The Battle of the Louvre

When you are in Paris, you have to go to the Louvre.  So I gathered my courage, because the crowds can be enormous.  So off I went.  (Vera was working on her paper for the conference, and stayed in our hotel room.)   After fighting my way through the security lines, past a shopping mall with a Starbucks and an Apple store, I arrived at the very long lines to buy tickets.  When I finally got in, I had the idea to visit the new Islamic collection installation; but I couldn't find it on the map, so I decided, when in doubt, go find the Vermeers.  But the Dutch and Flemish collections were closed on Thursdays; so somehow I ended up in Napoleon III's apartments, where the excess of glitter and gold could put the Russian Czars to shame:

Underneath a chandelier:

I ended up wandering through endless rooms of excessive numbers of French paintings.

At least I went through a room with a ceiling painted by Braque:

(I must be looking up to avoid looking at the paintings...)


Finally, I got to the Islamic collection, which is housed in a new area created in a courtyard, which looks like this from above:

Under the roof:

The collection proved to be very interesting; no pictures of important people...   I was especially intrigued by these doors, made out of a kind of mosaic of different kinds of wood.  The were done in Egypt in the 14th century:

Later edit: Today, in the paper, it was announced that the Louvre had been shut down for a day, because the people working there were being harassed by the large number of pickpockets who buy their ticket to the Louvre, go in, and do their pickpocketing, and get mad if someone interferes.  

Later, I took the metro to the Marais, and ended up in my favorite Metro station.

I saw a show at a gallery of works by a Chinese artist, who does some kind of photo montages that create a merger between traditional landscape paintings and modern Chinese cities:

Finally, we had dinner with some Romanian friends in an impossibly overdecorated turn of the century restaurant, Brasserie Julien, in the 10th ar.

La Defense, Parc St. Cloud

Yesterday I went to both La Defense and Parc St. Cloud; two examples of French constructions on the grand scale.  La Defense, a forest of skyscrapers on the western edge of Paris, was conceived as a place where there could be high-rise buildings outside of the center of Paris.  It is mostly drab and ugly, but the Grande Arche building, constructed in a direct line connecting to the Arc de Triumphe, is a mesmerizing construction

There are also some very odd things around like this truly large finger, about 100 feet high

From there I took a tram to the Parc St. Cloud.  This park was one of the favorite subjects of the photographer Atget, who created many memorable photographs of the park in the 1920's.
The park was designed by LeNotre on a grand geometric scale; the chateau that went with it was destroyed in the Franco-Prussian war in 1871.  The park features both long vistas and a number of statues; the statues being frequently in a state of decay.

Vistas and cone-shaped trees:

Before I did all this, I went to the Museé Cernuschi to see an exhibit of art from Shanghai in the period 1840-1920, when artists in Shanghai were confronted by the impact of modern trends in Western Art.  There were a number of fascinating, almost quasi-abstract painted works.   I don't know very much about Chinese art, but even I could see the extent to which the artists were overturning age-old rules of how something should be depicted.  The museum itself is in a beautiful mansion in Paris's 8th Ar., an area I read about in Edmund de Waal's fascinating book, "The Hare with the Amber Eyes", a story about, among other things, a rise and decline of the very wealthy Ephrussi family, who started out in Odessa, and established themselves in both Vienna and Paris in the 1870's.

While I was walking in this area, I heard a car horn honk, and two people in a car started waving at me frantically, as if they were happy to see someone they knew very well.   I had no idea who they were, and I tried to convey this to them, but they continued in their enthusiasm.   Do I have a double in Paris?

Paris

We are now in Paris.   Vera is giving a paper at a narrativity conference, and I am wandering the streets.    The last time we were here, I felt the oddness of being a tourist in Paris, after having lived here as a resident for a longer stretch in the past.   I wanted to just go about my daily life in Paris, rather that rush off to see how many museums I could cram into one day.  This time, it is also very different coming to Paris from New York, rather than the bucolic splendor of Vancouver.   I have been enjoying the historic aspect of New York, enjoying old buildings built in the early 20th century.   Today I stopped in the church of Saint-Étienne-du Mont, which marks the spot where St. Genevieve was buried in the 5th century.  So Paris is really old!  So walking around Paris, you see not only the predominant 19th century Haussmanian style, but here and there many older buildings and remnants.   I also saw a bit of a 12th century wall which I have have never seen before.  It is a pleasure to wander.  I walked from our hotel near the Jardins du Luxembourg all the way to the Marais, and onwards.
Last night after we arrived, we had dinner with our friends Pam and Maya at a fantastic restaurant in the  11th Ar. called Au Passage.    Nondescript from the outside, it was adventurous but unpretentious French food at its finest.  (I had to trust them on the relatively uncooked pork...)
I have always found it hard to take pictures in Paris, which is perhaps the world's most photographed city.  Does anyone really need to take a picture of Notre Dame?   Of clochards on the banks of the Seine?   But I took some anyway this time....

