Art in Motion

What is art? Is it something you see only in a museum or a gallery? Is art something apart from life?

I've reflected upon these questions over the years and am finding, more and more, that art is an integral part of my life. It takes many different forms ranging from communing with paintings and sculptures in a museum, seeing photographs in a gallery, enjoying esthetically sculpted storefronts, beautiful furniture, architecture, gorgeously landscaped gardens.

And today, I found art in motion...

My friend Marjorie, who is visiting from the States, asked me to accompany her to a very hip, fashionable clothing store, L'Eclaireur, in the Marais. I'd never been inside, so I accepted with interest.

We skimmed the very expensive, playfully unusual dresses and tried not to drool on them. Because we were together, we had the courage to go all the way to the back of the store, where we found a sight that made us both stop in our tracks. We turned to each other, eyes big and sparkling, trying not to draw attention to ourselves.

A dark-haired woman, her upper-body tilted away from the rack of clothes she was looking through, wore the most stunning coat I have ever seen. It reminded me of a very sleek, chic version of the Little Prince's coat in shiny black.

After seeing this coat, nothing else mattered in the store. And when the woman headed out the store, so did we. We were compelled to tell her how glorious her coat is.

She was deeply touched, posed for a photo, and then told us a little bit about herself. Her name is Salomé, she works for another branch of L'Eclaireur on rue Boissy d'Anglas, and she is from Georgia (the country formerly part of the Soviet Union).


The coat she wore was designed by her childhood friend, Ms. Nino Chubinishvili, an up-and-coming designer.

Not only were we a witness to a truly beautiful piece of art, under the guise of clothing, but we also shared a very human moment with Salomé. She told us that living in Georgia had been very difficult, but she would not ask to trade her experience if she were to do it again, because her life was very rich and her friendships profound.

I've never before met someone who so knew her place in the history of her country.

And that's Paris for you. You go window-shopping and you end up with art and a sense of history.

Thanks Salomé and good luck Nino.

It's not just...

...the flowers that sprout during Spring.

.

(Photo taken in Place des Vosges)

Every Village...

It is said that "every village has its idiot," or fool if you prefer. And so do we.

For weeks I kept on finding boxes of tea still in their plastic wrapping on the ledge just below our apartment. I couldn't figure out who would be throwing them down; I know all the neighbors and didn't know which one would amuse themselves in this way.

Time passed and one day, I heard something clink against the window. I hustled to look outside and saw a man with a long gray beard, in a shabby parka and hood, throwing coins on to our ledge. Aha. There was our answer. The items came from below.

And so, periodically, we find new items on the ledge. Most recently some plastic container attached to magazines, and big hunks of bread.

The pigeons were happy with the bread, but I wasn't.

So, I decided to shove them off the ledge. But before I did, I told my husband about the bread and he discovered something else. Ah, my heart jumped with joy! There, on the street, was something I had always wanted.

When I first moved to Paris, the street gifted me with an old-fashioned desk. And now, if we got dressed and down the street quickly enough, then we would have our long wished-for coffee table.

Success! Thanks Village Idiot for leading us to our Paris gift.

Paris Hubba Hubba

This morning when I left the house, I thought to myself: It's another cold, gray day. Don't take your camera, you'll have nothing new to photograph.

Thank goodness I ignored that silly thought because as soon as I set foot on the sidewalk, I encountered one of my favorite sights: The Sapeurs Pompiers... Paris' finest firefighters.



Now, I know what you are thinking and you are wrong. Though these gentlemen have a reputation for being the most dashing of men, this is not what gets me all excited when I see them. Oh, no, no.

It's their glorious shiny helmets, a throwback to ancient times of gallant heroes who rescued people from, in this case, a gas leak that when asked what they were doing here, they breezily shrugged off as just another day's work.

Les Giboulée de Mars

I had just come home from doing my errands in an odd-weather kind of day (cold, hot, cold), when I heard a racket outside of the windows. We've had sporadic construction lately, so I immediately attributed it to that.

