Musee d'Orsay and the pursuit of Ice Age III.

PROLOGUE: Okay, I went to Cambridge, and uploaded these photos from their computer. So now this blog is much more complete.

C)



Yummmy. And Emma Nour treated us!! @ 8 Euros a bowl, that's some treat!!




d) At the musee shop. The girls go right to the books.







see B) above


F) The great nature store by the movie theater.


emma nour relaxing in their chair/hammock


g) that lovely street scene by the theater

Musee d'Orsay.

Study this photo.

Bear in mind that four small, determined human beings

walked down every single corridor.

Reintroducing the co-star of our blog, Dragon.

This is a lovely little flowered wall near Khaldia's apartment. While we were waiting Emma Nour, ever stretching poor Dragon's talents, found he made an excellent navi-go card holder.


Three poses, then off to the bus and the metro. A warm day, we were grateful to be off.


There's always suspense, coming out of the Metro, wondering what imposing Paris scenes will greet us. Khaldia knows. We follow,

And there it is. Musee d'Orsay. We didn't know until later that it was an old train station/hotel, built for the 1900 world's fair. There's this air of HG Wells elegance and engineering about it. By the 30's it was obsolete, too small for the larger trains, and by the '70s the plan was to raze it for some gleaming high rise hotels. Ah, but the spirit of preservation prevailed, and the Musee d'Orsay was created instead. Dear New Yorkers, think Penn Station, think MOMA extension, and heave a deep sigh.
Anyway, we wait in the inevitable line, puzzling over these ladies.

British, Indian, Chinese, African -- ah! continents. Yup women of the world's continents. Right there. We said hello, goodby, and shuffled inside. Enfants free, of course.

The space is amazing, but so clean and open I wonder what kind of art will be here. Maybe just light stuff. The girls bound in eager to look. For some reason we decide to start upstairs. We turn a corner facing a crimson wall. My hands fly to my face. Oh, my.

Courbet's Allegory of Painting. It hits me what it means to travel to other countries to see collections. I feel a physical pang, wishing Rock were there with me, seeing this. I've never missed him so much. I try to explain to the girls, tears in my eyes, what this painting means to me, how this was a little black and white picture in the art book Aunt Nan gave me to study when I was ten, how it was in the slide shows in art history classes, how I'd read essays about it, and here-- here it was! They looked at my teary eyes and I could see them thinking, 'get a grip, grandma!' But they both got there cameras out and offered to take pictures for me. I hope I also tried explaining the picture. It was a promising start.

I know people think that takng pictures of paintings doesn't match studying them, but in a crowded gallery, jostled and urged on, it is a help. Sister Wendy loved pondering pictures on postcards. I love looking at the girls' photos. They made the choices, mostly, except when they saw me pause especially long and asked if I'd like a picture. When I look at their choices, I'm looking at the art through their hearts, their thoughts. So here's some of the pictures we loved.

We just came from a train ride SEEING this scene out the window, the red tiled roofs, the poplars reflected in a passing lake. It meant more now.

There were mobs around this famous picture, and the girls wanted to see why. I think I explained how it's a scene usually done with gods, but this time with men in modern dress. Radical. I don't know what EN is doing, taking a picture, or giving Dragon a close-up. I have to ask Aicha her thoughts. She had a recorded program device to help her learn about the pictures. Khaldia was enjoying the collection, too. We cross a high bridge inside to see the rest of the galleries.

Aicha and EN loved the floral detail in the arch.

And look!! Sacre Ceur through the clock!

Watching EN click this, makes me smile. The girls, soon to be women, would understand, and the artist in her, loving flowers, loving to paint them:

And was it the minimal composition of this Whistler?

The startling icon. It's quite big. American. I kept thinking, this is American, what's she doing here? Being a tourist, maybe?

I made them take this. I'd just seen it in Brooklyn! Odd subject.

In Boston, EN posed in front of a similar bronze, hands behind her back, toes turned out. I told her, look here! Look at all the Degas sculptures! So she snapped away.

She noticed that the eyes in this painting were just a squiggle of brush strokes. But if you looked far away. . .

They're watching you. The artist photographer deciphering the mysteries of brush strokes resolving into a living presence. . .

And turkeys! But look. . .

Emma Nour snapped this close-up, telling me to look at all the colors in the grass.

A Paris suburb Khaldia knew. .


Some Paris streets still look like this. See the open window down their, the shutters open? And the shape of the roof. I think, though, she took this because of the doggie.

Atmosphere to get lost in

.
But not too lost. We pause and discover, this is the painting of Monet's first wife, near her death. Eeesh. We remember this picture when we read about him on the way to Giverney.

Emma Nour's second attempt, without the woman darting in front of the camera, who I hope didn't speak English. The painting was worth many attempts, as far as Emma Nour was concerned. You can see why.

Another work of art EN captured.

Ah! Lazarre station! We went through here a few times in the next few days. Here's part of an email I wrote to EN last week:Emma Nour, I showed a friend this picture of the station Monet would go to catch the train to his home in Giverney. One day he took his easel, paints,brushes and all to the station, and began painting. An officer of the station noticed him. Who was he? Monet. Monet? Monet? The great master, Monet? Mon Dieu! The officer ran around telling all the management that Monet was there, painting their station, immortalizing their station! Ah! Master! What can we do? How can we help you? They emptied out the whole place, canceled trains for hours, had this one train come chugging in and out of the station over and over so he could capture the effect, -- anything for art! Can you believe it? Oh, those French. You have to smile."

Sorry, I digress. But speaking of Giverney, we recorded this room in Monet's house, to try to see it when we visit next Friday.

Or haystacks. More favorites follow.

