grand palais

grand palais
Originally uploaded by gverster_artwork.

the grand palais is full of courbets right now waiting for my greedy eyes...
g.courbet, the realist...the rule-breaker, the scandalous, the free-spirit, the counter-idealist...the absolute...

"to know in order to be capable , that was my idea. to be able to translate the customs, the ideas, the appearance of my epoch according to my own appreciation of it [to be not only a painter but a man,] in a word, to create living art, that is my goal."...[from the realist manifesto, 1855]...see entire manifesto in french under la belle plume on sidebar

brûler le pavé

brûler le pavé
Originally uploaded by gverster_artwork.

soon to be burning up the sidewalks of paris again...
[the abstracted and painterly effect of a wall scorched by the last time I sizzled by]

je brûle de te revoir...paris, paris...

lèche-vitrines

flightless but still noble at the musée de la chasse et de la nature

classical ghosts on the rue de lille

the exquisite sainte-theodora on the rue de verneuil...

un équilibre délicat

Originally uploaded by gverster_artwork.

il est délicat sur le point d'honneur...

les angles parisiens

slices of paris skies burn blue, then changing to polished pewter before a brief rainstorm...

reflecting dull silver on another day...angled into the distance in pearl grey wedges...

[we walk under the green canopy at the palais royal, tarnished by the leaf shadows...]

cache-cache caryatid

cache-cache caryatid
Originally uploaded by gverster_artwork.

when in paris, I enter every exposed courtyard, every half-open doorway...and as I stand within these portals, I feel drawn into the enclosed realms where shy statues guard the drama of hidden lives...

castelbajac blink

jean-charles de castelbajac...easily france's most eclectic and eccentric designer/artist/éminence rockandrolled out 40 years of brilliant tongue in fresh cheek ideas in the flesh in a major retrospective at the musée galliera in paris earlier this year..."gallierock" presented not only his iconic collection of playful wearables inspired by contemporary art trends and urban soundbites, but his personal collection of historical artefacts including a size 0 joan of arc armour and a size 2 dressing gown lived in by the exiled napoleon...

exalted audience participation was encouraged on the 5 meter high pink throne...

mini-sub-château

mini-sub-château [2007] oil and acrylic on canvas, 90 x 90 cm
south of paris, heading towards bourges, we drove by this newly built partial-château-style suburban-size maison in the woods...
the simplistic dollhouse design with its beaming white walls, symmetrically placed turrets, ballroom window/doors and coyly drawn virginal pink curtains provoked a stop-the-car reaction to marvel at such idiosyncratic approach to nostalgic historical pastiche on a minimal budget scale...

l'atelier

l'atelier [2007] oil and acrylic on canvas, 90 x 90 cm

l'atelier chez monsieur plaskett

a small inconspicuous building of medieval lineage on the rue pecquay hosted the general atelier of le vieil artiste, he who often hides within his own conversant paintings...
therein reigned sonorous gilt mirrors reflecting clusters of crystal tears dropped from the effusive chandeliers while ornately carved arches hung idly around the serene marble busts that rue sentinel over his works on view:
a blue pastel man plays the piano; a stern sea captain sits stiffly at a table; monsieur's flattened breakfast is served by the opened window where the bananas and a melon confront a vagrant pot of tea, and the three wide-mouthed jars sing a sweet, sweet chorus...
florid tulips bunched in a bottle tease the indignant brushes all crowded heads down in a can, fuming at their state of indecorum...
everywhere in a chaos of colours unruly paint mixes in blobs that smear and spill with voluptuous abandon, ready to be stroked onto the next waiting canvas.

'l'atelier chez monsieur plaskett' by g. verster, 2005

vient, chien

it could be a sign for one particular dog to find his way home, or it could be a sidewalk graffiti for any interested dogs to head towards that general direction for some mysterious encounters...
in paris, dogs can lead intriguing lives if so inclined - sometimes even implicating their unsuspecting owners...

zola

zola [2007] oil and acrylic on canvas, 61 x 90 cm

ever observant from his personal patch of the sidewalk outside his master's cafe on the quai des celestins, zola studies the gait of passersby, marking their character by the way they walk, smelling their sincerity as they wafted by...

