Tag Archives: art

STOP the press

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Yes, its Friday, and yes, its time for Friday@Flore, but yesterday I had one of those truly incredible, uniquely Paris discoveries where I felt like Alice in a wonderland of enchantment and I simply have to share it with you…
It began last week when I was strolling the ‘hood and I walked by the rec centre where M and almost every other kid in this neighborhood would take theater, dance martial arts and any other kiddie class you can think of. A wave of nostalgia passed over me as my curiosity went into high alert. MUSEUM OF EVERYTHING, large red and white signage shouted from the entrance, visually stunning anyone who was not wearing black out sunglasses.

It was a Monday morning and the museum was closed, but I put it near the top of my to do list and continued along my way. The place looked fun and un-Parisian from its bright bold colors to its English-only signage.

At home I did a little research and found that the show had already visited the Tate Modern and Selfridge’s in London and that it is a museum dedicated to a very specific kind of art, “In tiny crevices and under dusty beds, there lies a secret creativity by the unknowns of society. Unexpected, delicate, profound, this democratic work has inspired the world’s greatest artists and creative minds.”

The sentence didn’t tell me much, so I had no idea what to expect when I drug our house guests, The Beast Cadets beyond the enormous carriage doors yesterday. We walked into the large, industrial looking courtyard, pass the building-sized red arrow, up three flights of stairs to the first salle of a lofty building just weeks away from demolition.

“Oh, it’s Henry Darger.” pronounced Mme TBC. That is one of the many things I love about Mme TBC, the lady is an encyclopedia with legs. She went on to explain that the above museum quote is a fancy way of saying Outsider Art, which like patisseries and haute couture, is a fine concept brought to you by the French, who named it Art Brut in the 70’s.

Outsider Art it fun, and weird and the very definition of quirky. I LOVED it. Without even looking at my notes I can tell you about the decoupage covered forms by a Cuban cigar roller, the larger than life illustrations by a Chinese qi gong practitioner, and my personal favorite, the delicately intricate sculptures made from random typewriter and radio bits by the French artist AMC.

To accompany the art, there are essays on the work by artistes like David Byrne, Ron Arad and Ann Messanger, talking about their inspiration. And at the end of the show there is a worthwhile giftshop and très Anglo-saxon café.

Sponsored by trend-setters like Derrière restaurant and the Merci store, this is THE place to be this season (which was a turn off, but I was wrong) and for 5€ and entry it is a great bargain, to boot. Just like Santa, the Museum wears Red and White, and also like the Jolly Old Soul, it is only in town for a brief time and will be leaving with Christmas. So hop on your sled (or take the RATP) and visit the show!!!!

The Museum of Everything / 14 boul Raspail / Wednesday to Sunday
11am to 7pm / 11am to 8pm on Friday + Saturday / Until Feb 24

The Photo Festival

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Mr French and I were strolling aimlessly around the ‘hood one Saturday when this photo caught my eye and stopped me in my tracks. I can’t really say why, but somehow, it transported me, chasing away the grey skies and warming me to the tips of my toes. Being a curious girl, I stepped inside the Galerie 54 to learn more.

Mr French was thrilled because he’s looking for new chairs and he has a soft spot for the mid-century pieces that he detected sitting just beyond the photos in the gallery’s window. So as he started looking around and heading down into the vaulted ceiling basement, I started asking questions.

The lovely Juliette, the gallery’s owner heard me chattering away and came down to see what all the enthusiasm was about. I told her how much I loved the photo in the window and she explained that it was for the Photo Festival. I went from enthusiastic to ebullient.

Not to be out done by Paris Photo with its stable of international galleries, the local art galleries in the St Germain des Prés neighborhood have joined forces to present the Photo Festival. Now in its second year, the festival runs throughout the month of November, featuring artists from across the globe. Unlike Paris Photo, walking into the galleries is free, and the show lasts long enough for everyone in Paris to have a chance to stroll on by.

Juliette explained that this year’s theme is Voyages and Dreams, which explains why the photo in the window inspired a ‘take me away’ moment for my winter weary self. For this year’s event the galleriest has selected Xavier Roy’s photos from Brasil, featuring black and white photos shot on film, a genuine rarity today and the perfect medium for capturing the grit and grain of South America.