Ah, the magic.

But we're starved, and have a long way to go. We find an inexpensive lunch room up the stairs with little seating, but we manage to find a place to perch if we split up. They won't let us take the food out the doors of the fancy outdoor restaurant below where the garden is. Oh well. Munch, munch, gulp gulp. We move on to the next rooms.

This is an emotional experience, standing in front of this painting, the colors so fresh, the brushstrokes at your fingertips, as if he'd just left off painting and walked into the next room.

We spent the longest time, looking back at him.

And his starry night.

Not uno, but the girls know card playing. And magical light on the water. . .

Rousseau -- wild girl. I asked the girls to take this picture. Dragon often had this impression of EN, I think.
The next pictures the girls. lovers of color, chose themselves:

Famous Grandma? Yes. Very. Seurrat. Took him months and months.

This? No, but nice.

imagine, the gleam of hair in pointillism.

Or the swirl in sand. We knew light on the swirl of sand, we did.

Sisters? Shadows of what?

Pink roads,


and a self-portrait. Gauguin.





Not hard to see why the girls would be drawn to this picture, with some moral disapproval. Two daughters, blond and dark, waiting with their mom, and a dad, apologetic before he leaves them for the south seas.

A long, exhausting tour.

Khaldia and I view the last of the paintings in the downstairs galleries, while Aicha rests and Emma Nour perches on a bench (in the center of that long room of the first indoor photo), and takes movies of Dragon. Here's a painting of Algeria, I think.

Earlier, Khaldia had picked up a brochure of entertainment that week, and discovered that 'Ice Age II' was playing in English with French subtitles at a nearby movie theater. Would the girls like? Oh, would they! We have time, now. After the gift shop we drag ourselves out, and wander the bridge over the Seine.

Ok, time to go.

Down into the metro, up into the street again. Khaldia has that look on her. She heads off and we follow. It's hot. We're tired. We eye the people with ice cream cones with envy. Surely there's a place? Well, it's the Champs elyssey in summer, and they do up ice cream the way they do up everything. Not provencal, the little cart on the street. Non! Khaldia grins at us. Come! I think, sidewalk cafe. Look at all these lovely side walk ice cream cafes. Inside? Why go inside? Haagen daaz. Who wants to go inside a haagen daaz store on a warm day when you could sit out doors under a canopy? Khaldia smiles, and points up the stairs and heads up. Urg. Steps. Upstairs in a haagen daaz. yuck.
Oops. Not yuck. the waiter will serve you. It is crowded. Carpeting. Plush chairs. White tablecloths. Maitre d. We wait awhile. Everyone is smiling. Then the waitress leads us to le table.





All these choices. Strawberry. Mango. Utterly delicious. And Emma Nour's treat! Wow. She opens the bag and pulls out the euros. And believe me, this was not cheap. We think warm, loving, generous thoughts towards Emma Nour. Hugs. Smiles. Time for the theater.

We walk a few blocks into the theater. Ice Age? non! Khaldia turns to us, explains the information was wrong. Not in English. We are exhausted. Emma Nour is not happy, but Khaldia is told there's another theater. Not fair! says Emma Nour. We trudge more blocks, and poor dragon is taking it on the chin. Ice age? non. Emma Nour fights despair. NOT FAIR! I feel a certain terror for Dragon, who is now being swung around and slammed on his back and wings. She doesn't know Khaldia, though, who will not give up. Down in the metro, a few more stations, up we go into yet another theater. Ice Age? Non. Emma Nour is getting dangerous NOT FAIR NOT FAIR NOT FAIR! But she has another think coming if she thinks Khaldia will let her down. Come. She says.Emma Nour follows in gloom, fighting tears.

We walk down yet another metro station, and the train pulls up. Emma Nour comes alive, grabs us, pulls us in the car and tears off down the aisles. We follow, confused.

Automatic! she says, Come!!!! She runs down the crowded center aisle of all the long train cars, jostling all the standing passengers, and we followed, embarressed. Pardon! Pardon! Automatic! What on earth is she saying? automatic what? It is one long, long car, with accordian partitions and swiveling floors at intervals. COME ON!! We follow with our bags and packages, Pardon! Pardon! and finally reach the end. AH! Automatic! no conductor on the train. The front of the front car is one wall of glass, a ledge and a bar to hold onto.

Not to the girls. It is the control center of the space craft, as we hurtle through dark space from one station to the next, lights approaching, and glass walls opening up to let in the aliens.


A glorious ride. Aicha assists the conductor as best she can, relieved that her sister's found release from the dark dispair. We're all loving the scene. A long ride, we finally arrive.

There are these wonderful magical moments in Paris, where you come out of the dark station, and the scene amazes you. Just when you think it's all monuments and stone and Napoleonic grandeur, up you come to this:


Toy houses lined up, a corridor roofed with blue fabric patterned with dancing mermaids and mermen stretching over outdoor cafes crowded with happy diners and shoppers. It all leads to the movie theater which, happily, has tickets to ice age, in English. Voila! Life is beautiful. All is well. There's even time to spare.

We wander out and find a charming nature store inviting us to sit in their swivel chairs, their massage chairs, their camp chairs (trust me, any chair was a blessed chair at this point)



try their natural tea, enjoy all the growing things and ingenious camping gear.




We laughed and relaxed, then headed in to see the movie. Popcorn? oui. salty or sweet? One of each, in bags the size of large coffee cups. No mega size here. A fresh, new theater, could have been a cineplex anywhere. Cool, lovely place to enjoy a show. Then a long, slow metro ride home and a walk from the station. And blessed khaldia makes dinner. Bon nuit. Tomorrow, Versailles, where Aicha shines.