This is my absolute favorite moment of "30 Rock," when Liz Lemon tries so hard to avoid Valentine's Day that she schedules herself a root canal. But she STILL needs a date, because she needs someone to bring her home, especially after she gets so loopy with nitrous oxide that she thinks the Jamaican dental assistants are all of her ex-boyfriends MAN is that show good.
Every Sunday, there are tons of museums around Paris that are open for free. Last Sunday I took advantage of Centre Pompidou, Paris' popular modern art museum, and braved the bitter cold to wander around gathering inspiration.
I'm getting better at going to museums (which, even if you're not claustrophobic and a crowd-hater, can be a real challenge of patience). With free entry and an undefined amount of time to be in Paris, I taught myself this time to relax and not worry about seeing every single thing. Giving everything a chance with modern art is, I've realized over the years, a big mistake. It's too subjective. So this time I gave myself permission to walk away, walk past things that didn't interest me, while still keeping an open and curious mind.
This is not an actual art piece, but I was blown away by its kind innovation. The Centre Pompidou has a collection of pieces of art explained for the blind. If you look on the picture above, the small color picture on the far right is a reference of the piece of art in the museum. The little guy below it is a size reference, and is raised so that the blind can get a sense of the scale of the piece. And the black-and-white pictures to the left are a raised, tactile representation of the painting, with different heights and textures to represent different colors.
How amazing is that?
There's also a description (printed with black ink and with Braille over the text) explaining the piece and its possible interpretations.
I thought that was amazing. As far as art goes, I loved this piece by George Brecht, which is exactly the kind of thing I usually walk past, but (keeping my open mind!), I decided to at least read the description. I'm so glad I did, because it really impressed me. It's called "Three Arrangements" and it's a collection of, uh, collections of items based on a description he wrote for what the piece should be. For example, “on a shelf/on a clothes tree/black object white chair.” But he deliberately left some vagueness in there, so that no two installations of the piece would be identical.
In this way, art becomes participatory, engaging, and absolutely, always unique. He called them "events." What would you put on the shelf? On the coat rack? Which black object would you choose for the chair?
In the same room (the conceptual art room! I can't believe how much I liked it) was Robert Filliou's "Red Sock In Yellow Box," which is based on the idea that a perfectly-made thing and a poorly-made thing are equal. To illustrate the point, Filliou got (made?) a perfect red sock and put it in a small box. The consecutive boxes contain variations on the creation of the sock, sometimes pretty well done, sometimes coming a bit apart, sometimes just a construction paper cutout of the shape, sometimes just yarn, sometimes nothing at all but for the words "red sock" written on the inside of the box.
And, finally, this sign was just funny.
My feelings are hurt by the suggestion that you think I could be so sensitive!
One day during my second week in Paris I was sitting at the window of a café and past my face walked a woman who looked exactly, exactly like this.
Same hair, mouth, big brown eyes. So classically lovely. It stole my breath and nearly stopped my heart. I wished that I could chase after her, catch her, talk to her, ask her name, but after just a second walking past me, she was gone.
Here is why I love Paris, in case you ever wondered. Because you can see one strange thing on the street, follow it down its own bizarre and kindly-lit alley, and spend three hours marveling at things you'd be hard-pressed to find anywhere else, especially the malls of America.
Such was the case with me, yesterday, and Passage Jouffroy on Boulvard Montmartre. I was walking past and caught sight of Musée Grevin Waxworks(yup, a French wax museum), which gave me a giggle, and soon there was this little mini-Rue opening up to me.
The creepy faces of Musée Grevin beckoned me, but I kept wandering.
This little passage is filled with very specific shops, like a chocolatier...
... a children's toy shop, complete with what I am guessing is Paris' answer to the American Girl doll series (whatup Gracie!)...
... as well as doll houses and their residents.
There were also boutiques for old and rare books, Chinese swords, and canes. A store just for canes, for the discerning gentleman.
But here is where I spent most of my afternoon. La Maison Du Roy (which I think is a play on the term "maison du roi" - house of the king).
I was drawn in by their window display containing a very, very old transportation chamber from the 18th century. (What is that thing called? Coach Seat? Carriage Throne?) Anyway, it was very romantic, and very small.
I walked in and my eyes went wide, like, little-girl-backstage-at-a-ballet wide. I might have actually sighed in wonder. It reminded me of a European version of More & More Antiques in New York, or the erstwhile Enchantée in Scottsdale... just filled with magic and frivolous goodies, looking like Marie Antoinette's trianon had been stuffed into a tiny boutique in the 9th arrondissment.
There were crowns and candles and polished silver objects everywhere.
There were all kinds of things people never use anymore, but that I still want, like letter openers, and magnifying glasses, and those little things used to put the fire out of a long candle.
Not to mention goblets!
And two-tiered cake displays! *swooooon*
But my favorite item was this little porcelain jewelry box, with a tiny crown to open it up with. It made me wish I had a daughter or a niece to lavish extravagant and pointless gifts upon.
And then. I saw the staircase, and the sign that invited guests up to the "boudoir" on the second floor.
Come with me, won't you? Oh, I'm terribly sorry, let me move my massive silver crown out of your way.
And the boudoir was really a boudoir. There were several intimate rooms upstairs with even more goodies.
And a few creepy things too.
On one side of the room was this:
And in it was this:
Did you see that desk on the right? It's the kind that folds out and has little drawers inside and OMG, I want to get a feather quill just looking at it. It is only $4,000. AND! There was a chandelier made of chandeliers!
Finally, someone who understands me. On the other side was this:
With era-specific costumes for the Louis in your life:
And your basic declaration of property possession.
Ah. Merci à La Maison Du Roy, for giving this 31(!)-year-old lady the opportunity to feel like a little girl again.
