Some days work out perfectly

The days that work out perfectly are not usually the ones that work out as

planned. The first time I tried to find the Museum of Naif Art I never did. I hadn't known about the museum at all. Only came across it because it was in walking distance from my apartment. It seems to not be well known at all. Perhaps by the locals. I'll have to ask Hilliare, my host, if he is familiar with it. I was determined to find the museum and so set out again a couple of day later. I was worried that it was going to be uphill since it's right at the edge of Montmartre.  But it wasn't. And this time I had no trouble finding it at all coming from a different angle. Go figure. This little museum turned out to be one of the highlights of my entire stay here , made even better by my feeling of discovery. There were two exhibits and no permanent collection.it felt like more of a gallery, but not one that felt elite or offputting. I described the exhibit here in one of my other posts. It was wonderful. Before entering the museum, I noticed that there were several fabric stores around the neighborhood. In fact, it was more than several. The whole area seemed occupied by fabric stores, some large, some tiny. They were more than just fabric stores, they had lots of notions like buttons, zippers in many colors, all kinds of ribbons, on rolling displays, from narrow to wide, many unusual and beautiful ones. I don't sew, but thoroughly enjoyed browsing the stores. They sold fabric in bolts, from a quarter meter up, and also littlethink packets of remnants of all kinds, costing from 1 to 3 or 4 euros. I bought a few short pieces of ribbons, and left them on display on my living room table for the rest of my stay. My intention is to incorporate them into mixed media pieces with fabric and mosaics. I am inspired by Valerie, our French mosaic teacher in Provence, who has been incorporating brocade and other materials into some of her mosaic pieces. So that was my day, walking and a wonderful find of a museum, and fabric. I think I cooked dinner at home, as I did the majority of days.

Almost time to say goodbye

as usual I find it hard to keep up with describing my experiences and adventures. this is my next to last night here. I have hardly been eating out. have breakfast here every morning. it's usually been coffee and those traditional toasted crackers I still associate with my very first trip here. back then my host mother served them with orange marmalade and butter. this time it's been apricot as there was already a jar here, and then orange/grapefruit when that ran out. I dont usually have three meals, but either lunch or supper and maybe a snack somewhere along the way. Yesterday had a crepe as a lavish lunch in the Marais. that's the previously Jewish quarter that's now very trendy, with art galleries and clothing stores and many perfume shops. you do still see the occasional orthodox Jew but I'm afraid they have become a tourist attraction in themselves . Now this crepe was nothing like the one you can order at a stand in the street. Another long ago food memory: I had a favorite crepe stand on the Blvd St Michel where I would always order the same thing, a chocolate coconut crepe, folded and wrapped in paper. The guy would see me coming and say "chocolate et noix de coco?" The crepe I ordered yesterday in a sit down restaurant was chocolate, banana with almonds and whipped cream. I had just ordered chocolate and banana but then asked for some whipped crem(chantilly in French.) She pointed out that the day's special was all that plus almonds and so that's what I had. it was just one crepe which you could hardly see because of all the banana, chocolate and especially all the whipped cream. it was massive. Loring if you are reading this, it was almost but not quite as massive as the one in that town in Tunisia! Did I eat it all? of course I did. that might have had something to do with my queasy stomach last night. For supper at home last night I had half of a fresh warm baguette and some mint tea. I had headed to the Marais planning to visit the Jewish museum, to which I had never been. they had an interesting sounding exhibit about dybbks.As far as I know, in Jewish mythology they are evil spirits.

Next encounter with the authorities

Ok I told you about the first experience where my wallet was stolen but I was treated very kindly by the police. 

Here's the next and hopefully last disaster on the metro. Fyi I can't remember ever having an experience like either of these before, in all my visits to Paris. 

I had never taken the bus before here, except for when I lived here and sometimes took the bus to school instead of walking.  Always liked taking the train.  Until a few days ago, after the pickpocket incident.  I decided to give the bus a try. First attempt mostly positive, excerpt that someone gave me bad info and I took the bus in the wrong direction. I was almost at the end of the line before I realized it. No biggie. I went back in the right direction and the bus driver told me to just explain to the new driver and I wouldn't be charged.  Anyway it was a nice excursion through parts of the city I hadn't seen before. 