When I looked out the window though, I couldn't help but gasp at the sight. I witnessed a torrent of hail covering cars, scooters, the sidewalk and a man carrying an umbrella as he walked nonchalantly down the street, completely unperturbed by the intensity of the ice and sound, as if on a Sunday stroll.





I've always found hail to be so gloriously strange, because it comes on so unexpectedly and unannounced with such a force and then it is gone just as quickly.

A Bright Spot

It snowed in New York City last week, and I thought to myself, well, at least we are lucky to have such warmth here in Paris, forgetting (on purpose?) that the weather on the East Coast of the United States reaches us on the West Coast of Europe, in varying degrees, within four days.

And so yesterday, while I was in Herbeus looking for Australian Bushflower Essences, I noticed that it had, what I thought, started to rain.

It is only when I stepped out into the street that I realized, goodness me, it's hail.

People stood with long faces under shop and restaurant awnings, waiting it out. But me, how could I be depressed? I was warm in my expensive, French wool stockings and if that wasn't reason enough, I detected all the way down the street, a man with a bright, red umbrella.

The sky was gray, the air was cold, people looked unhappy, and here I stood blocking the entrance to the shop I just stepped out of, with what I'm sure was a loopy grin on my face, unable to tear my eyes away from the spot of color that moved closer and closer.


(If you click and enlarge the image, you can actually see the hail!)

Little things make me happy, and yesterday it was that bright, red umbrella.

April Chill

This year in Paris, we've had a mild winter and an early spring. This is always dangerous because now is the time people dress too lightly for the fluctuating temperatures.

Last week it was so warm, in fact, that I almost put away my winter coat, but I kept on thinking about the French saying, which is repeated like a mantra, En avril, ne te découvre pas d’un fil ; en mai, fais ce qu’il te plaît, (In April, do not uncover yourself by one thread; in May do as you wish).

I kept the coat out "just in case". And today was just that "just in case". It was reasonably warm, but there was a wind that stung with an arctic chill, making all of us huddle under the too little clothing that we all wore (I left my bonnet at home).

But Paris is Paris and there is always beauty somewhere that springs out of the cold. We found it walking home.

Street Art

There is a phenomenon that happens in Paris that I've never seen (or perhaps just never noticed) in any other city I've been in: artists "paint" on buildings. This is done without permission and can be done with paint, paper collage or even tile.

This week I found these two in the Marais:

and


These "pieces" generally have a very short shelf-life. They are quickly painted
over by unhappy building owners.

So, why would anyone "waste" their time with art that will vanish as quickly as it was put up? Is it for the satisfaction of having your art seen by many? Or perhaps the joy of defacing property? Are they some secret code for a secret society that -- in these cases -- are really green people with wings?

Perhaps most do it because some artists are actually discovered that way. How the galleries find the artists of these mostly unsigned chef d'oeuvres is a mystery to me. I'll have to put on my detective hat and do some detectiving.

Tea & Feathers

As I walked to my favorite tea house, Mariage Frères, (see earlier post entitled Elegance) this afternoon to meet a friend, I thought to myself, well, seems kind of silly to sit inside on such a crisp, sunny spring day.

But as soon as I walked into the tea room and inhaled its serenity, I felt joy. And then, I saw feathers fluttering. How could I have any regrets at seeing that sight?


I sat down with my friend and perused the very large menu. This is often a very quick endeavor because once I discover something I like, I order the same thing every time.

With the teas, I vowed to break that pattern and try a new one every time. Last visit, I had the Festin d'Or, a combination of green tea (no wonder I felt so good when I left and then had a hard time falling asleep that night), citrus and mint. Today, I tried the Nil Rouge, a South African bourbon leaf; it was delightful.

I did not, however, completely shed my old habits and ordered the heavenly coup de soleil (sunburn), a delicious tart made with vanilla custard on a bed of wild strawberries.