Curious about the Festival, Mr French and I headed out to explore the other galleries, like some of the shows, finding that others just looked like a collection of someone’s vacation shots. We were fascinated with the vintage prints from the 1870’s at the Librairie ALain Brieux, amused by the work of Elliot Erwin at Frederic Got and totally entranced by the photos at Librairie St Benoit-des-Pres. Like Arnie would say, “I’ll be back.”

The Photo Festival runs until Nov 30.

You’re on (not so) Candid Camera!

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I have this weird obsession with Fotomatons. Weird because the photos that come out of those booths tend to add a decade and rather large jowls to one’s photo. Hardly flattering. The photo booth photos are where I notice my neck wrinkles and the fact that my nose is six shades redder than the rest of my face. You go in the booth, throw away some money into the machine as your palms get all sweaty, your heart starts pounding and your mind goes in to a panic about which pose to strike. Unflattering, wasteful and stressful. Where’s the joy? Not really really sure but I think its nostalgia for dreampt of childhood moments I never really had.

When I say geeky, here is an example of just how far its gone…. last month I could be found at the Fotomaton in the Bon Marché department store, having my photo taken with a Marjane Satrapi illustration of Catherine Deneuve for the department store’s 160th birthday celebrations. A few days later I was fighting through crowds of fashionistas to get into the Fotomaton at the Roger Vivier cocktail, just a few shoulders away from Inès de la Fressange and finally I was selecting between images of snow leopards or penguins for a sheet of four photos with M and my 7 year old niece at the San Francisco Zoo.

This week I got particularly excited when I passed by the windows of the Bonton boutique on the rue de Varenne in the 7th because they’ve got ginormous star shaped sunglasses and 1970’s afro wigs to wear in their Fotomaton.

Below is a list of the vintage Fotomatons in Paris. But, keeping true to my inner geek, I’ve created a Google MAP, as well. Smile for the birdie!!!

Boutique Citadium
50-56 rue Caumartin 75009,
Métro Havre-Caumartin
Ouvert du lundi au samedi de 10h à 20h

Boutique Bonton
5 Bd des Filles du Calvaire 75003
Métro Filles du Calvaire -OR-
82 rue de Grenelle 75007
Métro rue du Bac
Ouvert du lundi au samedi de 10h à 19h

La Maison Rouge
10 Boulevard de la Bastille, 75012 Paris
Métro Bastille et Quai de la Rapée
Ouvert du mercredi au dimanche de 11h à 19h, nocturne le jeudi jusqu’à 21 h

Le Forum des Images
Forum des Halles Métro Les Halles
De 12h30 à 23h30 du mardi au vendredi et de 14h00 à 23h30 le week-end

Boutique Prairies de Paris
23 rue Debelleyme 75003 Paris
Métro Filles du Calvaire
Ouvert du mardi au samedi de 11h à 19h

Le 104 (art space)
104 rue d’Aubervilliers et 5 rue Curial, 75019
Métro Riquet, Stalingrad, Crimée
Ouvert tous les jours de 11h à 20h

Le Palais de Tokyo
13 avenue du Président Wilson 75016,
Métro: Iéna
Ouvert de midi à minuit tous les jours sauf le lundi


 A larger version of Fotomatons in Paris map

 

Paris Photo

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Today was the opening of Paris Photo, an annual event, that just like FIAC and the Biennial, draws the best galleries from across the globe. The nice thing about this art show is that photos are relatively affordable investments on the international art scene, so the crowd is younger and more light-hearted, making for a more fun, relaxed event.

iconic work by Irving Penn

Photography as a fine art is a fairly difficult concept because of the negatives. For every photo taken, there may be only one print made, or 100,000. Unlike bronzes or lithographs, the production is not controlled, a photographer, galleriest, or any one with access to the negatives can make as many prints as s/he likes and still call them originals. Photos may be printed in a variety of sizes, or at a wide range of time periods and some are developed long after the photographer has gone. Which explains the more accessible prices.