Next day, got on the bus again  when for some reason the machine rejected my ticket. I didn't  understand but was already on the bus so ignored it. Guess who came along? One of the inspectors.  I knew that there were heavy fines and tried to explain that I had had my wallet stolen and had very little money and no credit cards.  (I  didn't mention the 50 euros I had in my shoe) I also didn't have any identification. i guess I should have kept the police report with me. I was in no way going to carry my passport around after the theft.

The guy was not very sympathetic.  He didn't seem  to believe my story and eventually told me to get off the bus with him. I thought he said he was going to call or bring me to the police. But after a few minutes he just gave up and started walking away. Maybe it was the crowd starting to gather around us. I couldn't totally blame him. it was such a ridiculous sounding story. But he could  have been kinder.

I thought the problem was that metro tickets weren't good on the buses, and that was why the machine had rejected mine. But when, back at the apartment, I looked it up, I read that the tickets were good on both trains and buses , as I would have expected.. So I still don't know why mine was rejected. I just know that if it  happens again I  will go up to the driver and explain my problem. Meanwhile if anyone knows the answer please let me know asap. 

Enjoy yourself, it's later than you think

Oh those fragments of songs from decades ago that stay in your head. Who was that one? Perry Como? I'll look it up later.

I've gotten used to the idea that it's ok to  spend half the day lounging around my apartment without feeling guilty.  I really can only do five or six hours, if that, gallivanting around the city. And there's pleasure to be found in the small things, like looking out the window at the iconic Paris rooftops while taking a shower. Or eating the raspberry tart that I bought the day before, even if it isn't quite as fresh as it was the previous day. 

I begin considering what to do that day by late morning. Having a tentative destination has always been my strategy. and see what happens. It hasn't always been good, but the bad experiences usually become good stories with the passing if enough time. 

So  ; I did eventually return to the Musee des arts Decoratif after discovering the loss if my wallet a day before.  And the exhibit about the beginning and growth of the Paris department stores  was wonderful. I've never been disappointed there, even when the subject isn't what I'd normally be drawn to, like sports fashion, prior to the Olympics last year. 

My goal this year was to take in a half dozen museums in a two week stay, not an unreasonable one, I thought. But I've had to revise it. I'm up to four now, with 4 more days here, and if that's it; so be it.

I want to recount my visit to the Musee des Arts Naif, an unexpected treasure. I'd never even heard of it before, and don't see it mentioned even in any of the off the beaten path sites. It was a walkable distance from my apartment;  in  the Montmartre area. But, of course I never did find it that day. But I did have a nice walk around the 18th arrondissement. 

I did find it in my second attempt a few days later, approaching from a different angle. And what a treasure! It's within an old hall of some kind, maybe a market. Art naif is I think,  interpreted in different ways by different folks, much as outsider art is in English. It can mean by self taught artists, or sometimes as what we consider folk artists. Then there is also the term art brut which factors in there somehow.

In this case the artist is Gilbert Peyre  who describes himself as an electromechanical maniac, or something like that. His works are kinetic sculptures that are bizarre enough on their own; but are only truly appreciated when electrically animated. When I was there a guide gave a tour, activating the pieces one by one. A few required audience participation. I don't know how frequent the tours are, but make sure you get to see the works in action. 

There is another exhibit at  the hall, which I actually saw first, by artist and poet Malcolm de Chazal who was from Mauritius, an African island country about which I knew nothing until now.  His paintings are bright and in some cases almost childlike, in some cases featuring a single item such as a bird. The Peyre exhibit is there until July of 2025. I am not sure about the de Chazal. 