I have always been amused by the French tradition of sculpting trees in geometrical shapes:

Reading in the ivy...(the temperature in Paris is about 40 degrees F.)

This elegantly dressed guy was selling paintings:

And I always love colorful construction stuff:

Speaking of color, I have no idea why this church door is purple...

You wanted Notre Dame?

New York Architecture

When I tell people that we live in Vancouver, the usual response involves saying something about Vancouver being a beautiful city.   Which is not exactly true; Vancouver is a city with mostly bland, mediocre architecture, located in an extremely beautiful environment, with beaches, mountains and water.      People also say that Paris is a beautiful city;  what they are talking about is the grand vistas and famous architectural landmarks such as Notre Dame, as well as the stylistic unity of the majority of the buildings.   I have never heard anyone say "New York, what a beautiful city!"    I actually think, by some measures, New York is a beautiful city.  In terms of streetscapes and architectural variety, New York is remarkably varied and beautiful, but in a heterogenous way.  Pockets of extraordinary architecture mix with areas of ugly, modern glass and concrete boxes.  And the ubiquitous Manhattan grid somehow makes everything seem utilitarian; grand vistas of the grid?  Maybe.    And there is all the noise and constant human activity. But if you walk around almost any area of New York, you can find all kinds of beautiful and interesting architecture, with an astonishing variety of influences and styles.

Evidence:

The facade of the Metro Theater on Broadway near us (under renovation):

Some townhouses and buildings near us:

More...

The brickwork on this building is of a technique called "diapering"

Adventures in Dog Transportation

As our time in NY wraps up, it was time to send Maggie back to Vancouver.  This turned out to be an exhausting enterprise.  I thought she would go back the way she came, via Cathay Pacific, a direct flight.   I spent many hours on email and phone with them.  They wanted a certified letter from a vet specifying that Maggie was not a snub-nosed terrier, even before I could make a booking.  When I finally made the booking, they told me that the fee would be over $600, more than twice what we paid to get her here, and that they would need to be paid in cash...   Something is very suspicious there; a major corporation like Cathay Pacific does not normally require cash.   For Google searches, here is the phrase "Cathay Pacific Ripoff".  ( I have noticed that after a few days, whatever I put in this blog will show up on a google search..)

So we went with United, which meant that I had to take Maggie to Newark airport at 4:30 AM, and that she had to take two planes.  So there I am, walking Maggie on Broadway at 4 AM, for her pre-flight exercise.   Then the car service driver was somehow out of it; he took a completely roundabout way to get to the Lincoln Tunnel, and almost got lost when there was a detour in the Meadowlands.  If I hadn't pointed out the correct direction to him, we might still be somewhere in Secaucus.  When your driver is using GPS to get you from New York to Newark Airport, you know you are in trouble.
So after Maggie was finally settled,  I took the bus back to Manhattan, landing on 42nd Street at 6:30 AM.  (Unfortunately, the antique bus lacked a suspension; a bone-rattling journey.)  That's something I have never seen before, Times Square just before sunrise.  I don't plan on seeing it again.

The adventures were not over, yet.   Maggie was flying to Denver, and then was to be put on a flight from Denver to Vancouver.  The flight from Denver to Vancouver was 3 and a half hours late leaving; we had no idea how she spent the total of almost 6 and a half hours in Denver.   Then we called to confirm her arrival details, and the people in Vancouver told us there was no dog on the plane; we called the tracking center, and they had no clue as to where she was.  Panic time!   Eventually, things got sorted out, and it turns out she was on the plane.   Ada and Andrew finally retrieved her, she seemed in fine shape, and we were all relieved!

Maggie, back at home after 18 hours on the road...

The Artful Recluse

I went to see an exhibit at the Asia Society called "The Artful Recluse".  The subject was Chines art in the mid 17th century, after the fall of the Ming Dynasty and the invasion by the "barbarian" Manchus.   Artists retreated from the chaos of regime change to the countryside, and concentrated on landscapes and otherworldly thoughts.  

What intrigued me most in the exhibit were the scroll paintings; more precisely, images painted on very long rolled up pieces of scroll paper.  You can't actually look at these in a single focus; you need to actually move your eye to see the whole thing.  (Though actually, the whole thing is not usually visible; usually only about 10 feet or so is shown at the most.)   Needless to say, you can't easily find an image that would fit on your computer screen.  The scenes themselves are impossible in some ways; like a widescreen panorama that makes sense from moment to moment, but represents something which could not possibly exist in reality.   (Like the long panning shot at the beginning of Peter Greenaway's film of the Tempest.)   No pictures to be found...