'l'incroyable'

a worn jewel of a bistro set behind the palais royal,
lost in summary thoughts of darker days
when young men strutted about and posed
with the equanimity of today's runway models.
those who would have come and sat for meals
contrived by a vanquished patronne,
she of the rubied lips pout.
marooned in the heart of paris
after so many masquerade years,
she will dismantle the vainglorious namesake
of les incroyables,
and sublimate their commensal spirit
for the decorum of more placid revelations
in the circumspect province...

'l'incroyable' by g. verster, 2004
[INCROYABLE n. m. Sous le Directoire, jeune homme à la tenue vestimentaire recherchée et excentrique, et au langage affecté.]
(petit Larousse, 1982)

chartier

chartier [2007] oil and acrylic on canvas, 90 x 90 cm {SOLD}

on the rue de faubourg-montmartre, camille chartier opened this bouillon in 1895...where he provided 600 numbered pigeonholes to store the napkins of the neighbourhood workers and artisans who came for their daily meals... for l'addition the waiter simply scrawls out the prices on the paper tablecloth and add up the bill right under one's nose...
[we enjoyed bringing our american clients here just to watch their reaction to an order of cuisses de grenouille arranged carefully around the plate like miniature pairs of shapely human legs... sadly, this classic dish is no longer offered... there is an amusing english-translated website for the restaurant: www.restaurant-chartier.com , with its current menu listing, and the prices are still exceptionally reasonable for perfectly basic french fare...
the large mural was painted by a m. germont, dated 1929, in exchange for a few weeks' worth of meals]

madame rêve

"... rêve d'archipels... de vagues perpétuelles... sismique et sensuelles... d'un amour qui la flingue... d'une fusée qui l'epingle... au ciel...au ciel..."*

at the cimetière de passy, graced by the slender shadow of la tour eiffel, debussy serenades the lovely morisot and soothes the rebel soul of manet...

[*verse from 'madame rêve' written and performed by alain bashung, 1991 barclay]

jolis objets

jolis objets
Originally uploaded by gverster_artwork.

the interior design of bunnies exposed to all on the rue saint-paul, whetting or dampening appetites for lapin à la dijonnaise, depending on one's predilection...

tes yeux...

tes yeux...
Originally uploaded by gverster_artwork.

la courbe de tes yeux fait le tour de mon coeur, un rond de danse et de douceur, auréole du temps, berceau nocturne et sûr, et si je ne sais plus tout ce que j'ai vécu c'est que tes yeux ne m'ont pas toujours vu

feuille de jour et mousse de rosée, roseaux du vent, sourires parfumés, ailes couvrant le monde de lumière, bateaux chargés du ciel et de la mer, chasseurs des bruits et sources des couleurs,

parfums éclos d'une couvée d'aurores qui gît toujours sur la paille des astres, comme le jour dépend de l'innocence le monde entier dépend de tes yeux purs et tout mon sang coule dans leurs regards.

'la courbe de tes yeux', paul eluard [1895-1952], [capitale de la douleur, 1926]

mon enfant, ma soeur, songe à la douceur d'aller là-bas vivre ensemble!

aimer à loisir, aimer et mourir au pays qui te ressemble!

les soleils mouillés de ces ciels brouillés dans mon esprit ont les charmes

si mystérieux de tes traîtres yeux, brillant à travers leurs larmes.

là, tout n'est qu'ordre et beauté, luxe, calme et volupté.

'l'invitation au voyage', charles baudelaire [1821-1867], [les fleurs du mal, 1857]

monsieur T

monsieur T
Originally uploaded by gverster_artwork.

ever present in my parisian dreamscape, monsieur T indoctrinates me in all things french...
he is my body guard, my tongue twister, my visionaire, my agent provocateur...

vingt-cinq

vingt-cinq
Originally uploaded by gverster_artwork.

the significance of this number is unknown - it may have been the address - but repeated comme ça, it takes on its own abstracted prominence in an otherwise mundane setting...

la ruche amorphée

la ruche amorphée
Originally uploaded by gverster_artwork.

only in paris can a bin's worth of white plastic cups be simply stapled together into a huge amorphous hive just to display a single pair of shoes...