The third museum I visited was the Pompidou, which I visited last year and might not have visited this time but for two reasons. One us that it's closing soon for several years of renovations .  Not that I expect to be back in the next couple of years. But one never knows especially if another mosaic mural workshop with Laurel and Valerie  was to be announced. But the major reason is the current Surrealism exhibit. I can't get an advance ticket for any museum or site since all my credit cards were stolen.  So I resigned myself to standing in the no ticket line.  It took an hour. It seemed that nearly all the people in line were French. I did hear a bit of German and a little British sounding English. 

The exhibit itself was packed and overwhelming. It was much like those blockbuster exhibits at home. And it was very very long,  just room after room. Several times I thought I was approaching the end and was wrong. There many paintings that were recognizable as by Dali or Magritte or Miro or de Chirico but not works I had ever seen before, and many by artists with whom I was unfamiliar.  I had originally thought I'd visit some of the permanent collection, but after an hour in line and probably two hours in  the exhibit I was exhausted. 

And onto Paris

I am now happily ensconsed in my Paris apartment.  It is my fourth day here. I am on rue Stephenson in the 18th arrondissement.  Complete with a view of the Eiffel Tower as well as Sacre Coeur. Well it would be , aside from the gray overcast weather. At the moment I can barely see the tower and might not at all if I didn't know it was there. 

The weather has been gloomy since I arrived, and rainy on and off. On Monday it cleared in the afternoon as I am hoping it will today. Yesterday afternoon it rained intermittently but just lightly as I roamed around. It only rained more heavily after I was back at home.

This apartment is quite nice and as well equipped as any I have ever stayed in.  There are more than ample closets and drawers. There are more condiments and spices than I could ever use. The freezer is full of stuff including what looks like a full chicken. I have not figured out if this was left by former visitors or if my host Hillaire lives here some of the time. The medicine is filled with more toiletries than I have at home. I guess i should ask him before I eat more of his food!

The layout and decor are great. These are my only complaints: The apartment is directly beside some major train tracks, coming from Gare du Nord i think, so there is the frequent rumble of trains going by. But it is a muffled rumble since we are on the 7th floor, and so tolerable.  More of an issue is that we are about a ten minute walk from any of three metro stations, which is a lot more than I am used to in Paris. It would not be an issue for many people, or for me in the past. But I have had limited stamina for the last year or two, and get very tired after walking for just a few minutes so have to pace myself. Frustrating since walking ³is one of the great pleasures of being in Paris. 

My modus operandi in the past has been to have a tentative destination and walk toward it, while being open to other possibilities along the way. That is pretty much what happened yesterday. I set out heading toward a museum I'd not heard of before , the Musee d'Art Naif. I thought I'd had my maps app loaded on line, which turned out not to be true. But I did at least have the map so could see where I was headed, or so I thought. But got twisted and never found the museum.  Did have an interesting walk around the quarter though. I stopped at one of the few pattiseries I have found that has seating. Ordered a chocolate pistachio mousse cake and a hot chocolate before I saw that they also  had baguette sandwiches, so that was my lunch. It felt good to sit down for a while. 

The neighborhood is largely African, as I remembered from one of my previous visits some years ago when I worked on a volunteer project designing a small garden for a community center. That one involved mosaics too, inadvertently. When we visited the Paris mosque they were replacing the blue and white tiles on the interior pillars and I asked if we could have them for our garden.

In this neighborhood more of the restaurants are African - Tunisian, Somali, etc. than typical French. At home I prefer ethnic restaurants, but here I want more French food. There's a bistro right next door to me though, and another couple just down the street which I am sure I will try.  I have already eaten at Momo downstairs.  Had a delicious salad topped with generous chunks of salmon. And a citron presse, kind of a make your own lemonade with fresh squeezed lemon juice. 

There's a multitude of fabric shops in the neighborhood.  Most have bolts of fabric piled messily  in the window. A few have more elegant displays, outfits on mannequins in the windows,  fabric displayed appealingly along the wall. I guess they'd more properly called tailor shops. Some have displays of hats as well which I guess are handmade. I of course am tempted.

The

sun is breaking through.   Time to get mobilized. Which museum shall I head toward today?  The Pompidou? The Musee des Arts Decoratif? (My favorite). Hope my two cups of coffee give me some stamina.

