French on the street yesterday, or perhaps it was some other contact, had a virus and I caught it. So instead of going out on the town tonight I’m curling up with hot steaming tea. Only 2 days left, and so much to do, I still have not seen Eiffel, and there is the Pompidou.

Mostly pics today. I took another long hike and might have hurt my calf, but my launching place could not have been better. I met the most charming waiter/host who admonished me on my poor French before seating me in his small cafe for some of the most wonderful scallops I’ve ever tasted. Plus it was affordable. I just smiled between bites like someone who’d had too much wine and told him J’taime Paris on my way out. I do wish one could tip sometimes.

Then I made my way to the Seine. I think most reading this blog will know why. The sun was shining, it was a good day for it. On to Ile St. Louis and then…

Said goodbye and watched Su float away here.

Turn the corner to the lone trumpeter and I imagine taps for Su.

After some time of being emotional, I realized I’d missed some important spots on Ile de la Cite…

A bit of Old Paris (before Haussmann) on Ile de la Cite

The Conciergerie, a nice name for prison. Contains the cell of Marie Antoinette, etc.

Revolution!

The yard at The Conciergierie

Vaulted ceilings, coulmns, arcades, and bars

Now a tourist attraction

Attarcted to this medieval style staircase.

Staircase other view

(I’m not telling.)

Other than that, I didn’t take my camera with me yesterday, so no pics of Le Louvre which is where I spent about 5 hours.

The line for tickets was not long, though it an immense facility. The grandeur of the palace(s) overwhelms the art in places, but what better setting for this massive survey of the creative output of human history? C’est magnifique! I did not find the pyramid entrance disagreeable. It simply works, but reaches no higher level than that aesthetically in these auspicious surroundings.

The grounds and rooms were packed with tourists as I imagine they always are. I did such a good job of dressing like a French woman I had several visitors approach me, map in hand, asking for directions. I would reply with “Je Suis American” and a shrug, yet they would persist until I pointed this way or that in my stilted French. Strange. Was it the black suit or did I look like I owned the place?

To find one self standing in front of the great art works of western history after having studied them for so many years is a moving experience to say the least. It is one described many times before and much better by others. I did feel a tear on my cheek a couple of times.

Da Vinci must be seen in person. The deterioration and the darkness of the canvases obscure subtle lines and shading in any of the reproductions I’ve ever seen. It is clear why he is master. To reiterate a thousand analysts over the centuries, it’s the psychological presence of his subjects. More of who or what they are inhabits the pieces than those of almost any other painter. And so we have Mona alone on a wall, crowds around her constantly, but you can’t get closer to her than 10 feet. Frustrating that.

I laughed out loud in front of the Davids in the great hall with the Delacroixs. He got away with a lot. One of the finest faces rendered in a painting in the 18th century hung in the same room, or if not, was nearby, This face was painted by Elisabeth Vigee Le Brun, a woman. It was the only work of hers I saw on view. I wonder how many talents like that were wasted in service to patriarchal and class oppression. Meanwhile her colleagues look out triumphantly from their self aggrandizing self portraits.

I have to say however, that any culture that devotes an entire ornate rococo hall to a celebration of artists, architects, sculptors and writers, their portraits hung like kings down the long expanse, can’t be all bad.

After a bite at a small cafe, I wandered to the opposite side of the palace in search of Vermeer. After wearing out my feet looking at Louis XIV furniture and life-sized Empire marble portraits, I never found him. Turning a corner however, I did find Rubens, an entire massive hall of him. I sat in awe with a few other visitors for awhile. Later I found Rembrandt, he had it too, you get a concrete sense of who those people are looking out from the canvas, including himself.

I can’t recall all the wonders, it’s like walking though a 3D Gardner’s “Art through the Ages”. Le Louvre requires multiple return visits which I plan to make later this week and into the future. Today it is closed. Today is for shopping and wandering down streets.

I’m taking my camera. A Bientot!