unexpected encounters

Bienvenue and welcome back to Musée Musings, your idiosyncratic guide to Paris and art.

I am so happy to be back in Paris! The nearly six hour train ride to Nice was insufferable. The six hour ride back to Paris, was much less of a drag. Clearly, stopping every half hour for 15 minutes is more infuriating at the end of a trip than at the beginning. Once we got to Marseilles this time, the next stop was Paris and home.

Some reflections. The Côte d’Azur is an art historian’s paradise - so many museums! But next time, I am not staying in the countryside, in the arrière pays. (Fig. 1) And not just because driving on roads that were never meant to be driven on is not my tasse de thé. But because you don’t get any exercise. You drive everywhere and when you get to wherever you are going, the only way to get away is to get back into the car. And those French randonnées? They sound more charming than they are. Because - dogs. The howling ones are fine, they are leashed. The unleashed ones have mostly been trained to herd and that’s what they want to do, nip at your heels and herd you. Or they growl and bark hoping that you’ll get off the property they’ve decided is theirs, aka that they’ve peed on. Walks in the countryside, not that charming.

Figure 1. Baou de St. Jeannet from the garden of my home for a week in Vence

For a very long time I couldn’t stop thinking about something that Frances Mayes wrote in her memoir, Under the Tuscan Sun. About the difference between working and working out. She remarked that when she was at home in San Francisco, she went to the gym and worked out. When she was at Bramasole, her home in Tuscany, she worked. That made working out seem like an extravagance, an indulgence, so I stopped going to the gym for a while. But I eventually realized that the kind of work she meant was cleaning up after her upstairs bathroom fell onto her downstairs dining table as she was having lunch with friends. A couple problems with that story vis-a-vis working and working out. One, I am not going to be cleaning plaster dust and rubble from a home I am renting. And two, as someone who has bought and restored a 17th century ruin, I had a question when I read that part of her book: Who leaves a worksite unsupervised, in Italy or anywhere for that matter, and expects everything to work out just fine. So I am exercising again and not feeling guilty about it.

Before leaving the Côte d’Azur, we spent a day in Grasse. (Fig. 2) I hadn’t been before, because my migraines are mostly triggered by smells. Even the faintest of scents can lay me low for a week or more. And the idea of being in the perfume capital of France seemed like too great a risk. But then I remembered that one of my favorite 18th century painters, Jean-Honoré Fragonard was from Grasse. A little googling confirmed that while he might have been forgotten by historians of art, he is remembered in his hometown. There are two museums in Grasse that celebrate Fragonard. And his sister-in-law, Marguerite Gerard, whose name has become much better known now that women are writing the herstory of art … (Fig 3)

Figure 2. Pink Umbrellas in Grasse, the city of perfume

Figure 3. La Villa Musée de Jean-Honoré Fragonard, Grasse

Next to one of the museums celebrating Fragonard is the Musée de la Marine. With a statue of Admiral de Grasse, the second in this city. (Figs. 4, 5) We Americans know de Grasse as one of the heroes of the American Revolution. It was he who sailed to Virginia with 3,000 troops. Whose decisive defeat of the British fleet at the Battle of the Chesapeake and subsequent blockade of the coast, forced the English General Cornwallis to surrender at Yorktown. It was a sleepy little museum, mostly models of 18th and 19th century ships. The curator was delighted that I knew of Admiral de Grasse, who is pretty much forgotten in France. He told me that there was going to be a grand celebration the following day to celebrate de Grasse’s birthday. I don’t know why it wasn’t held last year, to mark the 300th anniversary of his birth, but I knew I wasn’t going to be returning to Grasse the following day. I really enjoyed Grasse and I’m sure it is even better if you aren’t obliged to avoid the perfume boutiques and workshops and museums as I was. Without any effort at all, I got in nearly 6,000 steps.

