I ordered something delicious. Little pillows of pasta with a chive sauce, I believe. It was rich and lovely, and the grated parmesan was tasty, in that perfectly stinky way.
The waiter would say "Ok, thank you" after putting down each item on my table. Water carafe would go down. "Ok, thank you." Parmesan bowl. "Ok, thank you." Silverware and napkin. "Ok, thank you." My espresso would arrive. "Ok, thank you." I wasn't sure if he was making fun of me or Americans in general. Or maybe he just liked to say "Ok, thank you."
After tracking him down for my tab, he asked my name. Megan must not translate in French very well because what he ended up repeating sounded a lot like Maggot.
One thing I'm having real trouble with in Europe is getting the check at the end of the meal. My plate gets whisked away, and my beverage sits empty, and yet no check arrives. I wait and wait, until I can't take it any longer and my hands go flying in the air, trying to get a the waiter's attention.
After breakfast, I headed back to the Louvre. It occurred to me after I had already been to the Louvre that my favorite work of art, which I've only ever seen a small-scale model of at the Minneapolis Institute of Art, may in fact exist somewhere in Europe. And my internet search said that, in fact, it is in the Louvre's collection.
I discovered Pajou's Psyche Abandoned in high school, while ditching class or skipping lunch to wander around the MIA -- I'm not sure which, but at least I was doing something worthwhile, right? The agony in her face and pose seemed so powerful. I had never been moved by a piece of art before.
As a side-note, this sparked my interest in the story of Psyche and Cupid, which is well documented in classical art. One of my favorite school projects was compiling this story, as told through paintings and sculptures. The Louvre has many of those pieces and it was very fun to see them in real life.
So I went back to the Louvre to see the actual Psyche Abandoned. Luckily my pass is good through December, and my internet research told me exactly where to find her. So I was quite efficient in tracking her down once I got there.
I admired her for some time. The closest I will ever come to revering something I think was at that moment. I was in awe.
I took my photos to remember the moment, and then headed out to the Musee d'Orsay, which I had been looking forward to.
The difference between the Louvre and Musee d'Orsay is like the difference between black & white and color television. The paintings at the Louvre, in my limited eye for art, all seem to have the same general color palette, subject matter and technique. The collection at Orsay, to me, is like seeing works of art from the most visionary of artists. People who broke the mold and tried something new. At least in my humble opinion.
Going to these museums has been both fun and frustrating. I cannot understand why so many people go to a museum only to take a photo of the artwork in front of them. Here they are, experiencing this painting or sculpture or whatever in REAL life. And yet they insist on seeing it through a camera LCD screen.
Not that I should concern myself with whatever floats anyone else's boat... but what about getting up close, seeing the three dimensional nature of the surface of a painting. There is incredible detail in how the paint was applied to the canvas, if one looks. Or seeing the true color, not some computer or ink-on-paper interpretation of it.
These are well documented works of art. If a memory of it is needed, pick up the postcard in the gift shop. It's not like it will be any better represented by the amateur photographer with the shaky hand and crooked framing.
When I go to a museum, I generally have a strict policy of no camera. Only does it come out if I want to remember to find out more about it later. But that's a 2-second snapshot.
I say that if you're not viewing art with your eyes, there is no point in being in a museum (and in my viewing angle, which I guess is the crux of the matter).
That said, Musee d'Orsay was incredible, and I picked up a dozen postcards in the gift shop to remember my favorite pieces. Toulouse-Lautrec, Degas, Monet, Manet, Cross and Klimt astound me... Surprisingly Van Gogh and Picasso, not so much.
And the cut-away model and paper dioramas of the Paris Opera are sweet.
For the last part of the day, I decided to pass under the Eiffel Tower. It's been a cold and gray day, so I decided to come back on my last night in Paris to see it lit up.
Breaking my rule about cameras because she doesn't have a postcard in the gift shop. I checked.
Positioned directly across from Cupid. How cruel is that. Actually, Psyche Abandoned was commissioned to be a complementary piece to this work by another artist of Cupid fashioning his bow.
Musee d'Orsay was a former train station. Love the space and all the light.
And there it is. THERE it is. The Eiffel Tower.
The Seine. It's kinda stinky, like the Mississippi River. Reminds me of home.
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