[the cups may be empty, but art and life are as always full of verve and brilliance here...]

le génie de la liberté

le génie de la liberté
Originally uploaded by gverster_artwork.

high above the place de la bastille wings the génie, delicate in solitude but free in spirit...

[a phonecall from paris at the start of the day's festivities to remind me that liberty is frequently illusionary at best...]

un neuf de coeur

un neuf de coeur
Originally uploaded by gverster_artwork.

stealing upon numbers on the weathered surfaces of parisian walls seems a somewhat rudimentary perception...until one jumps out and like a cambrioleur slips into the orderly intent of our interior requisition...

le monde

le monde
Originally uploaded by gverster_artwork.

the world under french skies always seems a little brighter, a little warmer, a little more generous in spirit...

[paix+amour toujours]

l'art des livres

l'art des livres
Originally uploaded by gverster_artwork.

inside the librairie florence loewy on rue de thorigny and behind the sculptural shelving systems, there is a sign:

'pourquoi fatiguer ton esprit d'éternels projets qui te dépassent'...
words already well lived by, but sound so much better in french...as always...

[the portrait on the wall is scratched out of the gummy remains of a scraped off poster...art on the fly(paper!)]

la royal encore

la royal encore
Originally uploaded by gverster_artwork.

to have been a top contender in such a phallicentric realm must surely reflect a certain evolution of sorts...

[don't let go yet, o brave ségo...]

les globes d'argent

les globes d'argent
Originally uploaded by gverster_artwork.

only in paris are clouds encased in silver to roll around the fountain of a royal haunt...

[pierre hardy was so moved as to adorn such ephemeral caprices on his much coveted shoes nearby...]

etre

etre [2007] oil on canvas, 40 x 50 cm

ma france...toujours douce et simple...

on our way south one road trip, we slowed down for this incredibly classic scene...it couldn't be more perfectly staged...

but france can still be like this...lost in time, tranquil, solitary...

not a care in the world...

paris toujours...

back (very reluctantly) from two glorious and invigorating months in paris...
from sexy summer heat in april and profuse may flowers...
to the resigned acceptance of a new world president for a dated republic...
to the exuberance of riding my bike through the streets of paris, some hectic, some incredibly tranquil...
to savoring that one perfect tarte au citron at the jardin du luxembourg...
to watching "molière" on a rainy sunday afternoon in the quartier latin...
to a may day déjeuner sur l'herbe amongst the muguets in the shady woodlands by l'abbaye de chaalis...
to falling in love with the one berthe morisot painting at the d'orsay...
to taking all the time in the world choosing sennelier couleurs à l'huile extra-fine at the bhv...
to a fête des mères pilgrimage to the magnificent goyas at the louvre...
to a gentle coup de foudre during a late lunch on the avenue kleber...
to evening vespers with the young nuns (and monks) at saint-gervais-saint-protais...
to a midnight romp through the rose and lilac-scented jardin de musée rodin on "le nuit des musées"...
to being fully blown away by the uber-sultry siren ute lemper at the salle pleyel; by the "murs végétal" [vertical gardens] of patrick blanc; by the young talents at the graduate show of l'ecole des beaux-arts; by the eccentric and eclectic castelbajac collection at the musée de la mode; in the frenzied ateliers of the hyper-graffiti-ed frigo art hive; by the absolute raw power of primitive artifacts in the jean nouvel-designed musée de prémiere arts on the quai branly; by the unexpected grunting trophy head of an albino sanglier at the sublimely odd musée de la chasse...
to the inspired and lively frenchmen who make me laugh and laugh so late into many other evenings...
and as always, lovely paris gets under my skin...the divine itch only being slightly relieved for now...