Another complication is more intellectual and relates to modern technology. At what point is a photo no longer a photo, but an illustration or a piece of multi-media? And does the fact that an image has been copied a million times into postcards and Hallmark calendars, add to its value, or deplete it? And what about the accessibility of the process? When we look at most art forms, we may say to ourselves, or the person next to us, “I could do that” while it is rarely true. With contemporary photography, the odds are on your side. Finally, is there, or should there be a significant difference in the value of photos shot as fine art and commercial photography?

All this was filtering through my mind as I attended the opening of the show. And then I started looking at the pictures and other thoughts started popping up, thoughts like; Why are photographers so obsessed with boobs? What is the vagina to penis ration at this show 100:1? Which reminded me of the days when I had my own studio and would go to the lab and the men would stand around talking to each other like it was an old boy’s club and I’d have to clear my throat really loudly to get their attention. All this yin energy made me particularly pleased to see the number of women photographers being represented at this year’s event. Girl power to the 9th degree.

This year’s show has been curated by David Lynch. He has visited all the kiosks, putting a small black sign, signed “vu par David Lynch” on his favorite photos, which makes for a fun way to visit the show. He’ll be there this weekend, participating in various conferences, while photographers like Martin Parr (Friday at 18h) and Jane Evelyn Atwood (Saturday at 16h) will be there signing recent books.

As you stroll the aisles you’ll recognize iconic works by masters like Henri Cartier-Bresson, Irving Penn and Annie Leibovitz. I was particularly enthralled with the collections at the East European galleries like the photos at the Asymetra Gallery (A42) from Warsaw or Vintage (B31) from Budapest.

Paris Photo is at the Grand Palais and runs until Nov 18.

My kind of town

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Chi-town, the home of the Bears and for now, my (not so) little E. I was last in Chicago on a high school trip some time between puberty and adulthood, so all I remember of the city is how the Sears Tower sways in the wind. This is a normal occurrence and it is really not necessary to go dashing under the nearest table top performing one’s most humiliating ‘duck and cover’ shouting “earthquake”!!!

I also remember Maury Alchek’s really cute butt and a ton of fantastic monumental contemporary art sculptures throughout the city. I remembered a gi-normous Calder structure and a beautifully soft Chagall mural.

This visit, I was in town to explore the University of Chicago and E’s new life. As a Californian, from the new region of a very new country, I was really surprised by all the old, European style architecture. There is a reading room that looks like the dining hall at Hogwart’s and a chapel that is a gothic monument that would do any French city proud. The quad is intimate, surrounded by 19th century brick buildings and during our visit, golden-tinged autumn leaves from the ginko trees littered the manicured lawns. The girls rolled their eyes when I squealed in delight over the sighting of a squirrel, warning me that I’d been in France for much too long. I kept my enthusiasm at the sighting of an American yellow school bus to myself.

I hadn’t taken E to college when she first moved, so this trip was mostly about Target runs and furniture building. We met new friends, tested the cafeteria and spent hours in bookshops. Frank Lloyd Wright’s architecture and the campus museums will have to wait for the next visit. But we did make time for what may be the most beautiful library on earth. The Mansueto library sits on a corner, looking like a dew drop from the land of giants. You enter through the main library into a reading room with no walls, no ceiling. Just tables, with perfectly designed chairs and the sky above you. It is inspiration.

While visiting we stayed downtown, where we did have the opportunity to see a bit of the city. We drove by the Calder and Chagall art that are is impressive as I remember, but they have lost their power to astonish ever since the city built ‘The Bean’ which is the  knickname of Anish Kapoor’s Cloud Gate sculpture in Millennium Park. The bean gets its name from its kidney-like shape. 13 metres high, and 20 metres long, this mirrored structure enthralls and disorients, forcing the viewer to redefine her own reality. It gets even better as you walk under the sculpture and view yourself through the naval. It is Kapoor at his best and art how I love it the most; approachable, playful and an experience that enriches you.

Almost as wonderful as watching your daughter sprout wings and come into her own.

Quiet

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As I was out gift shopping, I spotted something new. When you live in a neighborhood that is several hundred years old, spotted with cafés and shops that have been around just as long, you tend to do that. You notice the new.

