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Published: September 13th 2008
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Bridge over the Seine
This lady was captivated by the accordian player. On the way to the Louvre. I'm sure it's been said before, but I think I'm allowed to say it again. Paris is rife with contradiction. I almost think the French secretly enjoy this fact, though outwardly they maintain their respect for their history above all else. Yesterday I went to the Louvre, once a royal palace, now the house of over 35 thousand pieces of classic art. I heard that the Louvre wa overwhelming, that you had to pick one wing per day, and any more would exhaust a normal human. I also heard that it was overrated, that the Musee L'Orangerie is way better (I went ther yesterday, too). Nevertheless, the Louvre is a Parisian icon, and does have many of those artworks I studied on a dim room, squinting bleary-eyed at a dingy slide. To have the chance to see them live, was a chance I could not pass up. Plus, at 9 euro, it's cheaper than visiting the Eiffel Tower.
The building itself is a piece of work, expansive and intricate. The courtyard roof is lined with France's great marble celebrities of the past, though the only one I recognized was Descartes.
The first and foremost example of France's flaunted, yet outwardly despised
Art exhibit on the Bridge
The theme seemed to be malaria in Northern Africa. contrast is I.M. Pei's Glass Pyramid. You must enter through, and descend down the largest glass pyramid to enter the Louvre. I read in "The DaVinci Code" (I can't believe I'm citing Dan Brown, but the man got this one right) that when the French ask if you like the pyramid, there's no way around it. If you like it, you are crass and have no taste. If you do not, then you don't understand art. I can definitely see how this might come about. Lucky for my, I'm trying to please no one, and I quite liked it. There are actually three pyramids, a couple smaller ones border the main entrance way. Inside there's a network of metal supports for each glass panel, and looking outwards, I felt sort of bionic somehow. Seeing the ancient stone fortress of the Louvre through metal and glass, it shows that France is able to retain their heritage, while embracing the modern (even if they can't admit it yet).
Once inside, I figured hte best way about it was to visit old girl Mona Lisa first thing, to pay homage, and get it over with. A little tidbit I learned in Art History
Croque Monsieur
Here's the sandwich that gave me so much trouble. class was that, though DaVinci's "Mona Lisa" is a superb example of the
sfumato technique, the reason she's so famous is that there have been numerous attempts at her theft. I also knew that she's only slightly larger than an average sheet of paper, and that at any given moment, the crowd in front of her would make you think she was Branjelina's new ethnic adopted baby, Zantax.
I saw her, she was enigmatic, I moved on. Next, I really did want to see the Venus de Milo, a woman who's beauty truly deserved the hype. What's funny about her, is that what's missing makes her who she is. Talk about negative space. She was much bigger than I anticipated, and I got a wonderful view. Her elegance, and demure head tilt made me vainly wonder what her arms had been doing the moment she was captured in stone. THis contrasts with the drape of her fabric which looked poised, ready to drop, though even that couldn't reduce her virtue. How she could have been carved 100 years BC with such sophistication amazes me.
On the way to Venus, I walked through the French painting wing, and unexpectedly came across
Louvre entrance
I bet this was way better when you were riding a carriage. one of my favorite paintings, Ingres' "La Grand Odalisque". In this painting, Ingres took a classic theme, the Odalisque, and threw tradition to the wind. Painting in the Romantic style, Ingres created "anatomical distortion", but elongating the woman's spine, positioning her body awkwardly, and lengthening one arm more than the other. In fact, scientists say she, were she real, she would have 10 lumbar vertebrae, three more than a normal human being. When criticized, Ingres basically said, "screw reality, it looks better this way". I applaud him for it. And the richness of the color makes the painting so decadent. Clearly one of my favorite paintings, I didn't know the Louvre was its home. I was quite dismayed though, that after the crowd of Mona, there wasn't a single person in front of Odelisque! I was righteously angry for Ingres, and his model. Some people just don't know art.
I got busted looking for Vermeer, because I was holding my
croque monsieur, originally my breakfast, but I couldn't finish it, and it was too greasy to put in my purse. I wrapped it in the map of the Louvre, and carried it around the entire palace. But I asked a
Glass Pyramid
It's not so bad! security guard for directions, and he caught sight of my sandwich, and Frenchily demanded I put in my bag. I did, until I lost sight of him. But that sandwich was just way to good to throw away.
After I tired myself wandering through the Louvre (and seeing a mere fraction of what it has to offer), I exited and went through the Jardin Tuileries, one of the hugest, and most visited gardens in Paris. It has a pretty decent hedge maze, where I hid and finished my
croques monsieur. At the end of the Jardin is the Musee Orangerie, which houses Monet's "Nympheas", which are eight panels of water lilies, painted at different seasons of the year, showing how everything constantly shifts. Monet requested that they be set up in two oval rooms, four panels per room. I don't know if anyone understands the magnitude of these paintings, they are enormous! If I could ahve them set up in my room, I think I would be forever at peace. And I'd need to oval-ize my room. Underneath the Nympheas were some amazing Impressionist and Modernist works, including Cezanne and Gauguin.
If you look at some of my pictures from
the Centre Pompidou, I have a view of the building through an alleyway, which I thought was pretty indicative of Paris' contrast. The same applies for the Louvre, and the pyramid. I'm noticing the pattern that, when the French allow redical Modernity to creep in, it's usually through the medium of art. Even the building that houses art can be the entrance (so to speak) to change.
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Guy Incognito
non-member comment
Is "croque monsieur" what they call Steve Irwin in France?
Hey, I LIKE the big glass pyramid! Very Guggenheim. Also, I think the desire to photograph your food (or at least, food of great significance) must run in our family. Ha, ha! No, I'm just jealous.