May Daze

Bienvenue and welcome back to Musée Musings, your idiosyncratic guide to Paris and art. Thanks to everyone who commiserated with me about the theft of my cellphone. The sense of having been violated hasn’t disappeared. That tug, that pull, that grab. Disbelief, followed by realization. Somebody had targeted me. I was somebody’s easy victim. I may not have clutched my phone tightly enough, but I sure began to scream loudly enough as soon as I understood what had happened.

My blood curdling screams alerted the conductor who didn’t pull away right away. As the thief raced up the stairs, he turned around and looked at me. And I looked at him, too. Not knowing that in a few hours I would be asked to identify him in a line-up. That still feels creepy. I told the detective who interviewed me at the Commissariat that while the thief had violently pulled my cellphone from my hand, he had not been violent with my person.

On a more positive note, everybody on that train was sympathetic. One woman gave me very good advice, which I pass on to you. “Never,” she said, “sit near the door.” Because, she explained, a thief’s modus operandi is to grab a cellphone or purse or whatever, just as the doors to the metro car close, as s/he is running out of the car, to race up the steps and out of the station. Obviously, that’s easiest to do with someone sitting near the door.

On another positive note, a group of young men didn’t offer advice but one of them patiently held my hand until I got to my stop. And wished me good luck as I left.

I feel responsible for being victimized. How many times have I heard the message, “Beware of pickpockets”. The thing is, I thought I was aware - my purse is always close and always closed. Pulling a cellphone out of someone’s hand is a metro-only crime. Yes, the thief snatches, but it’s the victim who disappears as the metro pulls out of the station. By which I hope to reassure my friend Kathy who needs her GPS to get around. So do I, so do most of us. Just use your telephone on the street, not in the metro. Don’t stand in the middle of the sidewalk. Stand on the side of a store or building. And just pay attention.

Enough of that! Ginevra got over her jet-lag. The rain stopped. The temperature became temperate. It was about 17° Celsius nearly every day. When I lived in Australia, which, like most of the world, uses Celsius, I devised this short hand way of figuring out the temperature. From Celsius to Fahrenheit - double the temperature and add 30. So, 15° Celsius is: 15 x 2 + 30 or 60° Fahrenheit. Easy, right?

Ginevra (demonstrating post jet lag energy outside the Picasso)

We went to three museum exhibitions, one play, one library and one boutique. We kept meaning to go out for a cafe or for lunch, but somehow, we kept going to the Richard-Lenoir marché (Sundays & Thursdays) where we got ingredients to make delicious meals for ourselves chez moi. For treats, there were chocolatiers, boulangeries, patisseries and Alain Ducasse’s Biscuiterie.

Sunday Market selfie, Thursday Market Peonies, Saturday Peonies chez moi with brocantes finds - Marianne & Petit Metiers plates

The play had special meaning for me. Well, not the play but the performers. It was George Saunder’s short story, Home, performed by Word for Word, in conjunction with the American Library in Paris. When I lived in San Francisco, I often attended their performances at Ft. Mason. And I regularly donated to their annual tours to France. In 2020, when the American Library advertised that Word for Word would be coming to Paris, I booked. Delighted that I would finally be the beneficiary of the contributions I had made over the years. And then of course, the performance, like everything else that year and the next, was canceled. But Word for Word did come back and I happily booked again. Word for Word has a unique take on performing. Staging is minimal, ditto costumes and scenery. Their performances are not adaptations of a short story but the short story, ‘word for word’. With the actors acting out conjunctions, adjectives and adverbs as well as dialogue, in delightfully inventive ways.

Since the play was in the 16eme, we decided to see a museum exhibition nearby beforehand and go to the American Library, too. The Kimono show at the Musée du Quai Branly fit the bill perfectly, across the Seine from the theater and 4 minutes from the American Library. I love seeing exhibitions after I’ve written about them. It can get exhausting for my companions, but Ginevra was a good sport, she always is. Afterwards, we relaxed in the museum’s garden, lounging on canvas chaise lounges scattered around - just like in Golden Gate Park The American Library was next. One of Ginevra’s goals while she is here is to read Rimbaud and Verlaine - in French and in translation - at cafés and in parks. We’re thinking Deux Magots and Flore; Luxembourg and Monceau. One of the many things my multi-talented daughter does in San Francisco is photoshoots in the Haight-Ashbury, which she accompanies with fascinating tidbits about who made the Haight a hippie haven. So when she saw a slender volume on Rimbaud and Jim Morrison, she couldn’t resist - who could!