Joanna and the terrible, horrible; no good, very bad day! ( with apologies to author Judith Viorst(

A couple of days have gone by, so I can look back and laugh at my disasterous day now (well almost) Here is what happened. I woke up feeling fine, lounged around a bit, actually quite a bit, before heading out for the Musee des Arts Decoratif, probably my favorite museum here. Bought my little packet 1aof metro tickets and got on the train. Walked past the hordes milling around the Louvre and the Rue de Rivoli. No intention to visit there this time around. The Musee des arts Decoratif is much less visited, but entirely worth one's while. I browsed thru the gift shop first, then headed for the short line waiting to enter the museum. I searched my bag for my little change purse, which holds quite a bit more than change, including my charge cards, health insurance info, and about 60 euros. It often gets buried in my large cross body bag. Nothing there. I left the line and looked more throughly, still not finding it. It was gone. I explained to the guards, who were sympathetic and said I needed to report it to the police, and fetched me a map showing the headquarters, telling me it was a 15 minute walk. It took me a half hour. It started to rain. I got to the police office, right near the Champs Elysees. They buzzed me in and were quite kind. They said it happened every day. There were two Asian men also there. The younger one told me that the older one's wallet had been stolen too. As they left, a woman entered and said that her passport had been stolen. I still found it hard to believe that someone had taken my little purse. My bag, a cross body, sat on my hip. It had a flap that was closed. It hadn't been slit. And how, among all the things inside, phone, kindle, notebook, umbrella, glasses case, more, had they managed to pick out the little purse? The last time I remembered using the purse was when I purchased the metro tickets. But I had opened the bag in the museum shop, to put my hat in because it was hot inside. I also took off my light sweater. Could I have dropped it then? I'd had the shop staff look but nothing had been turned in. Two cops took my report, had me sign it, and gave me a copy. I had zero money, no way to take the metro home. The Canadian woman reporting her passport stolen offered to give me money for the metro. But one of the police officers handed me a five euro note. I hope I can find a way to thank him, maybe report his kindness to his superior? Oh, and if things weren't bad enough, on leaving the police station I realized I no longer had my sweater. I went back but hadn't left it there. So, I must have left it on the park bench where I sat briefly, in the rain, resting part way on my way to the police. Not only one of my favorite sweaters, but also my warmest layer. I walked to the metro, missing the stop I thought was closest, but then stumbling onto another one. It was another wet and now windy walk. My umbrella became impossible to hold and turned inside out. When I finally got home, my clothes were soaked through. My shoes took two days to dry out. I was still shaken up, but at least had dry clothes and warm food to comfort me. I messaged my airbnb host and explained about the umbrella, offering to buy him a new one. He said it wasn't necessary, it could have happened to him. Another act of kindness. He said I had been very kind to offer. I talked to Carolina and asked her to send me some money. I asked for $500 but am not sure that will last me another week of having to pay cash for everything. I do have about $60 in dollars that I can exchange. And Loring is now back from his two week wilderness trip so I won't have to ask Carolina to front me money again. She was so good and efficient about it, sending it through Western Union. QThere are numerous shops with Western Union signs, but they apparently can only send money, not receive it. Or at least not in that quantity. Several stores sent me to the next one down the street, until I eventually asked a hotel clerk, who explained that I needed to go to the actual Western Union office, and showed me on a map how to get there. So, after nearly two hours of walking around, I was able to get the money. 1qThe next day I reported my credit cards stolen. There was one charge that had happened after I bought the packet of metro tickets. It was for about $150 and I don't remember charging anything then. although it's entirely possible that I did and forgot. The next day I went back to the museum, still wanting to visit. I asked once again if anything had been turned in. Once again, the museum staff was very kind. One of them remembered me. Another one said I'd been very brave to return to the museum. (to the scene of the crime, I guess.) I told her it was my favorite museum in Paris, and I was determined to visit. To be continued, with my visit to the exhibit about the beginning and history of the famous department stores of Paris. Addendum: I think I've figured it out. Someone must have grabbed it from me as I took the one metro ticket to use and put the rest back in the pouch to put in my larger bag.

