It could be in my perception of things, but in Paris, for whatever reason, I take tremendous pleasure in all that makes me different from that other gender. At the superficial level – the identification comes in the style of dress and the presentation of self. But not only. A woman's tastes and pleasures are respected in so many venues. Many of them having to do with food to pick up for home.
I make no claim that this joy in womanhood is universal here. Or that men do not partake in some of the pleasures traditionally handed to women.
Or, for that matter, that men and boys, engaged in manly and boyish routines aren’t pleased as anything with their own masculine world. Indeed, I watch them and I smile at their exuberance and joy in life. It’s all quite beautiful. (Ed says – and they’ve got great hair! I’ll add – and hats.)
And, too, I’ve paid homage on Ocean to mixed gender partnerships. You’ve seen couples here lots of times, right? Happy to be together. Mostly.
But, as I sip a rosé on the park bench and munch on a baguette with Ementhal and crudités, I think – let’s focus on this one essential truth: to be a woman here is grand!
And what I see around me – the flowers, the chairs that fit my body so well, the public spaces that make me feel protected – it’s all so terrifically woman-friendly.
(Even as I do understand that here, as elsewhere, men do continue to tower in so many professional and artistic environments.)
Okay, granted. Still, at least in Paris (in my opinion), women of all shapes and sizes and importantly, of all ages, seem to understand their beauty and valor, their unique beauty and their unique valor. They walk with pride (and so I, too, walk with pride). As if they know they’re being watched, admired, respected. For what they bring to the table.
Late in the day, Ed and I are in a shop that sells lovely summer clothes. (There are so many! Sweet boutiques, sometimes even affordable – Maje, Zadig & Voltaire, Et Vous – beautiful and tempting.) I’m fingering a dress the color of a pale rose.
Should I try it on? It’s way less than 100 Euros.
How much way less?
Way less.
The clerk turns to Ed. You’re American, aren’t you? You have to know that in this country, the woman has the final word.
Well, I don’t know about that. But it sure feels good to be there in that dress, or to be at Le Bon Marche sampling paté and apricot almond “milkshakes.” Or to be anywhere at all.
We walk a lot in Paris. I love my routes around the city. For example, the one to the Bastille and back. This time, I want to stop at the Centre Pompidou. My musician hosts from last year told me that I should revisit it, because it’s superb now. I remember their words when I see photos of Obama and his daughter here just this past week.
We ride up the escalator…
…for a glorious view of Paris…
We look first at the special exhibitions – of works by Calder and Kandinsky. The first is completely fun – coat-hanger art. (Well, a little more elaborate than that, but in that style.)
I think about the audacity of assuming you can survive (and raise a family?) on creating coat-hanger circuses.
At the Kandinsky exhibition, we look at paintings donated to the various museums by his wife, Nina. Wife, and not necessarily lover. He had another woman (more?) who served that role. (I’ll bypass here the entire discussion of Paris and sex and marriage and sex in addition to marriage – I’m not going there with this post.)
In the permanent exhibition rooms, we look at art by women artists. Their art is strikingly absent from so many collections, even of modern art (I say “even,” as if we can forgive the previous centuries for being unkind to women).
The art here covers the range of expression. It’s bold and sometimes very disturbing. But the fact that a major museum in Paris devotes so much space to it is, to me, extraordinarily gratifying. Paris: a place where the difficulties of being a woman artist are openly confronted and talked about. Paris: a place where your failures in reaching any level of prominence are made more palatable because you are in a community of others who have had greater things to show, paint, and describe than you and yet, they, too, felt themselves to be at the margins of success.
So I’ll end with this womanly side of Paris. Even as I walk past Sorbonne and I am tempted to take a photo of a handful of men who look so, well, Parisian-male-professorial. I resist it. This time I’ll stick with what feels right here for me. From childcare to family life to beauty and the idolization of creativity, from food to conversation and to open spaces where both can combine – Paris. If you were a person, I’d say I love you. Even as I am so happy to be returning home today.
In the spirit of your subject today I quote Honoré Lachaille, that mellowing Parisian boulevardier in "Gigi" played by Maurice Chevalier:
ReplyDelete"Thank heaven for little girls
they grow up in the most delightful way!"
Paris has the most beautiful women in the world. (note that I consider my wife is THE most beautiful woman anywhere) I think the reason is because these women know they are beautiful because they are in Paris. It is all about self confidence.
Calder's delightful "coat hanger" acrobat in your photo radiates Calder's genius. That simple, almost childlike, object fills me with joy. Just as Calder intended when he made it. His "Cirque Calder" may look like a child made each piece, but Calder was a classically trained artist. Several years ago a friend inherited several original Calder pieces from my friend's very wealthy great aunt who had opened her house to Calder while he was a student at the Art Students' League in New York in the early 1920s. My favorite is a sculpture of a young man posed as an acrobat or gymnast, done in the classical style. This three foot tall maquette shows all the grace, beauty, and skill of Michelangelo's David. I was shocked when I first saw the sculpture and, other than the subject matter, never would have guessed it was by Calder, but it is the work of rare beauty by an artist of rare sensitivity. We all tend to think of Calder as the fellow who bent wire. But he wouldn't have had the self confidence to make his Cirque without first having the talent to make the young acrobat. To experience the full effect of Calder's mobiles, see his huge mobile in the main hall in the East Wing of the National Gallery of Art in Washington DC. Or you can see a video here: http://tinyurl.com/nnwfab
You have outdone yourself on this trip. Your prose and photos have been a delight to read every morning. Thank you for taking all of us along with you.
Brilliant writing (in both the English and American sense)! Your writing is so vivid, I could imagine myself being there too. I love how you wove the feeling of being a woman with all that is Paris. Thanks for taking us along with you.
ReplyDeleteThe elegance and class of French women – particularly those in their forties and older – really struck me on my first trip to Paris when I was still in my very early thirties. I had traveled to Europe several times before but this was my first trip to France and both my wife and I remarked how well French women seemed to age. There was an undeniable appeal in their quiet confidence and self-assurance that I had seen nowhere else. These were not women trying to stubbornly keep their youth, which most often comes with comic results, but women whose beauty and grace grew with them. I’ve tried to explain the specialness of French women to friends and I didn’t think anyone really knew what I’m trying to express until I saw your post – you articulated it perfectly (as you always seem to do).
ReplyDeleteThanks very much for sharing your travels – I visit frequently and have always enjoyed your site. The images you post, combined with your spot-on prose, never fail to make me smile.