On the boulevard St Germain, nestled between les Deux Magots and my beloved Café de Flore, was the iconic bookstore, La Hune, which had been around since the 1950’s. Open Sundays and until midnight, it was key addresses in the local literary scene, not to mention a major pick-up place for those who prefer books to beers. So I was somewhat stunned when I read that it was closing earlier this year. Not only were they closing their doors, but the space was being taken over by LVMH and NOONE seemed particularly upset about it. As an organic eating, leftist militant from a California village that successfully prevented Starbucks from setting up shop, I was actually more than upset, I was devastated. How had I managed to convince myselves (that was a typo, but I love it, so it’s staying) that Parisiennes were any more immune to globalization than the rest of the world? Why weren’t they hitting the streets to protect this icon and their patrimoine?

In the following weeks, the answer became clear. Noone was protesting, because they all knew something I didn’t. La Hune was not closing shop to leave the neighborhood. Quite the opposite, they were reclaiming a larger, brighter space just steps away. And they were giving DIOR the boot, a very elegant leather boot, I imagine, to do so. The tide of culture flooding out international labels. I’m down with that.

Which is how the prime real estate at the corner of the rue St Benoit and boul St Germain became vacant. Managed by LVMH you’d expect them open yet another luxury store, or expand the one next door. Instead, they launched a completely new concept. They opened a literary space.

A literary space? What is a literary space you ask? I had no idea either, and drawn in by the beauty of the space, I went to inquire. The quiet haven of casual elegance, with chocolate colored walls, mid-century designer furniture, and an art exhibit dedicated to Jack Kerouac’s “On the Road” is simply a space to read. Tables are stacked with books, comfortable seats with good lighting are available and people are invited to discover literature. Occasionally, there will be lectures. Nothing is for sale.

L’ecriture est un voyage (writing is a journey) is the current theme, with a collection of memoirs, fiction and adventures from across the globe. If you just happen to fall in love the book you started, and absolutely must know how it ends, you are welcome to walk the 49 steps it takes to get to La Hune to purchase a copy for yourself. Still open Sundays and until midnight.

L’ecriture est un voyage / 170 boul St Germain

La Hune / 18 rue de l’Abbye

 

Raphaël at the Louvre

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Paris Fashion Week is over and I am officially on the mend, so its back to work and real life. Sometimes real life for me includes being Mr French’s date at corporate events. In my past life these were dull, boring affairs, so torturous it could make a girl want to rip her hair out. But in Paris, they often turn out to be fantastic soirées that I am thrilled to attend, even if I’ll be surrounded by lawyers of chicken farmers. Case in point, last week’s sneak preview of the Raphaël exhibit at the Louvre.

Mr French joined me under the pyramid, directly from the office, rain drops dashing off his raincoat. A quick bise and he asked if I knew who Raphaël was. Insulted, I started rattling off the (very) little that I did know.

“Yes, but did you know he was also one of the Ninja turtles. They were Michelangelo, Leonardo, Raphaello and… zut, I’ve forgotten the last one.” I was ready for the champagne that just happened to be coming our way on a silver platter.

As much as I love art and can go into near ecstasies talking about a 24 hour long film that watches time go by, I am not a major fan of religious art. A bit too much gore and angst for my personal taste, and they all end up dead in the most gruesome ways. Makes me worry about the human condition and why we are so obsessed with a violent end.

Most art of this genre was commissioned work, so there is rarely any personal statement attached and not a lot of emotion going on. Which makes sense, because the emotion should be coming from the viewers’ religious faith, but it doesn’t do a lot for me, faith-less soul that I am.

I do love color and light, and Raphaël was a master at both. His paintings are pretty and there is often a random servant girl or disgruntled princess in the background, adding a dash of whimsy.