My new French Adventure - Mosaicing in Provence 2024

Here I am once again in southern France at one more mosaic project. I really hadn't intended to come here or no anywhere while Loring was on his wilderness trip this year. until I saw that two of my favorite mosaic tea hears were doing a other workshop together and the dates coincided with Loring's trip, I couldn't really saw no. so I am once again in Avignon where I spent a sojourn six years ago with Valerie and Laurel at Valerie's: atelier on the outskirts of Avignon. this time it's a little different. we are not making pieces for ourselves but rather a collaborative mural for the local school which we will install at the end of the week. And we are not going on trips organized be the instructors which is fine.I dont feel the need to revisit those places although I am glad to have visited them, especially the hospital where Van Gogh had committed himself, and our wonderful picnic in the lavender fields. I am much more content working on a group project and spending time by myself In my charming accommodation in the former abbey or cloister or whatever it once was. More research needed and more about it later. for now I'll say that I am quite pleased here. ******************************************** It is now one week later. The project is finished and I am now ensconsed in my apartment in Paris for the next two weeks. I will try to encapsulate the major points of our wonderful week and hopefully catch up to the present before it procedes too much! I stayed for the week in Villesnueves les Avignon, basically a suburb of Avignon. It's the same town where our whole group stayed in the Hotel L'Atelier six years ago. This time, Valerie had reserved for me a room in a nearby b&b called the Cloitre. It was part of an old church compound that the couple had purchased about thirty years ago and turned into accomodations. I was not only the only one from our group staying there, but the only one at all. Which was wonderful. There were a couple of larger apartments with kitchens, and I guess a couple of other rooms that I didn't see. They gave me the choice, and the one I selected had the most charm. It fronted on a little courtyard that I only sat in once, to eat the second half of a salad I'd purchased earlier in the day. It was corn and avocado and tuna and the longest grain rice I've ever seen. I'd bought at when we took a lunch break at the atelier, part of a set meal that included a drink and a dessert, a beautiful raspberry tart, one of my favorites. I knew I couldn't eat the whole thing, and the tart wouldn't travel well back to my home, so I ate half the salad and brought it home for later. Only trouble, I didn't have a fork and was at first at a loss as to how to eat it. Came up with the idea of using one of my hair combs, which actually worked quite well. in Chez mois, the owners sat with me every morning at breakfast and we chatted in French a great chance for me to practice since they spoke very little English. They were very interested in the mosaic project, and every morning I showed them pictures from the day before. My breakfast consisted of coffee, oj, slices of baguette, a crosissant, yogurt, a pear, and apricot jam made by Mr. Host, whose name I have unfortunately forgotten. Her name is Michele with one L. (as she told me.) Our group itself was over half French speaking, which was great. They were almost all French, with one German woman, Carola, who has been Valerie's friend for about thirty years. And there was Marjorie, who is French but has lived in Portugal for a number of years. She had driven the seven hours from her home in two days. She gave me a ride to the atelier the first few mornnings, until her car became too full with things she was bringing back to Portugal so that she didn't have room for me anymore! At least four or five of the group had cars, very different from the previous group I'd participated in, where we all came from abroad. Of the five Americans, three of us had New Mexico connections, an odd coincidence. Nancy lives part of the year in France, where she and her husband have a 200+ year old home, and the rest of the year in Taos. Pat had just moved to Truth or Consequences (yes there's a story behind the name that dates back before I lived there 50 years ago.) And I was the third, having lived in Albuquerque for five years in the 1970s. The project was five days long. At first it seemed to go so slowly, not in a bad way. I was just amazed at how much we had accomplished in just the first two days. And then the rest went so quickly, it was over before we knew it. It was a mixture of presentations by Laurel, a prolific mosaic artist for about 30 years. I will try to scoot back and write some more just about her later. and the rest was very hands on. Everything Laurel said was translated into French by Valerie and sometimes Carola. This was great French practice for me and everyone, I think, some of the others in English, because we all heard it twice in our own and the other language. And as someone pointed out, it was also great in terms of reinforcing the