Paris

Sometimes, when in Paris, you want to blend into la vie Parisienne. Do as they do, move around with that brisk step (that is only surpassed in speed an confidence by a New Yorker), shop with their flair, eat their foods, blend, blend, blend into their neighborhoods.

At other times, you want to be a tourist.

I woke up (late again!) thinking that I'm ready to rejoin the throngs who come here for something other than the strolling, shopping, eating, and blending. Paris has the art of all art. It can overwhelm you, there's so much of it! Very often, I put it aside for another visit. Or, I seek out the small museums, often tucked into neighborhoods that are quite the distance from the main drag. And just every once in a while, I go back to the greats.

It's a gorgeous day today -- sunny, a bit colder (near 40F, or about 4C), but absolutely brilliant.





As I walk down to my breakfast at Les Editeurs, I'm thinking that I should take in one of the more distant museums today -- the Marmottan. The walk there would be grand and there is a special exhibit that I would love to check out.

(Breakfast selfie)






My walk to the distant museum puts me at first by the river. On a sunny winter day, this is Paris at her best.





My step is brisk, my energy levels are high.

As I pass by the Musee d'Orsay, I give it a friendly wave. Love you, Musee d'O, but you overwhelm me with your crowds, your voluminous spaces, your specials, your everything!  (Indeed, I saw that its special exhibition on Picasso has been sold out for weeks. Uff! I do not like excessively popular museums.)

But as I walk past it, I see that for the museum itself (as opposed to this one special exhibit), there are no lines at all. This puzzles me greatly. Is it that people are avoiding public spaces because France right now is being traumatized from all sides? (Indeed, all museums, performances, public shows etc were called off and closed up over the weekend.)

So, should I go in?

I mull this over, but only for a second. There are two other special exhibits at the d'Orsay that tempt me and perhaps most significantly, the Impressionist collection has just recently opened in its new, revamped setting.

I go in. And not only do I buy a ticket for today, I buy a pass for a whole year. (If you go just four times here, and/or to the Orangerie across the river, you'll have more than made up for the price of the pass). This means that whenever I am in Paris, I can hop in without a wait, even if the line stretches a mile long (come summertime, things can get intense here).

I check out the first special exhibit. Nice. Interesting. An artist speculates about the influence of the Impressionists on his work. For me, it's a five - ten minute thing.

I get on the escalator, The Impressionists -- the whole lot of them, in their new space -- are on the top floor.






Wow!






Oh my... The tears come freely.

(I listen to a guide every now and then... You can do that if you're so inclined.)






And I am so happy to see that the Museum has loosened its restrictions against photography. I suppose it's just too difficult to monitor -- all those smart phones are snapping away -- how do you get them to stop? But more to the point, why should they stop? People's reaction to art is such a personal thing. If you like your selfie moment next to a favorite canvas, that's cool! If keeping that image in your souvenir album is important to you, well then keep it! One should never tell people how to look at art!






For me, Impressionism is like a temple to the better side of human nature. I have spent my entire adulthood coming back to it again and again for inspiration. The very idea here is that you can step out of your own reality and see something better.





Take Monet: his gardens alone pushed me to do better at the farmette, but it doesn't end there. His canvases reaffirm for me the belief that how you see the world is in your head. You don't have to give in to the ordinariness of a brush going this way and that, or a garden's failings or the world's shortcomings. You can step back and see beauty.


If that weren't enough to make this museum visit utterly priceless, there is yet another special moment in store: the third listed exhibit is on Renoir and his son. Wait, so the Renoir of the French film scene is related to Renoir the artist?? Am I the only one on the planet who didn't know that?

The exhibit depicts the relation between father (the painter) and son (the film maker).






I don't know that I've ever seen anything like it! There are movie clips and Renoir paintings -- all presented in intimate spaces, focusing on themes that are personal, complicated and intenesely moving.






In the later stages of his life, Renoir the filmmaker returns to the place in the country where his father painted. (Those lovely paintings of what you think are mother and child?


 


...they're actually of baby Renoir the future film maker, and his nanny -- a beautiful model for Remoir the painter). He shoots films there that coddle you with the bucolic scenery and the prettiness of country life, but after a few years, he leaves it all, returning to his established home in the U.S. He reminds us that  "for our peace of mind, we must try to escape from the spell of memories. Our salvation lies in plunging resolutely into the hell of the new world."

Simply put, you should not go back. The better choice is to move on.





I leave the museum soon after (with so many books for my grandkids on art, on Paris, on everything that is lovely here!).


So I am a tourist today. So let's remind ourselves of what else Paris has to offer. This!







I spent several hours in the museum and now the afternoon is rapidly cascading toward evening. No point in searching out more distant museums. I turn around and head back toward the hotel.






But, but, but -- what about lunch??

All roads for me appear to lead to the Cafe Varenne. It's nearly three and most lunch serving places in France wont cook up anything for you after 2:30, but this is a cafe and its rules are slightly more lax. I pick a salad with beets and goat cheese and predictably, it is so very fine!






And now the sun has set.






Within a few minutes, it is dark.






Back in my hotel room, I use the hour that I have prior to dinner for consolidating, squeezing and using lots of positive thinking to fit everything into the bags I've brought with me. There, I've done it!

Time to head out to Semilla. Yes, the restaurant I always return to on my last night in Paris. Why there? Well, it's never failed me.  The food is always, always extremely well prepared. It's not exceptionally complicated, but it's faultless and beautiful and the staff is fantastically enthusiastic and the bubbly water, in unlimited supplies, is free!

(Like the previous two restaurants, it's an open kitchen set up.)





I've been loyal to it since it opened. It's forever packed now, but they have a wonderful system where you can only reserve within the two weeks of your dining date. It keeps the place neighborhoody and young. Sure, the early diners are tourists, but eventually the Parisians pour in and everyone seems so grateful to be eating a good meal, Parisians, foreigners, me and you, all together sharing the few dishes that the kitchen staff and chefs have prepared for us.

I truly adore Semilla.

And now it is really late. I note that the moon shines brightly over the Odeon Theater, over my little hotel. Over you as well.






Tomorrow, I head home.