Eliogabalo

Last night we went to see a production of the opera "Eliogabalo", an opera composed in the mid 17th century by Cavalli.  The production had a novelty component; it was being presented in a very small Lower East Side nightclub/burlesque theater/strip club called "The Box", where the shows normally start at 1 AM.  Having seen opera productions with scenes updated to be set in a strip club, we were now going to see an opera in an actual strip club.  The problem was that the only tickets available were either in seats at tables for $175, or standing room for $50.  We went for the standing room, assuming that we would manage somehow.  The problem was that the standing room was at the bar, which was mostly separate from the room where the opera was, with only a partial view of the stage, and the only sound was through some poor quality speakers!   Not to mention the sound of drinks being mixed, etc.  Needless to say this was worthless, and after about 15 minutes we decided to leave.   The opera and its staging received good reviews in the Times, and would have been interesting from the seats.   We talked to the producer, though, and he was extremely apologetic; he promptly refunded our money, and offered us free tickets to their next production.   So it was a major disappointment, but kudos to the producer for being so quick to make amends.


Note the musicians hidden in the back...

From the Canyons To the Stars

Tonight we heard an evening length piece for chamber orchestra and 4 soloists, Olivier Messiaen's "From the Canyons to the Stars"  (OK, it sounds better in French).    My musical brain has had its cells rearranged; this is a truly amazing piece.  Commissioned for the American Bicentennial, it is based on Messiaen's experiences Bryce Canyon in Utah.  For those that haven't heard his Messiaen's music, he was both a Catholic mystic and a man obsessed by birds.   I actually heard the world premiere of this piece almost forty years ago; and have always remembered the experience.    Messiaen composes as if no other music had ever been written before, in a style that really is his own (though birds should share some of the credit).  Much of the music is based on his interpretation of birdsong; in the score, every other  measure contains a note labeling the particular bird the music derives from. Like being in forest (or a canyon), musical events just happen one after another. Though I am sure there is some fairly systematic logic going on, I don't really hear it.  There is no development in the traditional sense.  There are virtually no regular pulses; the meter shifts on almost every measure.  You can't really listen to this in any traditional way; eventually your ears adjust, and you begin to hear differently.

  This 90 minute piece is scored for a chamber orchestra that includes 7 percussionists; and requires extraordinary virtuosity on the part of all the players.  The percussion includes a instrument that Messiaen invented.   In this case, Robert Spano was conducting an orchestra of young musicians.   They were amazingly good.  I can't imagine how many hours they rehearsed.  It was a great evening.

I saw the Metropolitan Opera's director, Peter Gelb, in the audience.  I unfortunately resisted the temptation to tell him that they should do Messiaen's opera, "St. Francis of Assissi". But maybe he's thinking about it?

Messiaen in Bryce Canyon:

Schubert G Major Quartet

I have been eager to hear a string quartet for a while, and the perfect opportunity came along with the recital by the Artemis Quartet at Zankel Hall, playing a concert of Mendelssohn's F Minor Quartet, Ginastera's String Quartet #2, and Schubert's Quartet #15 in G major.   While I have not heard of the Berlin based Artemis Quartet before, they turned out to be an amazingly good ensemble; one of the best string quartets I have heard.  The performance of the Schubert G major quartet was a revelation; the quartet is demanding in its exposed details and ensemble coordination.  I remember when I first heard recordings of the Schubert, and I was searching for an ensemble that could play the high notes in tune.   These guys can; the performance was flawless, among other things. The level of ensemble playing in this group is phenomenal; they play standing up (cellist excepted!), and are constantly listening to each other.  It is almost hard to believe that an ensemble can play this well; I want to be reincarnated as a member of this group.

The Schubert quartet is one of those late Schubert pieces that show him heading in new and strange directions, with the depth of late Beethoven, but inhabiting a very different musical planet.  It doesn't develop like Beethoven, but it does something else which it will take me a long time to understand.   It feels symphonic at times, and, at other times, especially in this performance, it has Feldman-like moments of stillness and inaudibility.  A performance I will long remember and cherish...

The Ginastera quartet, dating from 1958, was Bartok-like in some ways, especially in the pulsating rhythmic movements and in the "night music" movement.   It also sounds somewhat serial at points.  The Artemis gave it an impassioned, ferocious reading, and it was a pleasure to hear.

