like a shimmering unicorn in the rain, so was my paris in november...full of hazy unsung sightings, windblown aerial arias, stealthy wanderings in the dark, coyly photogenic ghosts...
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
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...
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...
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...
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...
zola [2007] oil and acrylic on canvas, 61 x 90 cm
chartier [2007] oil and acrylic on canvas, 90 x 90 cm {SOLD}
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...
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]
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...
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...
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...]
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...]
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...
the world under french skies always seems a little brighter, a little warmer, a little more generous in spirit...
[paix+amour toujours]
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!)]
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...]
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...]
back (very reluctantly) from two glorious and invigorating months in paris...
