Several days later… I am firmly ensconced in my Paris apartment, starting to settle into routines and realizing how quickly the time is going by. I may not get in as many museums as I had hoped. Have been to the Orsay, one of my and probably everyone’s favorites. And also to the Musee dArt de la Ville de Paris, where I had discovered the weird and wonderful Henry Darger on a previous trip. Maybe wonderful isn’t an accurate word, his work is pretty bizarre and dark. Look him up if you are interested in outsider art. Both his art and his life are intriguing, as I find true of many self-taught artists. It’s a great museum, with stupendous views of the Eiffel Tower and the Seine. It’s referred to as MAM, I just discovered. This time there were two special exhibits; you know, the ones where you stand in a slow-moving line for some time, then have to elbow your way up to each piece of art. Each of those had opened just a day or two before. One had long lines, the other had none, so I opted for that one. It’s an American artist, her name is Dana Schutz. Her work is shockingly stark with scenes of people consuming themselves and others, peppered with body parts and other graphic images. It’s interesting to come into a large exhibit with absolutely no expectations. The piece that appealed most to me depicted a group of men on some kind of outing, some carrying others, all in hyperreal images and colors. For some reason it reminded me of Clarence Thomas’ excursions with his super rich buddies. Just what was on my mind, I guess. I don’t think there were any severed body parts in that one! There was a short film of her being interviewed about her work, which I found intriguing. Interesting to see and hear a seemingly normal person whose art is so bizarre. Also at the museum was a room sized mural by Dufy depicting the dawning of electricity. And also several panels by Matisse of dancers. The original ones had been commissioned by Albert Barnes for his Philadelphia museum. I felt so cultivated, having seen those in Philadelphia a year or two ago. Fun fact: I just read (in Wikipedia) that Barnes’ wealth came from his development of a treatment for gonorrhea. The day before, I had gone to the Orsay, the stunning museum right on the river that was transformed some decades ago from a beautiful train station no longer in use.. A lot of the structural architecture was preserved, and there’s a short film depicting the transformation, that I hadn’t seen before. The current draw there is an exhibit of Van Gogh’s work of his frenetic last few months, while living in a village in Auvers-sur-Oise. I saw no mention in the exhibit of his specific affliction, but the described highs and lows sure sound like bipolar. I did find some research afterwards that agreed that he suffered from that disorder as well as psychoses, and possibly syphilis as well. Vincent had spent the previous year self-committed to an asylum in Provence. I had visited there a few years ago while at another mosaic workshop in Avignon. That hospital was fascinating, and if you are in Provence I highly recommend visiting there. It’s in the village of St. Remy. While there he painted many of his famous works including A Starry Night. This Paris show was one of those you indeed had to wait it line and elbow your way to see each piece. I had tried to get a ticket online, to no avail, because of a problem with an additional code for my charge card. So I went directly to the museum, had to wait in a line for folks without reservations to just get in the door, probably 45 minutes or so. Not too enjoyable but worth the wait. And it’s hard to complain about standing in the warm sun surrounded by the beautiful architecture of Paris. And eavesdropping on the conversations of my fellow waiters in line. Van Gogh was extremely prolific those last months. I think he did about 300 pieces while there. One was painted on the day he shot himself, dying three days later. The exact site of that last work, a tangle of trees, was just recently identified by an art scholar. He identified it when going through postcards during the pandemic.

I keep meaning to read the book about how his brother supported him, and how his sister-in-law was actually the one who promoted his work and was responsible for his fame, only after his death. Actually I think there’s a couple of books, one based on the numerous letters he wrote to his brother Theo, and the other I think focused on the story of his sister in law, Jo, Theo’s wife, who was responsible for bringing Van Gogh’s work to light. Just looked them up, one is Dear Theo, the other is The Secret Life of Sunflowers. If anyone has read either or both and has an opinion, let me know! One night I went to a performance at the Olympia. It is the famous concert hall where many well known musicians have performed and continue to perform. It is not the exact space, they tore it down some years ago but preserved the facade. This show sounded unusual, it was called One Night in Tunisia. It sounded like a panoply of performers with a large band. I took a chance, wanting to be in the space as much as seeing a particular performer. I had been there once before, in 1970, to see Simon and Garfunkel. I have a clear image of Art Garfunkel hitting those exquisitely high notes of Bridge over Troubled Water. And that’s about all I remember. It didn’t strike me until I was there that the title of the show “One Night in Tunisia was in English. And that was about the only English I heard during the show, it was in a combination of French and Arabic, neither of which I could understand much. There were two co mc’s, a band of about a dozen, and an audience that seemed to know most of the lyrics. I wish I could have understood what they were singing about. Many were ballads or pop type numbers. Most striking was a violinist who played and sang intensely. I was prepared to not like her based solely on her outfit that reminded me of a dance hall lady (not the reggae kind, the saloon kind) more than a concert performer. But she was a superb performer, and I forgave her décolleté outfit. I later found her name by googling Tunisian woman violinist, and there she .was, Yasmine Aziez, a British-born violinist of Tunisian descent . She currently resides in Tunisia. But she had lived in Boston and studied at the Boston Conservatory! The audience was more than enthusiastic, and very mixed by age. Many women and some men undulated their hands or arms while they listened, some while holding their phones. I was tempted to also. And there was a good deal of the vibrating vocalizing one hears in some Arabic music, from musicians and also audience, called ululation. The word in Arabic is zaghreba, or something close to that. It was all very interesting. But most intriguing to me was the Tunisian hip hop group. The rhythms were certainly recognizable as rap. But the music was quite different, more melodic and with all the instruments of the band behind them, including lots of violins.” And, a bagpipe! The bagpiper came forward and riffed with the rappers. The other performance I attended was the Paris Opera Ballet at the Palais Garnier. The Garnier is a beautiful and historic theatre, with a ceiling designed by Chagall, and is also the setting for the Phantom of the Opera. They give tours, which I have been on twice, once by myself and a second time with Loring. But I had never attended a performance. Before leaving home, I had checked their schedule, only to find out that the entire season was sold out. Nevertheless, I went to the box office to see if they had any single tickets, and they did. I wound up sitting in the second row. And with the orchestra pit between me and the stage, it was perfect. It was a performance of three half hour pieces by three different choreographers. Although it’s called the Paris Opera Ballet, this was not traditional ballet, no toe shoes or tutus, nor traditional gendered roles. The performance was terrific, more what I would call modern dance, and I felt very lucky to have obtained the ticket. The curtain calls must have gone on for at least 10 or 15 minutes, with many bravos. The only performance I can recall attending with such extensive curtain calls was when I cut school when I was about 14 or 15 and wound up getting last minute tickets to see Nureyev and Fontaine at Lincoln Center. Maybe long curtain calls are common at ballet, I don’t know. But it was exhilarating, especially from so close. Well, there were a couple of other performances. One was the chanteuse and dancer at the Josephine Baker symposium I previously mentioned. And I must mention a performance I came across briefly in the metro. I could hear the singing and music echoing from several corridors away, and then came across a group of Ukrainian men, perhaps six or eight of them, singing a powerful chorus in beautiful harmony.