MONDAY, NOVEMBER 12
Another rainy day. But we went out nonetheless…no more time to lose in Paris. We were on our way to the Jardin Luxembourg to meet S., an acquaintance from years past. But first food. Chloe found a bagel shop online near St. Michel, but after a long searching, we learned it was closed. Instead we picked up horrible sandwiches and our bad luck with French food continued. An unusual French cuisine experience.
MEETING AN ACQUAINTANCE FROM DAYS GONE BY
Protesters crowded the streets and blocked entrances to the along the Jardin and we couldn’t get in. We walked the periphery until we found an opening, but we arrived at our meeting point quite late. I apologized as soon as we saw S. He laughed sarcastically and said, “I expected it.” Not off to a great start.
The garden was lovely, and serene with hidden lawns, circular pools and angelic statues in small marble fountains.
ALL ABOUT S
The next three hours S. served as our guide, and the moment we left him, Chloe said, “I never want to see him again in my life.” He was exhausting. It isn’t just in Vancouver that I am surrounded by narcissists, they go well into my past.
He took us on an “All about me in Paris tour” that was soul draining and insipid. “Here,” he said, gesturing widely with his arms as if conducting a symphony, “is where I first played music. “Here is the free toilet where I pee.” “Here is where my wife first told me that my music was beautiful.” “Here is my favorite bridge because I… “ You get the point. He compared himself and his talent to that of Henry James and Brancusi. “Here is my favorite museum because Brancusi is….”
He looks French, and always has with his white hair pulled into a small bun at the nape of his neck, a tidy, manicured beard, and as thin as a rail. He dresses in jeans and tasteful black leather jackets, not biker style, scarves, and pointy shoes. He plays the guitar, and was performing for institutionalized people with severe autism. He told us he is revolutionizing the way music is used. (We had just watched a Netflix documentary called, “Explained” about the affects of music on the brain….but never mind.).
When he spoke, he employed exaggerated arm and hand gestures, stopped to create intense pauses and meaningful eye contact. “I came to Paris to die,” he said. “But I now believe I was never alive before I came here.”
BRANCUSCI’S ATELIER
At the entrance to Brancusi’s atelier, he made a grand gesture with his hands, as if ushering us into his personal sanctuary and then bowed and excused himself. Exhausted, but right next to the Pompidou, which was on our agenda, we rushed through the Atelier, dizzy, unseeing, and then went into the huge Pompidou lobby and sat down.
THE FANTASTIC POMPIDOU
From the outside corridor on the second to top floor, a brilliant sunset cast bright orange across the Parisian cityscape – Eiffel Tower and all. It was breathtaking. The floor contained two special exhibitions: Mike Kelley, and an evolution of Cubism show. Kelley’s small drawings remind us of David Shrigley, a favorite, becasue they were hilarious; and the Cubism exhibition, which included paintings and a few sculptures, was nicely arranged to show the process by which artists began to see in cubes and broken pieces. Juan Gris was a particular favorite, after Picasso, of course.
The lower floor contained Modern artists. One of my favorites, Matisse’s painting, Blue Room with Goldfish, is in the collection. After we’d seen everything on this floor, it’s fair to say we didn’t have an ounce of strength left. As we walked down one more flight to discover the Contemporary works, Chloe said she would give me five minutes. I took fifteen, as we whizzed through rooms, mostly of contemporary European artists–though there were a few Richard Serra and others. Some women were included, but only a few and they were odd choices, and there were very few artist of color.
We made it home late and happy, recognizing shops on our way, the boulangerie, the grocery store, the vegetable market, and feeling we belonged. Some familiarity is so nice when travelling.
