It is difficult for me to know what to think of the Catacombs. I am fascinated, awed, humbled, terrified, and horrified all at the same time. The bones of six million dead, moved and stacked with great care; and then shown as a spectacle for everyone to see.
Yesterday, Paul Miller, a longtime friend was recognized by the French Government for his contributions to the French Culture. Now a Chevalier des arts et des Lettres. Bravo Paul.
Still to early to know what the outcome of the elections will be. Most already have a suspicion.
The Route du Rhum has developed into a tactical race. This should be no surprise. The Skipper of Eric Taberly’s old multihull has been evacuated because of health reasons.
Since yesterday there have been 4 entries for the America’s Cup, including the defender and challenger of record. So really 2 new entries ( the ante at this piont is $25,000, so it is not a huge risk.) The photo below is of the crowd watching the start of the Route du Rhum. Could this ever happen in America?
We visited the Musee de la vie Romantique to see an exhibition of Russian painters never before seen in the west.
This was the house of Ary Scheffer. He and his family led an interesting life, entertaining all the intellectuals and artists of the era.
Finishing our day at an exhibition of Serge Ferat (1881-1958) at the Gallerie Beres. I will not pretend to know much about art, and even less about Serge Ferat; which was the point of going to see the exhibit.
When asked why she decided to do this Exhibit; the response was simple: “Why do an exhibit of an artist that everyone already knows?” “Where is the surprise? What does one learn?”
A beautiful gentle fall day. Not to cold, low humidity, wonderful light; the light you can only find here in Paris. ( most of my life I would look at the impressionist paintings and I just did not “get” it; not until I first came to Europe, and realized how different the light is).
It is Halloween, All Saint’s Eve; tomorrow is All Saint’s Day. Today is the day people in France clean the tombs and headstones of their families
The cemetery of Pere Lachaise is probably best know to Americans because of Jim Morrisson who is buried here. More significantly are the many notable generals, inventors, creators and other famous people are interred here. It was interesting to note that the tomb of Chopin had much more attention than that of Jim Morrison.
I had never been to Pere Lachaise. It is a marvel. Perhaps an allegory for the city of Paris, historically and architecturally rich, with wide cobbled boulevards, and narrow streets that twist and wind, that mount and descend. Beautiful trees and flowers.
Friday the thirteenth, in America considered a bad luck day; however in France is a day when everyone buys a lottery ticket.
This macabre image evokes thoughts of Francois Villion’s poem”The Ballad of the Hanged Man”.
I just cannot emphasize enough the pleasure downtown Los Angeles gives me. An architectural treasure trove. The first photos are of the “Cicada Club” in the 1928 Oviatt building. The glass work was done by Lalique, as good as I have ever seen. The last photo is that of the door on Rene Lalique’s house in Paris.
Broadway is grander than its counterpart in New York with wonderful facades. I walked the street again while in LA to marvel at the buildings.
Virginie Heriot, heroine of french sailing on board her eight meter, in which she won a gold medal in the Olympics; the first woman to do so.
She is also very stylish, many of us would call this “being french”. The photo on the right is my wife, taken in 1975 on board “Quatrofolio” (Shamrock”) the “J” boat looking very much like Virginie Heriot.
Things in life occur at the most unexpected times. Virginie Heriot, the first woman to win an Olympic medal(1928) sailing 8 metres. A new book published this year about her, and I find in a flea market a medallion struck at her death in 1932.
My luggage to Paris was mostly comprised of wood. I had taken careful measurements previously and then laboriously created the trellis that now is installed on the terrace in Paris. I even had to make the bags to carry it.
It became an annual event The “Americans” verses the “French”. Before we left the Pyrenees at the end of the summer there would be a championship game. Our team comprised of my children, myself, and Michel riviere d’arc, who while a true frenchman ( directly descended from Joan of Arc) rounded out the number of our team. Our opponents, rode everyday and competed regularly, and were not about to lose to a pickup team of children and old men. The game was rough with aggressive play. I received a horses head in the jaw; and more than once someone tried to rub me off my horse while dipping for the ball.