Next time, I will expand my palate and attempt a new dessert. This rose green tea cake looked and smelled so good I had a hard time keeping my hands off it (once again we were placed at the "torture" table right next to the dry baked goods area that also doubles as the serving areas where the desserts are placed while the tea is being made behind the tea-bar). Or maybe I'll just have to order two...

And once again, we were treated like royalty by the waiters. Here is Antoine.

It is not customary to tip in France -- though greatly appreciated and definitely hoped for -- but please do when you come here. It's a real treat.

Carpe Diem

Paris is not only encouraging me to contemplate elegance and aesthetics, but it's also teaching me to seize the moment.

Today, as I lay nursing my son, I heard a truck park below our apartment. There was a flash of light and when I looked up, I saw this:



Old buildings, old windows, old iron work: I breathed in the delicacy of it all.

Look at these...part 2

gloriously quirky shoes seen at André in the 3rd Arrondissement.

I think I will have to go try them on, not that I could ever walk in them. (Wanna come, Merja?)

Who's Walking Whom?

Seen on Rue du Temple in front of a luggage store.

Look at these...

green meringues at the local bakery. Can you guess what's on top of them?

Cloud

I saw this magnificent cloud above Place de la République today.

Gas Station Giggle - Part Deux

Aha. I found out why Krim was hopping around like a little dwarf the other day.

He was nervous about his blood test. Both his mother and his brother had died from diabetes.

When he saw me, he rushed out with a business size envelope and proudly showed me his test results, which gave him a clean bill of health.

And with a grin showing all of his big teeth again, he said:

Your health is all that matters in this life!

Then he posed for me at the pump,

and made me pose as well (just as a bus pulled up!).

Elegance

Paris is an elegant city. I’ve lived in London, New York, Los Angeles and Barcelona, and nowhere have I seen or experienced as much of it: in the architecture, in the way people dress, in the storefronts.

One of the places that exudes a welcoming elegance is the tea house Mariage Frères, on 30 rue du Bourg-Tibourg, in the Marais (there are two others in the city).


It is not only non-smoking, but has scrumptious delicate tea, a simple, lovely decor, and waiters dressed in white that serve your every need as though you were a queen.

Last week, I went twice, and each time I walked out feeling satiated in mind, body and soul.

Will you just look at that fancy spoon serving square morsels of sugar!

Our table was right next to these glorious madeleines and (in the back) cake with grated jade on it.

Sunny Day

Yesterday was a beautiful, sunny day and so as a family, we walked down to Bastille and over to Île Saint Louis. Days like these just fill my heart.

View of the Seine on the way to Île Saint Louis.

View from Île Saint Louis to Pont D'Arcole.

Parisians sunning themselves on the Île Saint Louis, with the Hôtel de Ville (City Hall of Paris) in the background.

Gas Station Giggle

Next door to where I live, there's a gas station (not that you would know it...it's not like any one I'd ever seen before).

In the nearly four years that I've known Krim, the attendant, he's barely cracked a smile. Then yesterday, as I came home from a stroll, I looked over and saw him hopping up and down like Rumpelstiltskin.

Woah, this I had to check out.

As I approached Krim, he looked at my baby in his stroller and with a grin so big that I saw all of his teeth (very nice ones, nice and white, I didn't realize they were so big...), he started babbling about how it's good that I have a boy because in his country (Morrocco) boys are good and something something about girls, followed by peals of laughter and more hopping up and down on one foot (I was waiting for spun gold to come out of him).

I looked from him to his co-worker Said, who had tears running down his cheeks, and asked him what it was about girls that I missed. Said took a break from laughing and said, "I don't know, but he's funny today".

Now either Krim was drunk or something else was up.

What do you think?

After some prodding, which left me with tears running down my face, I finally found out that it wasn't the sunny day that brought on this rare ebulience.

It was a visit to the medical center, next door to the gas station, where he had a load of blood drawn for tests, followed by a chug of coffee at the cafe across the street.

Ah, if that's what it takes to bring laughter to Paris!