One more flûte and I was ready to enter the exhibit. There were docents to greet us and educate us in every gallery. Our first docent talked about Raphaël’s background and I was absolutely floored when she informed us that he had been greatly influenced by the other Ninja’s; Leo and Mic. She pointed out how he copied da Vinci’s triangle layout and the way Michelangelo interpreted movement. “Yes, but who was the 4th turtle?” Mr French hissed in my ear.

look at those toes

I’m not sure I was supposed to be fixating on this, but either 16th century Italian women had fingers on their feet, or Raphaël wasn’t so great at depicting the human form. From the classical oil paintings, we moved on to a room with some truly fantastic sketches and then another room with extraordinary tapestries. I really loved the tapestries, even if they were only based on sketches by the artist, and not actually created by the artist. Actually, Raphaël was a busy guy, with several ateliers and lots of students, doing everything from religious art to architectural drawings for buildings, so a lot of the work in this exhibition is not by Raphaël. I can only imagine his production had email existed.

There was one painting of Saint John the Bapstist that I really flipped for, but it was by Michelangelo and it was in the show to demonstrate how much Raphaël copied was inspired by the other masters of his time. You see a lot of it throughout the collection.

The final gallery focused on portraits. At last, great art with intriguing stories of arranged marriages and brothers that pulled the strings. The room was so inspirational that it inspired Mr French to lean over and whisper in my ear, “Donatello”. It was time to leave and get some more champagne.

Raphael is at the Louvre until January 14, 2013

mixed media

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Yesterday I left you just before describing the powerful work of the Catalan born, NYC based, multi-media artist Muntadas.

Muntadas started his career as a painter and discovered multi-media in the 1970‘s.  Unlike many photographers, he is not just recording the “decisive moment”, he is creating the moment.

Questioning art

This artist has something to say. So much to say that he often uses the images of words that come across his path, or adds the words himself, to create potent messages.

Like the words “Power Symbol” in the windows of a limousine, with the Brooklyn Bridge looming over the background, or the brightly quilted banners that read, “difference between dying and living” with black and white footage rolling nearby. Or the three words, “look”, “see”, and “perceive” highlighted under office lights.

I was particularly moved by a series of three films projected in a bare, white room. The wall to the left and the wall to the right show hands clapping loudly while the images on the central screen pass from an applauding crowd to scenes of war and nuclear reactors and back to the crowd then on to some more news footage. I stood there transfixed. Its a dark world we discover through Muntadas’ lens, but there is a sense of hope and the possibility of redemption that is often absent in art today.

And because my day had not been fantastic enough, just as I was ready to drag myself away, one of the PR gals pulled me to the side to say Muntadas was in the café giving a talk. I took a seat, front row center and sat there listening to his point of view on the art market and the creative process. At some point there was a lull and he asked what we had thought of his work, but this is Paris and the journalists were French, so no one dared offer their point of view. Not wanting to make a stir, I waited until after the talk to go up and share how powerful I’d found his work.

He was impressed, incredibly impressed. Not with my insightful revelations about his art, but with my accent. My accent!!!

“I am very interested in accents lately.” he shared with me, which seems a natural subject for a man who speaks no less than 5 languages fluently, comes from a region with two official languages and lives in a city where you can hear every accent on planet earth, with perhaps even an ET accent or two.

As we spoke, and I revealed that I was from San Francisco, he paused. “I think its time I did a piece on accents; Yes, I am definitely going to start an accent project.” I was thrilled to have brought a-muse-ment to the moment.

Sunshine!!!

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Exactly one week ago today, I had a wonderful day. To begin with, it was the first sunny day we’d had in weeks. I was ecstatic as I pulled on some long underwear and headed out the door. Long underwear? In October? Yes, I know that was probably overkill, but the lack of sunshine seems to have addled my brain.

Reading my twitter feed in the metro, somebody posted about a Mastercard campaign and the priceless Paris moment. Every idea I had involved food or chapamgne, both of which come with a price tag, so I was drawing a blank as I walked into the Tuileries Gardens and was greeted with a magical sight of white soaring mobiles in the pond. Free art in Paris with the surprise effect. Priceless.

I was in the gardens headed to the Jeu de Paume for the press opening of their new exhibits of Bravo and Muntadas. The crystal blue skies reflected my exceptionally bright mood, as I was thrilled to be attending my very first official art event as a blogger for Findingnoon, but I knew nothing about the photographers, or their work. A serious error of judgement due to pure snobbery; as a photographer, I don’t seem to appreciate photography.