Thom Browne traditional western suit material becomes traditional men’s kimono

Another day, we walked over to the Musée Picasso to see Sir Paul Smith’s take on the Michelangelo of the 20th century. I saw the exhibition twice before I wrote about it. This time I was there for the pure pleasure of sharing it with my girl. She loved it as much as I did. When I see an exhibition, I am always thinking about how I might write about it, how I might describe it to you. When she sees an exhibition, it is with the eyes of an artist. It was fascinating to hear her perceptions.

the rule is you have to match your background

A quick detour to Eataly on the way home and we had ingredients for our charcuterie plate for dinner.

The weather was so agreeable on Thursday - Ascension Day - and with almost everything either closed or crowded, we decided to walk to the one of the few places that was open, a boutique that has been on Ginevra’s list for a while. Marin Montagut has a whimsical take on all things Parisian and his shop is brimming full of his delightful designs. Afterwards a stroll through the very crowded Jardins du Luxembourg.

Taking a picture of Ginevra taking pictures at Marin Montagut

On Friday, we finally got to an exhibition I hadn’t seen yet - “Sarah Bernhardt et la femme créa la star” at the Petit Palais. You think you know a lot about Sarah Bernhardt and maybe you do. But there is so much to learn about this woman, that you will find something that you probably didn’t know. Yes she slept in a coffin or at least she might have done so. And yes, one of her legs was amputated a few years before her death. But she also had only one lung and only one kidney. She was very sick at various moments of her life, a couple times close to death. Which might explain why she she took so many chances - life was a gift that might be taken away at any moment. The exhibition is very cleverly arranged. After some biographical information - her mother was a courtesan, she was one, too - which for a talented woman was a good way to meet wealthy men who might be persuaded to underwrite your schemes and adventures. She was also a painter and a sculptor. Examples of both show that she was no amateur. There were lots of portraits of her - photographs and paintings - in costume and in ‘real life’ by some of the most renowned artists of her time. And of course Proust’s name is everywhere. After all, she was the inspiration for his actress, Berma. What else, let’s see, she was a Dreyfusard - she believed that Captain Dreyfus was innocent. The letter she wrote to Zola in support of his support for Dreyfus is here.

On the metro on our way home, we found out the hard way that our metro wasn’t stopping at our station. So we hopped out at the Louvre and walked home. Stopping at Maison Aleph where we bought a tarte aux fraise because Dorie Greenspan had recently raved about it. Delicious as was the Rhubarb tartelette. Aleph uses filo dough for all of its pastries which gives them a different flavor and texture and they are never soggy. Of course we didn’t eat it until after dinner! Which was Martha Stewart’s Mediterranean Panzanella - a delicious mix of barely blanched green beans and raw fennel with feta croutons made from 10 Belles pain complet. Dinner was so healthy that we didn’t think twice about devouring our strawberry tart.

This week we’re returning to a golden oldie, one of the first exhibitions that celebrated Proust during the past two years. It was at the Petit Palais on the artist Giovanni Boldini, called Les Plaisirs et les jours (Pleasures and Days), a reference to a collection of short stories Proust published in 1896, most of which had appeared in Le Banquet or La Revue Blanche in 1892–93.

Gros Bisous, Dr. B.

Thanks for your kind and thoughtful comments about cellphones and pickpockets. I so appreciate your comments and emails.

New comment on Museums and Misadventures : Dear Beverly I am so glad you weren't hurt when your cell phone was grabbed! Here I see people walking across streets staring at them and almost are run over. I am in the habit of seeing what potential pedestrian is about to step off the curb with their head down and in their hands a phone. My sister was so scared of the Metro she refused to use them in Paris. It was quite difficult getting around. My brother , on the other, had picked it all up quickly, so we went everywhere. Dianne

And as Deedee wrote when I explained that the cellphone company won’t let me return my cellphone: “Well you can keep one permanently in your purse and one in the house so you wont have to run around trying to find your purse when the phone rings🤣”

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