The good thing about arriving in Paris a day ahead of meeting up with SML, Wry and Chanson is that I will get a chance to finally visit the Pompidou Centre, which houses a few floors of contemporary art and is situated near the Les Halles area. I cannot automatically assume that anyone else will be remotely interested in modern art when Paris has the granddaddy and grandmammy of all museums, the Louvre and Musee d'Orsay filled to the brim with Renaissance and Impressionist masterpieces, and so I will try to get my fill of abstract impressionism, fauvism and cubism on the Saturday afternoon. I say try. I will try to make it through the door of the Pompidou Centre, this time. The last time J and I went to Paris, I stubbornly got into a queue filled with a few uniformed groups of kids, a bunch of Japanese 20-something tourists and a German or two. J motioned to me to read the sign she had just found but I shot her a smug (and probably rather ugly) look that said, 'See, I can find the fastest moving queue. Now, hop up here beside me.' The two groups of schoolkids were accompanied by two adults who managed to herd them through the ropes, past the security guard and into the treasure trove of spattered, squiggled and globular painted canvasses and sculpture. I was salivating and a wee bit sweaty from the anticipation.
"Ecole?" the guard asked looking from me to J to the Japanese tourists. The Germans had, by that time, left the queue and were wandering around taking pictures of the outside of the building.
My eyebrows shot up. Again, he asked, "Ecole?" I paused. J paused.
Finally, I blurted out, "Je m'appelle Aitch..." F*ck! Why did I tell him my name?
His eyebrows shot up. My face turned hot and a droplet of sweat ran down the side of my face.
The guard, probably very nicely, explained to us that we were standing at the entrance for the schools but in my head it sounded like the French version of, "YOU are a supreme idiot!"
I was too mortified to look for the other entrance and so J and I found a McDonalds and got a coffee (I know, I know but I was traumatized by the experience and I needed the comfort of familiarity found in the face of a capitalist clown...sue me.).
I'm looking forward to a Saturday in Paris. I know where the main entrance for the Pompidou Centre is located. If you see me on Sunday and I've got a red face, just go with my explanation that it's sunburn.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
3 comments:
Sunburn? In central France in November?? Hm.
Okay, I'll just say it right out: I'm totally jealous that Wry and SML are going to meet you in person before I do! Lucky them! Lucky you! You'll have to send pictures.
In truth, I'm so excited you're going to meet them and they're going to meet you. I hope you all have a ripping good time!
Just so you know, I'd love to be an artist for real. I'd love to go to that place. But I'm glad you get to finally go, even if I can't go too.
If you would like for me to wait until Monday to see the Pompidou Centre we can go together. I doubt that it has the reputation of, say, the MoMA in NYC, or even Tate Modern, in London, but I do like a good bit of contemporary art.
BTW, I think that being an 'artist, for real' is a state of mind. I've seen your work, SML. You are an artist.
Post a Comment