Figure 4. Statue of Admiral de Grasse in the main square, Grasse (American flag in the background)

Figure 5. Bust statue of Admiral de Grasse in front of Musée de la Marine, Grasse

Of course, driving into Nice is not for the faint of heart, finding a gas station near the train station, not without its traumas. But getting rid of the car was the cerise sur le gateau. It required driving that hulk of a machine up five levels in the nearby Ibis Hotel parking structure, hearing the squeaking of the tires as we made those hairpin turns while waiting to hear the scraping of the sides of the car along that claustrophobically tight space. Never again. Remind me, won’t you?

We dropped our luggage off at the nearby 4 star Hotel Excelsior where absolutely nobody who works there speaks French. Which didn’t bother me since their English was very good! I finally got to the Musée Matisse, which was closed last year in preparation for an exhibition on David Hockney and Henri Matisse, which I am sorry to have missed. But we did get to see this museum’s version of the exhibition on Matisse in the 1930s that I had already seen in Paris. (Figs. 6, 7)

Figure 6. Musée Matisse, Nice

Figure 7. Matisse first trip to the USA, exhibition: 'Matisse in the ‘30s,' Musée Matisse, Nice

After getting caught in a violent, but brief, deluge, we took a walk along the Promenade Anglais. (Figs. 8, 9) At the Quai des Etats-Unis, I spotted both a miniature replica of the Statue of Liberty (Fig. 10) and about 15 American sailors, each holding a wind instrument. I asked an officer what they were doing in Nice. I knew he was an officer because of his uniform - white shoes, short sleeve shirt and brimmed hat. The non-officers wore black shoes, long sleeve shirts and sailor caps. The officer told me that they were there to play in front of the nearby Opera House. I asked if they had been to Grasse, the day before. Yes indeed they had, to celebrate Admiral de Grasse’s birthday.

Figure 8. The beach after the deluge, Promenade Anglais, Nice

Figure 9. A little closer, a little bluer, Mediterranean Sea, Nice

Figure 10. Statue of Liberty on the Quai des Etats-Unis, Nice

What a happy coincidence. I had missed them in Grasse but caught up with them in Nice. About 100 or so people gathered around as the band played all the tunes you and I have heard dozens and dozens of times. (Figs 11, 12) It was joyful, it was delightful. What a fabulous way to end a week on the Côte d’Azur and a day in Nice. By the time I got back to the hotel after dinner, I had clocked nearly 16,000 steps. City living is healthy!

Figure 11. Navy Band playing, Nice

Figure 12. Navy Band and Soloist, Nice

The day after I returned to Paris, I went to the press opening of an exhibition at the MathGoth Gallery. Called “Gérard Zlotykamien, 60 ans d’Éphémères,” it is a celebration of the 60 years that the street artist the French know as Zloty, has been painting. (Figs. 13, 14) At 83, he’s still painting. He’s the father, maybe the grandfather, of today’s street artists, graffiti writers, taggers, etc. His work really resonated for me. I could see parallels with artists from Keith Haring to Banksy to jr. I’ll tell you more about him next time. Alas, I didn’t find an interesting way to walk home from the gallery which is just across the street from the BnF. Just the fact that I could walk, that I didn’t have to drive, was celebration enough. When I got home, it was only 5p.m., I still had time to take the metro to the American Library and borrow the book that our Mystery Book Club group is reading for next month. How liberating it is to live in a city!

Figure 13. 'Gérard Zlotykamien, 60 ans d’Éphémerès,’ MathGoth Galerie, Paris

Figure 14. Whatever is left on the street, is a canvas for a street artist. Zloty, 2023

Thanks to those of you who wrote comments about last week’s adventures. I am truly grateful for them. Gros Bisous, Dr. B.

New comments on: Côte d’Azur - an art historian’s paradise:

Wonderful travelogue. Gives me something to think about for another trip to France. Ben, Baltimore

Love your newsletters and boy howdy - do I empathize with your experience of aggressive French drivers on curving roads ! While I live in a slightly corner of the country, the Southern Rhône, it’s still hair raising at times. But I’m so sad to hear about the Opio moulin closing ! We’ve loved their oil for years, even driving down from Vaison to buy it. Another loss of tradition. Thanks for your posts and wonderful insights into art and life. Nikki, Vaison, France

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