60 Posts and 3000 Views!

Wow, I never imagined being here, and I feel strangely bittersweet about it!

I began this blog a little over a few months ago, and already it has grown by leaps and bounds.  Sixty posts, three thousand views - its incredible to someone who has written a book and just started down this larger journey.  Everything is still so very new, unique and wonderful but I find myself in a strange place at the same time.   This Thursday marks my thirty-second birthday, and for lack of a better way to put things I am in a crossroads of my life.

For the past eight years I have been in the same place, with little movement and little prospect.  My life has been consumed by my work, with my escape being writing or other things.  Not all of it is productive, but in between I have had these incredible journeys.   All the same, I have yearned for a change of venue, of perspective and it has always eluded me.   I keep promising myself that if the time comes, I can finally change the way things go, have a life to live and really buckle down on my writing.

Its easy to kick something like that down the road, to say "Well when the time comes...."  The time hasn't come for eight years, and still my second book has languished for the past two.  I couldn't have dreamed of finding a creative community like I have on the internet.  I always wanted a real life critique group, but the local "Nightwriters" meet in places and times that are inconvenient.

Still I have persevered, and I have found my own creative outlet here.   When I next post, it will be beyond 3000, beyond 60 and beyond 32 years.   Time does fly, and life does change.  I hope that with this post, and those who read it, much more good will come.   I extend an invitation to all who read this to give me ideas of things to write about beyond my travel logs and my novel.

What can I do better to help people engage me?

What communities are out there that I would enjoy, and that would like to have me?

I know a lot of you have tremendous insight and I cannot wait to see it.

Paris - Part 5, Sculptures of the Louvre

Venus De Milo

The statuary in the Louvre was somehow even more impressive than most of the paintings.  I am no art buff, and I apologize if I don’t know the proper titles of these pieces.  What I do know is the distinct impression each made, so I will talk a little about that beneath the pictures.  I hope people enjoy my interpretation.  

Venus De Milo should be well known to both art buffs and the occasional tourist.  Unfortunately, being one of the more famous sculptures lends Venus the same celebrity status as the Mona Lisa.  Tourists are jam packed shoulder to shoulder around her, most to just get their picture and then move on.  This is an unfortunate trend with a lot of the famous artwork we saw while in France, but this was one of the worst examples.  I had to wait a good 15 minutes before I could approach, and had much less to appreciate before being butted out of the way by a particularly enthusiastic Korean woman.

Form in Art

Venus does have that slender, graceful beauty that lends itself to a master work, but there are so many equally beautiful pieces right in the same one.  This one is a statue of my personal favorite greek Goddess Athena, standing tall and proud with her helmet.  Her hand is outstretched as if in the midst of a casual conversation, perhaps with Apollo or one of the other gods. 

The Rhine

This magnificent piece was the best in it section and represents “The Rhine” river itself as a god.  Nestled against his arm is a she wolf and two babies.  It took me a moment to recognize the mythology of Rome, of Romulus and Remus who were raised by a wolf on the banks of the river.  Nestled beside the statue are portraits of emperors, senators and even an ancient sarcophagus or two. 

Atalanta

Here we have Atalanta, who raced men who dared to challenge her in aspiration of her love.  She seems paused only a moment in mid step, ready to bolt. 

Faun Child

Such grace and kindness

This one was a particular interest, a woman with a tambourine tending to her baby, while at her side a little faun (goat child) tugs at her sleeve.  It was the expression on her face that captured me.  She looks down with such love even upon this strange child not her own. 

Looks like my old dog

When I first saw this statue of a dog, I had to stop for a second because I thought someone’s actual pet was sitting on a slab. 

What is he staring at?

This fellow was amusing, and I have to remark on the museum keepers for his placement.  He has such a look as to be a haughty interest, but what was more interesting was the statue where his eyes were cast….

OH... that's what...

…looking at Athena.

Little Whisperer

This one was rather cute.  A little girl poised on the tips of her toes to whisper into the ear of another statue. 

Here we have some of the finer rooms of the Louvre, dating back from the era of Louis XIV onwards.  The splendid ceiling was quite a sight in itself, such decorations and detail.

Michaelangelo's Arch

This archway was carved by Michelangelo, but I didn’t get a good look at his other sculptures in the room.  It was very impressive, and the only one I got to touch walking under it. All of these statues are treasures in their own right, but these last two were my absolute favorites of all the artwork I ever saw in France.