This was also my first trip to Zankel Hall, which is underneath Carnegie Hall.  It was carved out of the space occupied by the old Carnegie Hall Cinema, with addtitional blasting into the Manhattan bedrock.   (I remember seeing many a Bergman double feature there back in the 1970's!)   It is a nicely configured space with lots of wood, but, to my ears, a little too dry for chamber music.   But kind of a strange feeling to be so far underground.

Maggie stops traffic

Maggie (our dog) tends to attract attention in New York (perhaps as part of her repertoire of food gathering skills), and I frequently get either a smile or a "What a cute dog!" when we are walking down Broadway.  Today, however, we were coming from our walk, crossing the street, when a city bus driver stopped his bus, rolled down his window, and shouted out "What a nice dog!"   She never gets that in Vancouver.   She is going to miss New York.

Note:  I just talked to our friend Leo, who often walks his dog. Someone came up to him, admired his dog, and he was so flattered that he didn't notice that his cellphone was being stolen.  

Maggie guarding New York, with assistance.

Matisse and others at the Met

I finally got around to seeing the Matisse show at the Met, gathering my courage to deal with the crowds.  It is indeed a fascinating show, one that you look at in a very different way.   Because the subject is multiple versions of the same scene or subject, you look at a set of paintings, usually two or three, rather than at just one painting.  Or, at least, you are looking at a painting with the awareness of the different version of the subject which is next to you.   In the early paintings, for example, you see a still life, painted in either a Signac version or a Cezanne version.  But later, it becomes more interesting, as you see Matisse refining his ideas, so that he does one painting, and then does another one on the same subject; the process usually involves removing details.   Here is one of successive versions of the view from his studio towards Notre Dame:

(The one in the middle is in fact the latest one.)

Is this like a musical theme and variations?   I don't know.  But it is an interesting concept;  why should anyone make a definitive version of a scene.  Why not make multiple versions (assuming the artist can afford the canvas and paint; if they couldn't, they would be more likely to paint over the earlier version.)

I liked these two versions of a Cezanne-like still life:

        I also saw a video, which is the kind of thing that you don't normally see at the Met.  It is a work called "Street", by James Nares.  It is a video taken from a camera mounted on a vehicle cruising through the streets of New York, focusing on people walking on sidewalks.  It was shot with a very special high-speed camera, which allowed Nares to slow the footage down to very slow speed without any of the normal problems with blurring in slow motion.   (You can rent this camera for $3,000 a day.)  It is accompanied by some guitar strumming by Thurston Moore (of Sonic Youth), which increases the hypnotic effect, but doesn't do much and becomes tiresome after a while.
What struck me on watching this was this it was a kind of art version of Google's street view still cameras.  But on Google, of course, all the faces are blurred, out of concerns for privacy.   But not here.   I wondered how the people videoed,whose images are now appearing live at the Met, feel about being photographed.  I did some research on this, and it is considered legal to photograph and display images of people without their permission if they appear in a public space.  The exception would be if the images are used for "commercial" purposes, commercial purposes being the implied endorsement of something.  Interesting...

Grand Central Station

I have been hanging out at Grand Central Station lately.   It is truly an extraordinary space, and one of the wonders of New York.  A testament to the importance of early 20th century train travel, it makes you want to take a train in the same way that a Gothic cathedral tries to convince you to believe in God.   It is immaculately restored, so much so that it almost doesn't seem authentic, but rather a 21st century facsimile.   I love the sound of the cavernous space, and I enjoy watching the crowds of people negotiating the space, some standing, and some proceeding with determined direction. There is also something very special about such a unique space which anyone is free to come and and enjoy, and which also functions as a utilitarian train station.   In New York, I normally have used Penn Station to go to either New Jersey or Long Island; Penn Station being one of the truly terrible public spaces in New York.

A few photos:

Why a Duck?

On Saturday I took a long walk, starting in Hamilton Heights (where there are Canadian pianists around..)  and then walking through what is called Manhattanville.   The main thing I wanted to see was the famous Riverside Drive Viaduct, which spans the valley between 123rd Street and 135th Street.  There is also a wonderful subway viaduct, as the IRT line emerges from underground to cross the valley.   The area is also now a subject of controversy, as Columbia University is expanding and constructing a very large new campus in this area, and has demolished a lot of the old buildings in the area.  The viaduct dates from 1900, and considered a major work of engineering at the time.
Some pictures:

The Columbia construction site has some interesting colors which attracted my eye:

I don't want to know what these yellow tubes are for:

An example of the subway viaduct, nicely painted:

And finally, one of the old buildings which will most likely be torn down:

It was a sunny day and a great walk..


Note:  The title of this post comes from a famous Chico Marx interpretation of the word "viaduct"....