Notre Dame

There are few things as grand as the great cathedrals of Europe.  And Notre Dame is one of the greatest.  I'm certainly not going to say anything that hasn't already been said about Notre Dame.  As is the case with most visitors, I could do little other than gawk in awe at the massive presence the building wields. We visited on a stormy day which seemed to add to the building's gravitas. The storm clouds gave the entire experience a Gothic air.  But as our visit progressed the sun came out to reveal heavenly views powerful enough to make an atheist consider the existence of a higher power.



From the lower levels, both inside and outside the building you can't help but be dazzled by the endlessly ornate sculptures. 

The stars of the inside of the building are the voluptuous stained glass windows.

We also waited in the super long, slow-moving line in order to climb the nearly 400 tower stairs which featured two stops along the way.  This is not a task for the faint of heart. The tiny spiral staircase can be dizzying and claustrophobic.  The climb also can be physically tough particularly because it's hard to stop and take a rest with other anxious tourists climbing behind you.

But the difficulties of making the trek are worth it.  The first stop gives you eye-to-eye views of the gargoyles, which are wonderfully creepy.

The second set of stairs leads up to the bell tower. The path is even more narrow and winding.  The path is so tight that it was difficult to pass people coming up as we were going down.  But the views from that level were spectacular.

You say Pompidou. I say Pompidon't.

Maybe it was because it was the end of a long day of sight seeing.  Maybe it was the lackadaisical nature of the gallery attendants.  Or maybe it was because there just wasn't much excitement in the building. (The Pompidou was the only museum or tourist attraction I went to in Paris at which there was absolutely no line.) But my visit to the Pompidou in Paris left me feeling flat. We left championing the phrase, "You say Pompidou, I say Pompidon't."

But as I looked back at photos from the visit, I realized there were some interesting things to look at other than bored gallery attendants.  I may have been a little harsh on my assessment of the museum's permanent collection.  So here are a few things I liked.

In one sizable gallery, the walls were painted in bright colors and adorned with precise, life-sized line drawings of everyday objects by Michael Craig-Martin. I like the way these objects are simultaneously simplified and elevated to the level of art.

Michael Craig-Martin, Papillion Gallery Project
(Wall Drawings), 1993 - 2012

Michael Craig-Martin, Papillion Gallery Project
(Wall Drawings), 1993 - 2012

Michael Craig-Martin, Papillion Gallery Project
(Wall Drawings), 1993 - 2012

Bones seem to be a popular theme for my visit to Paris, especially considering my visit to the Catacombs. So it's no wonder that I loved Jean Pierre Raynaud's large drawing of a skull presented brilliantly within a large, gridded container.

Two works by Jean Pierre Raynaud, Container Zero,
(1988) and LINE (1993 - 2012)

I have nothing smart or insightful to say about Gerard Fromanger's painting other than that its colorful view of humanity was delightful and appealing.

Gerard Fromanger, En Chine, a Hu-Xian, 1974

Gerhard Richter's colorful (or lack there of) paintings will factor into a number of my museum visits. This painting, with its repetitive shapes and endless variation, speaks to something in my brain that shares a fascination with the same ideas.

Gerhard Richter, 1024 Colors [350-3], 1973

Speaking of bones, Adel Abdessemed's glass skeleton was mesmerizing.  It spoke about death but somehow made it less scary and more zen like.

Adel Abdessemed, Habibti, 2006
Murano glass, hair, wire, and metallic fasteners

Kadir Attia's Ghost is a wonderfully spooky work of hollow human figures created from compressed aluminum foil.

Kadar Attia, Ghost, 2007,
compressed aluminum foil

Finally, there was a strange cave-like structure at the Pompidou that featured Jean Dubuffet's Le Jardin d'hiver.  I love any artwork that let's you walk into it and take silly photographs.

Jean Dubuffet, Le Jardin d'hiver, 1968 - 1970

Jean Dubuffet, Le Jardin d'hiver, 1968 - 1970

Jean Dubuffet, Le Jardin d'hiver, 1968 - 1970

Versailles Part 1: One helluva backyard!

What better thing to do on a beautiful spring day than take a visit to the gardens of Versailles.  The weather gods were looking out for us as we made our way out of Paris to a place that, no matter how many pictures you've seen or descriptions you've heard, is more grand than you can possibly imagine. We decided that we'd visit the gardens first.  And we timed our visit to ensure that we could see the fountains with the water running.  I'm glad we did.  The problem? We spent way too much time in the gardens which would create problems for our later efforts.  Here are a few of my favorite things about the gardens.

