Museo Pompidou, the Marais, and Some Marys
Our second day in Paris was a museum day at the 20th century Pompidou located in the Marais. The Marais also happens to be the gayest part of gay Paris. Coincidence, oui ou non? Although pretty queer it is also a bustling tourist area to people-watch while facing the street drinking Perrier around petite tables.
We tend to hate modern art museum. We critically and vocally give our (unwelcome or solicited) opinions about what's in front of us and groan and explanations that try to sell you the interpretation of the 'masterpiece'. We are Americans at our worst.
We actually love the Pompidou Center. Wuh? The museum carefully curates the works in a manner that gives them meaning. I remember on a previous trip seeing a head of lettuce on a marble stand in a room marked inane. Yes, yes it was. The center has a massive collection and routinely rotates its repertoire so the museum is never the same experience twice. In addition, the museum also has special exhibitions of works. This time we viewed an exhibition covering the Russian avant-garde.
I think I mentioned before that art makes history come alive for me. The Russian show taught me a lot about history, philosophy, and [insert another discipline to look smart here]. Did you know for most of history it sucked to be a Jew? And I'm not talking about that hideous unleavened bread. The czar persecuted the Jewish population in ways like restricting travel and education and creating ghettos. The overthrow of the czar meant Russian artists were allowed to gather and work in the fertile soil of The People! Their art reflected the people: It should be art for the people that people can understand and created by the people who are artists of the people. You get the picture.
Why am I boring you? Marc Chagall. He can paint stained glass on cardboard. Picasso once said that when Matisse dies, Chagall will be the last person to understand color. Seen it. Again. And Again. We have even seen actual stained glass by him. When we were in Vienna last year there was a section devoted to Jewish Russian Artists. Okay... Holy Poo! There are several familiar faces with probably Marc taking center stage. We have seen enough of his work to look for floating people and goats with luscious, rich color . Don't ask. Just reporting the facts. Yes, I said luscious. Actually his floating wife was to express the love of his wife like being over the moon with happiness. Don't you love him now?
We spent most of the day in the special exhibits and then quickly moved through the rest of the collection. The day was tiring. Museums wear me out. Maybe if I had one of those WalMart scooters...
We left the museum and headed to dinner. On our last hurrah in Europe we went to Paris, 2005. Never ever, ever, go to Paris in August. It was late July. Paris is closed. Fermé. It is hot and everybody is on vacation. We walk around looking for someplace open to eat and ran across a bar called Ave Maria. It had Christmas lights and plenty of Mary's throughout the place without bathtubs. The menu was fun and the staff eclectic staff included a waiter who looked like Mr. Clean with a huge hoop earring. We wanted to return. It turns out the staff and menu have not changed. It was exactly the same-Including dessert. I had voted it possibly the best dessert in Europe. It was a moussy-pie with a coconut crust and a side of raspberry and passion fruit coulis. Passion fruit is one of my favorite flavors. It is similar to the flavor of Hawaiian Punch. It is tart and sour and wonderful--seeds and pulp.
After dinner we went to a cafe to people-watch and have a drink. I needed to use the restroom. (See a common bathroom theme yet?) The waitress pointed so I went in that general direction. There was a storage place under the stairs and a spiral staircase. It is not unusual to see restaurant supplies in odd places like staircases. Something felt amiss. At the top of the stairs was an apartment. It had an open floor-plan and white accents. Yes, I was standing on the threshold. Oops. The toilet was the broom closet under the stairs. I returned to my seat and retold the story. Our host went to the toilette and came back in agreement.
We sat, we watched, and we headed back to prepare for our next flight.
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