technical parts of things as well, to hear it twice. The lessons were about materials, both for the tiles and the adhesive andd grout, the techniques of cutting and placing, the tools, and much more. And everything was interspersed with actual hands on activites, first to experiment,then to actually start creating the mural. Laurel had already created the design, on paper. It used a mix of ceramic and glass tile, and mirror, some precut, others, for the background, were pieces of tile that we cut ourselves. We used Laurell's technique of taping. First, we laid clear contact paper over the design. Then we pressed the tile tesserae onto the contact paper, using Laurel's drawing as a guide, but not sticking strictly to her drawing, using it more as a guideline. With the contact paper pieces were easy to remove and replace where necessary. We did the mirror pieces first, having sliced them into thin strips. It was almost like doing the outside pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, although the mirrored lines didn't totally form a frame, but were interspersed with the design. We used some hand made ceramic pieces that Valerie had made, And Jan had made and brought, at Laurel's request, some pieces from home that she had made and that we all salivated over. Several folks asked her if she sold her handmade pieces, which she said she did not. But on the last day she gave us all little gift bags with several pieces for each of us. And we all said we'd share how we eventually used them. What a nice surprise. I think Jan was the oldest person in the group. She was turning 79, today I think. She seemed much younger to me, not just in looks but in spirit. There was at least one other person older than me, perhaps more. Most of the others, I would guess, were in their 30s and 40s. We had cut the design in three pieces, two outer rings and one center circle. The center sections had five of us working on each, and the center had two, with Valeries and Laurel supervising and suggesting. We had to make sure that each outer grooup had the same configuration, and in some cases, had to adjust. On the fourth day, we sliced each of the outer pieces in two, creating five total, and covered the top of each completely with a stronger clear tape. We then transported them all, along with all the materials for adhering and grouting it to the wall at the Jules Ferry elementary school in Los Angles, where Valerie's studio is located, about a ten minute drive from there. We had marked each piece with numbers and line to insure they went up properly aligned. The yellow wall, under an overhang adjacent to the school playground, was then spread with thinset, the adhesitive, to the outline of the design Laurel had previouslly sketched on the wall. This is one of the trickiest parts. The individual pieces, even in five segments, are heavy and took two to three people to carry over to the wall from where we'd laid them on the ground. And once they are pressed into the wall, there is limited abililty to move them. In the midst of this process, the children came out for recess and most of them stopped to watch, clearly entranced. We later found out that the school had decided to take the class pictures in front of the mural this year.For me, this was one of the most special parts of the whole process. It would be one thing to have the mural entirely installed when the children first saw it. But them watching us do it, at a couple of different points in the process, hopefully has given them an investment in the piece, and maybe a motivation to do something artistic themselves. The final parts of the installation involved pressing every tile into the thinset base, then carefully cutting and peeling away every piece of the outer layers of tape. And then, the last day, mixing and applying the grout. There had been some discussion about grout color because the color the grout can seriously effect the image of the mosaic. Laurel had originally gone for terracotta, but then rethought it and decided on gray. But Valerie convinced her to stay with the terracotta, which she, and I think everyone, in the end was very pleased with. I don't know what the gray would have looked like but the terracotta looks beautiful. I asked and found out that there are apps that will show you what your finished piece will look like with different grouts, which would be interesting to see for some future project. The final task was to sponge away all the extra grout (because you first spread it over the entire piece) andd lastly, to scrape away any amount that have clung to the tiles rather than just in the joints between them. We did that with small wooden scrapers. The next to last night we convened for champagne and tapas at L'Annex restaurant in Villenueve, a short walk from my delightful accomodations. And the following day, with the mural installated and grouted, we had a potluck consisting of wonderful vegetable tartes, patisseries, fruits, and much more, including, again, champagne, to toast ourselves and the project. I left early the next morning, yesterday, by train back to Paris, where I am now.