Topiary
Topiary has always inspired a kid-like wonder in me.  And the topiary at Versailles are about as close to perfect as you can get.  Sure they avoid cutesy animals and the like. But their formal precision is still somehow humorous and magical.  And it helps accentuate everything in the gardens like the sculptures.

Lattice
The lattice work in some of the garden areas is wondrous.  It offers a strange, mathematical view of what I can only image is the engineering behind the gardens.

The fountains.
I can only imagine that in a time before movies, TV, and the internet, wandering through these gardens with the spectacular fountains turned on would have been awe-inspiring.  Because even in a time with movies, TV, and the internet, walking through these gardens with the fountains running was spectacular.  If you plan a visit, be sure to go when the fountains are on.

The Bikes
As you head Northwest from the palace about halfway down the seemingly-endless canal you can exit the ticketed area of the gardens and rent bikes. This was spectacular fun. And it gave us an opportunity to bike down to the Queen's hamlet.  More on that later.  It was also fun to see all the French families out for fabulous picnics.  Here are a few photos and and video of Felix looking very French on his bike.

The Queen's Pretend Hamlet.
The bikes allowed us to travel the distance to Marie Antoinette's charming hamlet.  In a time before movies, TV, and the internet, what's a bored queen to do? Construct a charming hamlet so you can experience what it's like to be a common farm girl, of course.  So, here are a few images from a truly charming hamlet.

The Bad News.
With all that fun, we spent more time in the gardens than we probably should have.  And by the time we got done, it was 4:00 p.m. in the afternoon.  Not a lot of time left to visit the actual palace.  And with the line you see behind Felix in the photo below.  We decided it wouldn't be worth the wait to get into the palace.  Oh well, I guess we need to save a few things for our next visit.

The serenity of skulls.

There were plenty of places in Paris that I didn't get to that every visitor is supposed to see.  Places like the Louvre.  Yeah, I didn't make it to the Louvre.  But there were several iconic places that I just couldn't not see.  On that list were the Catacombes de Paris.  My friends know my fascination with human skulls, so how could I miss an entire, ancient collection of human bones arranged with surprising charm and artistry.

My visit was made particularly interesting since I had recently read a historical novel titled Pure by Andrew Miller.  The book is a fictionalized look at Jean-Baptiste Barratte, a French engineer who in 1785 was given the assignment of removing all the human remains from Les Innocents, a Parisian church-yard cemetary.  Those bones were carted off and ended up in the catacombs.

Even though I've seen numerous photographs from the catacombs, the experience of actually being there was not what I expected.  I was surprised by the long, underground stone corridors that weren't filled with bones; by the occasional soaring architecture of rooms along the way; even by the calm and serenity of a place that I had expected to inspire different emotions.  Here are a few photos and a link to a Vine video from my visit including a couple of images featuring Felix.

View a Vine video from my visit here.

More eye-straining art at the Grand Palais.

As promised, this is my second post about my trip to Paris's Grand Palais to see Dynamo: A Century of Light and Motion 1913 - 2013. You can read the first "Vine video" post here.  In this post, I'm featuring  static pictures instead of videos. I'll try and write less and show more pictures. Once again, I've grouped works into categories.

The black and white of op art.
Many of the works in this show were limited to just two colors: black and while. Limiting color doesn't mean you can't achieve impact.  From one of the earliest pieces in the show by Henryk Berlewi to later works that more forcefully embraced op art as a way to play with perception, black and white can be a powerful color scheme.

Henryk Berlewi, Kontrasty Mechanofaktur, 1924, Gouache on paper.

Victor Vasarely, Metagalazie, 1959-1961, paint on canvas.Victor

Victor Vasarely, Vega-Bas, 1967, paint on panel.

The power of color.
Dynamo showcased color in several amazing ways.  One of my favorite works was Chromosaturation by Carlos Cruz-Diez. The walls of these maze-like rooms were so precisely lit, that the rooms themselves became big blocks of color, more emotionally powerful than you might expect.  It also did strange things to perception of color.

Carlos Cruz-Diez, Chromosaturation, Paris, 1965, Fluorescent Tubes, Lee filters, aluminum, acrylic paint medium.