Sabes, not at Jeu de Paume

Let me explain. I like art that is well beyond my abilities. Something I do not have the skill, imagination or vision to create. With photography exhibitions I’ll sometimes see work that is hauntingly close to my own. Which makes me grumpy.

The Jeu de Paume is the perfect space for an exhibit you’re not dying to see. Easy to navigate (its original use as an old-wave tennis court makes it a simple rectangle) and relatively small, it is an very approachable museum. And there are lockers so you don’t have traipse about with your winter wardrobe (wool coat, umbrella and scarf can weigh a girl down). Because it was a press event, we had the added luxury of being met with trays of viennoiseries from the Patisserie des Rêves. Mmmm… so much for my diet, the stuff was dreamy.

The Bravo exhibit is on the first floor. Nice standard photography with a great eye for geometry, which I appreciate. But nothing particularly ground breaking from my point of view. When explaining it to a friend I said that it reminded me of Henri Cartier-Bresson. Turns out these two cliché artists knew each other and it shows.

I hesitatingly trudged upstairs to see the rest of the exhibition. My intention was to take a few photos and run. Like all best plans, this one went astray, because the work I found upstairs was incredibly powerful and so interesting that even the guards were spending their time actually looking at the art, which is rare. Very rare. So rare that I need another post to share it all with you. See you tomorrow, at noon, on Findingnoon.

FIAC

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This weekend is the Foire Internationale d’Art Contemporain. The whaaaahh? The FIAC, or FEE ACK, as the locals pronounce it. It is the contemporary art event of the Paris season, held in one of the most under-rated attractions of Paris, the Grand Nef of the Grand Palais, a recently renovated, immensely grandiose steel and glass structure built for the 1900 World’s Fair.

a little Calder for Jr's room?

Modern art galleries from l’Afrique du Sud to Uruguay pack up crates full of master pieces available for purchase. Today, I saw a whimsical little mobile from Calder that is available for a reasonable 3.5€ million. There are works by Picasso, Basquiat, Warhol, Twombly and my fetish du moment, Anish Kapoor. It is like being in a extremely luxurious flea market.

Love this Kapoor piece!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Art comes to life

And the crowd is a work of art in itself. Literally. Today I met Alexandra Fly, a Polish artist who attends these international art fairs dressed up in a bright pink outfit covered with rag sculpted penis and vaginas that is supposed to help defend Women’s Rights. There was a European couple, a man and a woman, both shaved completely bald and wearing identical fur coats with identical dresses underneath, identical black patent leather pumps and identical make-up jobs. I can’t even begin to imagine how they negotiate their wardrobe decisions before their morning coffee and I would really love to be a fly (not the Alexandra type) on the wall as they do their more mundane shopping.

I was afraid to ask what this was made of...

Beyond the household names there is a lot of art out there from artist’s I’ve never heard of, and some of it looks like crap. Again, I am being literal here. To be really honest, I don’t get about 90% of the art that is on display and I often wonder how much of it really is art and how much of it is some guy in his studio loving the idea of getting some rich folk to shell out a rather large wad of money for a collection of stuff he bought at a thrift shop.

Elias Crespin

And then there is the 10% I do get. Some of it is fun, or thought provoking, or mind boggling, but the pieces I really love are the ones that make me feel something by playing with my sense of perception. Anish Kapoor is a master at this and last year I was enthralled with an automated mobile by the Venezuelan artist, Elias Crespin. I was very excited to see that he is back, with an equally mesmerizing work of art.

Beyond the ultimate shopping opportunity, FIAC awards the Marcel Duchamp prize of 35000€ to a promising young artist, hosts the Young Curators Invitational program and offers a series of art conferences throughout the event. You can imagine that all of this comes with a price and attending the FIAC does involve long lines for expensive tickets. But not for everything.

Free FIAC

Because some of the best parts of FIAC are free. The Nocturne des Galeries is tonight and you can visit open houses being hosted in the city’s galleries until 23h. Click here for a map of what is open and where.  Hors les Murs is a collection of monumental pieces on display in public gardens like the Tuileries and the Jardin des Plantes. Making this the perfect weekend to head out and see some art, rain or (please god) shine!

 

 

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