Listening to the Voices

“Listening to the Voices.” Is a title I can clearly remember,  because this statue left a clear impression in my mind.  The image is of Joan of Arc, dressed as a simple country maid.  She looks no older than a girl of fourteen, paused on the brink of destiny.  At her side is a set of heavy armor, her hand resting on it.  The other hand is poised up to her ear, as if to listen to the unseen voice of God that compelled her to fight for her country.  

The most remarkable things about the statue to me is the subtle symbolism.  Joan’s eyes are not looking towards the voice  but away from it, right towards the viewer.  There is an expression of wonder in her face, of innocence and purity.  She is dressed as a humble peasant, but look closer.   Nestled just beneath her dress you can see the edge of an armored boot.   On the outside, a simple peasant girl, humble and innocent.  Beneath, a hardened warrior, a woman before her time, ready to fight for God and country. 

Notice her armor.

Looking at this statue made me feel such a sense of emotion.  I couldn’t help but see this girl awaiting her trial to be burned at the stake.  The statue haunted me the more I stared at it, because its not the armored, fierce warrior we see in so many depictions of her.  It is very much human.

I will call this one "Joy" because it fits.

This next statue’s name eludes me and I curse myself for not knowing it, so if anyone does know, please tell me.  It is a portrait of a young man in shorts, with a lute nestled against his navel.  He rests upon a basket, with one leg crossed over the other as if actually at peace in the place.   While one hand holds his instrument, the other is gestured out to the viewer as if he were partway through song before something struck him and he was frozen in time just before expressing it. 

This face..

It is his face however that captures that sense of spirit and mirth.  His eyes are warm and alive.  His smile is wide, his features friendly.  Ringlets of hair cascade from a crown of leaves.   This is the very depiction of what I think Shakespere imagined of Puck, though the statue is not of the character himself.  He is a lively minstrel, a slight scoundrel, an imp but of the best kind.  He is jolly and merry, very glad to see you.  When I stopped and saw him I had to stare for a good five minutes and remind myself this wasn’t a real person.  I don’t know if it’s just the artistry, or the bronze/stone it was made of giving a sense of flesh; but this was the most realistic statue I’ve ever seen.

Ah, my old friend claudius

Augustus

Athena

Athena Again

I used to be a tourist like you...then I took an arrow to the knee...

Ow....

There were many other statues and impressive areas so here are some other pictures.

No other portraits really come to mind, though we saw the sixteenth and seventeenth century rooms so resplendent in rococo designs.  This was a preview of the richness we would see as Versailles, a haunting hint of France’s royal past.    By this time though we were getting tired of the crowds and the inside of the Louvre was starting to get increasingly crowded.  So we beat a hasty retreat outside. 

I believe I can end my thoughts on the Louvre with this reflection.  The paintings and sculptures watch the visitor, but the visitors must have the eyes to see the artwork winking back.  Most visitors seem to lack the depth to see and be seen, and instead choose the photo or selfie rather than appreciation. 

Still on the whole it was an unbelievable collection more beautiful than any I had ever seen. Our day was not yet done, and we still had much more yet to see.

Paris - Part 4, Masterworks of the Louvre

Sunrise in Paris

From outside and afar, the Louvre dominates the city of Paris.  Massive, imposing, mysterious it awaited our arrival.

We woke up at around 6:30 in the morning and had a nice breakfast at the hotel.  Our breakfast here was to be something we’d see commonly at almost all the hotels throughout our trip to France.  There were fresh breads, yogurt, ham, prosciutto, jams, cereal, eggs, sausage, tea, orange juice and all kinds of cheese.  I’ve never been a breakfast person but I gobbled up everything I could get my hands on and it was all very good.  Sitting back we briefly discussed our goal today:  we were going to the Louvre. 

Musee D'orsay at Sunrise

Thankfully, the museum was only a short walk from the hotel, and we set out across the Pont Des Arts and into the Tuileries garden.   This is a lovely park with flowers and fountains that border trees and places to eat.  In the spring, the garden comes alive with tulips.   There was no one else around, save the occasional groundskeeper, and we made our way towards the Louvre itself.