Carlos Cruz-Diez, Chromosaturation, Paris, 1965, Fluorescent Tubes, Lee filters, aluminum, acrylic paint medium.

Julio Le Parc, Surface Couleur - Serie 14-2E, 1971, acrylic on canvas.

When lines collide.
I can't believe what you can accomplish with just a simple line.  These works are stunning for their simplicity.  But also for their ability to really screw with your vision.

Francois Morellet, 4 Doubles Trames, 1958, oil on canvas.

R.H. Quaytman, Distracting Distance, Chapter 16 (RGB), 2010, silkscreen and gesso on wood

Evariste Richer, Slow Snow (Day Snow/Night Snow), 2007, acrylic on canvas.

Michael Scott, Sans Titre, 1989, email on aluminum

Philippe Decrauzat, Shut and Open at the Same Time, 2008, paint on wood. Installation view with Mirrors, 2013, stickers.

The art of reflection
In my previous post about Dynamo, I mentioned that seeing one's self in art is powerful.  These works prove that to be true. While I may appear to be up-side-down in some of these photos, It's actually because the art works and their strange lens-like qualities distort reality; or do they simply reveal reality.

Le Prisme by Nicolas Schoffer was a dizzying window that opened onto an endless kaleidoscope, making the viewer feel like the walls of the Grand Palais were hollow and filled with magical light.

Nicolas Schoffer, Le Prisme, 1965,

I'll take a work by Anish Kapoor any day.  His intense use of color and reflection captivate the viewer and force moments of self reflection. The fact that they frequently create instant, constantly changing abstract works of art  just makes them all the more intriguing.

Anish Kapoor, Untitled, 2008 Aluminum Lacquer.

Anish Kapoor, Untitled, 2008, Aluminum Lacquer.

Anish Kapoor, Islamic Mirror, 2008, Stainless Steel

Yayoi Kusama is famous for her spots, usually rendered in bright colors and painted on everythig from pumpkins to spindly tenticles.  Here they covered the walls of a precisely constructed museum-gallery maze. Reflective domes covered with more reflective domes created a world where every museum visitor was repeated endlessly.  It was like a strange art-world quantum physics universe.

Yayoi Kusama, Invisible Life, 200-2011, Acrylic mirrors and recessed spotlights.

Basking in the glow
Some of the masters of light were on view in Paris. Dan Flavin's minimalist and structured fluorescent tubes were brilliant for their ability to transform a gallery and everyone in it. Neon also made a big showing.

Dan Flavin, Untitled (to you, Heiner with Admiration and Affection), 1973, Fluorescent Tubes.

Francois Morellet, Triple X Neonly, 2012, Blue Neon Tube and 2 Transformers.

Francois Morellet, Triple X Neonly, 2012, Blue Neon Tube and 2 Transformers.

Robert Smithson, The Eliminator, 1964, Replicated in 2013, Steel, glass, and neon.

Perception is certainly not reality.
I'll close with one of my favorite works in the show. Felice Varini's Vingt-trois disques evides plus douze moities et quatre quarts (2013, orange acrylic paint on adhesive foil) was mind-blowing.  I first experienced it entering the main hall of the Grand Palais. We were there for a completely different event.  I didn't know it was part of the Dynamo exhibition and assumed it was an abstract, rather perplexing series of random splashes of paint splattered across the front of the building; probably done by some street artist who's made it big in the fine art world.  It made little sense to me but hey, we're talking contemporary art here, so I processed it and moved on.

It wasn't until the following day, after having purchased my ticket to Dynamo that I was wandering through the galleries and the reality of these orange splashes locked into view.  As you stepped through a door onto a patio, all those random shapes created a perfect pattern. I love that the view almost didn't seem real.  It's almost as if someone used Adobe Illustrator to add the pattern afterwards.  And it didn't feel like that just in the flat photo you see here.  The effect was even more disorienting when you were standing in front of the image. It was pure art-world magic.  But maybe like many things in the contemporary world, it was enabled by technology, which would be appropriate considering the technological feeling than many of the works in Dynamo embraced.

Felice Varini's Vingt-trois disques evides plus douze moities et quatre quarts, 2013, orange acrylic paint on adhesive foil

Felice Varini's Vingt-trois disques evides plus douze moities et quatre quarts, 2013, orange acrylic paint on adhesive foil

Felice Varini's Vingt-trois disques evides plus douze moities et quatre quarts, 2013, orange acrylic paint on adhesive foil