flirting in the dark

On a tenebrous early October evening, you are drifting down Rue Saint-Honoré for a rendezvous with some friends in the beguilingly darkened bar of the Hotel Costes.
Along the way you softly hum strains of Malcolm McLaren's 'Jazz is Paris'*...
"I wore black on Saint-Germain-des-Prés... Feelings in the air, they love today... It's true, I don't believe... In love beyond the grave... But then I listened to a trumpet play..."
Hmm... wrong street, but how prescient with the de rigueur done-to-death hide-the-stains black. The hallway models/doormen at the Costes are also all in black... tight black tee-shirts, tight black pants, sleek dark hair, chic little black headsets.
You feel like a rounded version of them in your tight black shirt and skirt.
Heads are swivelling, but not for you... Gwyneth Paltrow is slinking her way out the door. A pale high-contrast vision in Siberian ice-floe white.
The dimmed lighting throughout the hotel barely illuminates the exotically lush décor, creating a contemporary Cimmerian milieu.
In the bar lounge, it is effectively a virtual black-out. You feel your way gingerly - you don't wish to inflict any unintentional gropes, (yet!) - towards your table, guided by the sound of your friends' voices.
As you sit down, you squint your eyes to try to see who else is amassed around you. When your eyes have adjusted somewhat, you make out a clumped together couple in the next banquette. No body parts are flailing about, so you guess that they are still safely pre-coital... but then again, they could well be exhaustedly post-coital!
As you order your drink from a slender shadow, you sense heads turning towards a more voluptuous shape entering the room. There is the hint of a tear-away buckskin(?!) dress with fringes. Whispers of the name 'Béatrice Dalle' pierce the air...
She fumbles dramatically towards a table, and a man (presumably!) rises to the occasion. She gestures sensually, or perhaps a little bewilderedly, and he helps her find her chair.
Unfortunately, without a spotlight on them, it is hard to fathom how much more is going on in the darkness, but you surmise that the flirtatious stage has been successful when they leave a while later with their arms draped around each other.
And you have yet to make eye contact with anybody at all! As if that will ever happen in this obfuscated world of the parisian demi-monde...

excerpted from "Flirting in the Dark... as dimly heeded by Mme. V" by g. verster, 2003
[*verse from 'Jazz is Paris' written and performed by Malcolm McLaren on his album "PARIS", 1994]

libertin's sleight-of-hand couture

On a cold languorous mid-winter Saturday afternoon and after a luscious lunch at a little Lebanese restaurant near the Eiffel Tower, we summoned the strength to divert ourselves from heading straight home for our usual sieste. There was a particularly zesty event that we simply could not miss... our first subversive (of sorts) fashion show in this consummate city that has seen them all and done them all!
We had met the equivocal Libertin Louison, a young Belgian designer with long black hair and wrapped in a long black skirt, at his tiny boutique on one of the narrow medieval streets in the Marais. The wistful wisps of black fabric hanging vaguely on the two sparse racks and draped, barely, on the one mannequin had piqued us enough to enter this minimal goth meet japanese zen dollhouse.
I had not dared to try on anything in case I insulted the avant-genius by putting my head through the wrong opening... or worse, emerged from the change-tube all twisted up with the confounded piece on upside down and backwards!... (- inside-out would have been a non-issue!)

A surprise invitation came for the debut of his Collection Couture printemps-été, and we had our chance to see how all those nebulous jigsaw puzzle pieces actually fitted together on real live skin and bones!
When we finally found the venue's address that chilly afternoon, the building looked suspiciously in the mid-stages of a demolition. We entered with trepidation through the still standing doorway and followed the thumping music up the fairly stable stairs.
Seated spectators lined the maze of hallways on the top floor. Standing room was three rows deep and we were squeezed in so tight that if the floor collapsed, the many other bodies would hopefully help break our fall!
The pageantry had already begun, as one stunning model after another slung languidly by. All were pasted up in multiple configurations of oddly shaped black swatches and embellished with black prototypical accessories, especially those who were topless... while the bottomless ones, well!... nobody was really looking at what they were wearing! (If I had tried on those pieces at his boutique, I would have doltishly assumed that the openings must be for my head!) Concise instructions were obviously necessary to indicate the purpose of every cavity in each of his cunningly composed poly-apertured habillement!

excerpted from "Libertin's Sleight-of-Hand Couture... as drolly admired by Mme. V" by g. verster, 2004
[regrettably, Libertin is no longer using his sly dexterity with the scissors to conjure up more nimble little numbers, but has since followed his nose back to Brussels where he now dispenses his own line of scents and body creams infused with, yes, I am quite sure I read this right, donkey's milk!...the name of his new perfumery is "Technique Indiscrète" on 21, Rue de Flandre]