Tuileries Garden

The outsider has no idea how big the Louvre is until they stand at the apex of the steps of the Tuilieries garden.  The outside stretches for acres, with a central wing and two sprawling side “arms” that open up to the garden before them.  The walls rise up above you like mansions on top of a fortress, with dozens of chimneys, sweeping spires and steeply descending roves.  Statues of great leaders and men of France stand watch below her windows, and above them all are golden coat of arms and crowns from her imperial past. 

One of the wings of the Louvre

It’s strange to refer to the Louvre in a female sense, but the building does have a certain softness about her at first.   Approaching the famous glass pyramid, you realize you must descend downwards into a central point that then spreads out into each of the many wings.  Thankfully the line was not long at all to start, and we were early.  With our passes in hand all we had to do was go inside without worrying about an additional wait for tickets.   My parents had done this before and so they were well prepared with a game plan of exactly where we were going and what we wanted to see. 

Main Couryard with the pyramid

Even with a game plan though, the Louvre is incredibly large, with three wings all with three levels and three outlying wings on top of that.  It is extremely easy to get turned around, and the terminus lies in the center just beneath the glass pyramid itself.   It feels like an airport with escalators going up and down and lots of people moving about en- masse towards the different wings.  They move with a hurried sense of purpose, wanting to see all there is to see. 

Long halls like this seem to stretch forever

The moment the doors opened, we were on the move, beating a hasty track to one place and one purpose:  the “Mona Lisa”.   Of the many things my parents raved about that inspired me to travel to France, this portrait was among the most referred.  They couldn’t get enough of Mona, and at the time I figured it was justified.  The Mona Lisa is the most famous painting in the world, and people come to the Louvre just to see her. 

Statue of Dianna near Mona

First Meeting

My parents had found that they could get a good, long look without the long lines or the impossible crowds when they traveled here before, so we beat a hasty line to Mona’s wing.  We passed many other masterpieces on the way, including winged victory, but I had my eye on the prize as I entered the Italian artists section of the museum.  There, sitting on an individual wall in front of me, was “Mona Lisa” herself. 

Pictures do no justice

Any picture, any photo you have seen of the “Mona Lisa” is a flat, lifeless proxy of the real thing.  You have not seen “Mona Lisa” until you have seen the portrait itself, and the mass production of her famous smile is ludicrous to even consider when you actually exist before her.   Mona IS alive.  She lives and breathes, she gazes upon the viewer with eyes that exist with a presence and soul.   The warmth and depth of the painting give such dimension, that when you compare it to all the others in that room make every single one flat and artificial.

Leonardo Da Vinci captures such a human expression, and while the smile is famous, it is the eyes that hold the key.  She follows you around the room, and the smile seems almost an afterthought.   I likened it to an imagined conversation where the great master told some little sly joke that made the real person smile in a way that says, “Oh Leonardo you sly dog.”  

Even from the side, her eyes follow the viewer.

She sits, gazing from the frame as if it’s a window, and you feel as if she might step out at any moment to stand and talk to you.  Looking at Mona, is like looking at a modern photograph and how the master achieved this feat I do not know.  Many people don’t think she has an identity, but some scholars believe she was a particular patron rather than the wild theory it’s a gender bent self-portrait.   I did notice a similar warmth and depth to other paintings Da Vinci did, ones less famous but no less spectacular.  My personal favorite was Saint John the Baptist. 

Saint John the Baptist

John has far more personality than even Mona, he grins in this impish way while pointing upwards and above.  You feel like he’s about to lean over and whisper you some quiet inside joke about God, and God doesn't mind in the least.   Behind him is a cross, and it’s this he’s actually gesturing you to.  The look is disarming, yet cautionary, John clad in skins seems like a humble shepherd pointing the way to Christ.   

Another Da Vinci,, The Virgin Mary with her mother and the baby Jesus.

This painting deserves as much celebrity as Mona, who is assaulted by countless people taking pictures.   I found it interesting you could take photos of everything inside, but you can’t take photos of people taking pictures.   It seemed a bit strange, but there was more than enough to capture.   I stood in the center of a long hall, and before me stretched hundreds upon hundreds of paintings for what seemed a mile in each direction.  There were portraits, statues, busts, all beneath the glass roof which leant a bright and cheery light to everything. 

A huge painting opposite Mona

Saint John in the Wilderness, Da Vinci's last work

Here and there as we walked back the way we came, I caught glances of students doing as many masters have before.   They were studying sketching, honing their art and craft to become master’s themselves.   We paused back at “Winged Victory”, which had attracted her own crowd.  She stands on a piece of stone shaped like the prow of a ship.  The form is human bit from her back, wings spread like arms unfurled. 

Winged Victory

It’s most impressive, but I couldn’t help but think “king of the world”.    (Sad I know to think of a pop culture reference when looking at a master’s art.)

Vermeer

The closest art we saw to capturing Da Vinci’s style was a Vermeer.  As an artist, Vermeer is peerless, and I highly recommend people check out “Tims Vermeer” if you want to see the way the artist, and a modern inventor, did these kinds of paintings.  Looking at a Vermeer has the same photographic quality as Da Vinci.  Getting up close, you can even see the fine thread nestled between the woman’s fingers.

You can see the finite detail of the thread

There was so much more, and still is so much to relate here.  The statues and sculpture were next to see....

Paris - Part 3, The Eiffel Tower at Night

Eiffel Tower - Golden Beauty.

Traveling in Paris is not easy in any way shape or form, especially at night.   For the three of us, however, we wanted to at least try and get out to see the city at night because it is said to be the most beautiful.  It was decided to take the ReR back to our hotel.  The ReR is an underground train system, which is not to be confused with the Metro which runs below the ReR.  On the whole I was never impressed with the mass transit subways of Paris.  They have a grim, seedy feel, very much unlike the Tokyo ones.

I don’t know how people manage taking these trains.  In Japan, the trains are on time, pulling right up to specifically marked places on the platform.  In Paris the train often shoots long past the platform and people have to run one way or another to climb on board before the train shoots off again.  Just jumping onto the train is a gamble, because there is a wide gap between the platform and the vehicle itself.  Then once you are on, the train is not level, with stairs and steps up and down to areas you can sit.  I don’t know how a person in a wheelchair, the elderly, or the injured handle this.  Still the ReR was useful in getting us back to the hotel to rest until our jetlag caught up again.

Musee D'Orsay 

Paris Lights at Night.

We woke up at 9:45 pm or so Paris time, feeling hungry and anticipating a short excursion for food.  My parents suggested going to see the Eiffel tower at night and I was all for it.  I’d seen the structure off in the distance while at Notre Dame and a chance to see the sparkling tower was something I wasn’t about to pass up.   To its credit, Paris lives up to every expectation, the lights are absolutely beautiful at night and not to be missed.  It has this ethereal, unearthly quality as it reflects off stone or water and hits the eye.  Above all these lights, the Eiffel tower rises as a golden spire piercing the dark sky - long beams of light shooting out in each direction from the top.

Unfortunately while the tower was beautiful the area surrounding it is not.   The park and environs of Paris iconic symbol are seedy at the best of times and absolutely bristling with con-artists, pickpockets and very unsavory characters.  It’s a shame, because seeing the tower itself lit up is quite beautiful to behold.   The spidersweb of girders and beams lends itself to the otherworldly orange glow that permeates from floodlights that line the tower.  The whole building seems knit together out of threads of iron, to rise like hands steepled in prayer. 

Looking up

When the light show begins, the tower shimmers and sparkles like something out of a Disney movie.  It becomes bathed like in starlight, and lasts this way for a good few minutes before fading back to the soft inner glow.   It’s a sight to behold, but again taken back by the presence of the area around it.   The hawksters watch for their chance, selling trinkets and junk that jingle like keys on a chain.  

Crowds at the tower, the further you went the thicker it became.

Looking up from right beneath the main structure.

They are everywhere and anywhere, strangely every single one of them African.  This is not to cast aspersions on Africans, but about 99 percent of the hawkers I saw in France were of that decent.  It’s a shame really because it lends itself to an environment of displeasure because you are constantly assaulted by them trying to sell you their junk.  You can’t go ten yards from refusing one, when another tries even after seeing you refuse the first.    I cannot recommend going to see the Eiffel at night as a result of the feeling I had there.  If you want to catch the show, catch it from another venue, and not up close.

As for my parents and I, we slunk away from the Eiffel grounds to our first meal at a Parisien Café.  It was just a little place called Les Castille where we had wine, salad and a ham and cheese sandwich.  I drank a glass, my first full glass in my lifetime, which probably astounded my parents.  I have no taste for wine unfortunately, but I enjoyed some of the ones I had while in France.   With the meal done, we concluded our first day with another trip through the ReR to the hotel to await our next adventure.

Light show at the Eiffel Tower