Wednesday, September 01, 2010
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Friday, August 13, 2010
Sunday, July 11, 2010
A man sat beside us I nursed my “Vittel Citron” and chatted with Blair and a friend. It was too early for lunch, and I couldn’t see through to have another cup of coffee. The thickly featured stranger settled in, casually hanging his jacket on the handle of our companion’s suitcase. “Hey,” our friend protested; then the fellow tried to switch suit jackets. His cell phone rang and he charged out of the cafĂ©. It was clear the suitcase zipper had been opened, but luckily, nothing was lifted.
At Gare du Nord yesterday, the gypsies were numerous. Opening taxi doors, offering “assistance” -- I had been watching from my perch inside the brasserie, feeling immune to their advances.
“Why do they always wear those skirts?” our friend asked, gesturing to the women, “ Isn’t it just a tip off to people that they are gypsies?” I explained it was a cultural thing with them – gypsy women always wear skirts. I didn’t mention how I was admiring that very item: a flower print skirt with a sport t-shirt and a tight yellow vest – Kenzo, eat your heart out. Once, in the Tuileries, a gypsy asked if she could BUY my skirt – I was flattered at such a compliment.
Blair and I have learned to never make eye contact – once you’ve engaged a gypsy, you’re the victim. We do know a number of gypsies around town, and they don’t bother us anymore. We’ve even shared our picnic dinner with one who feigns a limp. I know the “ring” trick and various others, and we always have a hearty laugh when I tell them so.
Later that afternoon, I see from my balcony, on rue de Rennes, a group of four handicapped people straighten up, start twirling their crutches: a passerby screams. The gypsies head for home on the metro. In this weather, home is usually a collection of trailers alongside a minor highway. From time to time they’ll hook up to a water line, and you’ll see a washing machine in their midst.
I’m sure I’ve mentioned before the gypsies are such named because they were thought to come from Egypt. In fact, they were entertainers imported from India to Persia. Eventually expelled from Persia, half went north to become the “Rom” people and the other half to Egypt, where they lived in the desert as the “Dom”.
In any case, they are modern day nomads, inhabiting virtually every corner of the globe. They provide a certain relief to an otherwise predictable life in Paris. Don’t get me wrong, I am not about to take up petty thievery as a living, but society (and its mores) is a completely man-made thing. Our own rules seem equally absurd to me sometimes – when did it become OK to say “it’s just business”, or to destroy someone else’s livelihood in the quest for petroleum? Harika will never comprehend the idea of eating slowly, and I, for one, will never understand why men wear ties.
The guards at the station joke with three pretty young girls as they toss them out off the terrazzo and we escort our friend, spared from the clutches of their mischief, to his train.
Saturday, July 03, 2010
Drummer Laurie Fox PESSEMIER Acrylic on canvas 12 x 16 inches.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Pier Dieppe Laurie Fox PESSEMIER Acrylic on canvas 9.5 x 14 inches 23 x 34 cm
Ship Dieppe Laurie Fox PESSEMIER Acrylic on wood 20 x 5 inches 50 x 13 cm
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DISCOVERY
“Please close door after entering,” the sign read. We stepped into a room where we could hear people talking and see at least one painting on the wall. Otherwise, it was a room full of smoke. One could barely see the person one entered with. I was immediately reminded of a Sherlock Holmes episode: obscured.
Another building, from medieval times, had several video installations: no screening room necessary as we stumbled down a dark, circular ramp. We saw sculptures and fresco, prints and paintings, performance art and videos. It was the final exhibit at the Paris school of Beaux Arts.
I can’t believe I’ve lived here this long and never gone there – it was a giant complex of classic buildings and spaces chock full of new ideas. It changed my attitude toward art.
We went because I hired a woman to help me translate some furniture descriptions into French. She is an architectural student at the school and suggested we visit. It was terrific!
It’s been a long hot week here in Paris – our sixth floor view apartment with seven windows has no air=conditioning and our window coverings are feeble. We spent a couple of days in Normandy, at Dieppe, on the beach and the harbor. It was breezy and beautiful: the three best days we’ve ever spent in Normandy.
Dieppe is a town which is part working and part touristique. We may have driven through there once before but never stayed. Harika walked free through the little town, situated on a spit of land in the English channel, facing the ocean beach, but also facing the port, where our hotel looked out. I painted from our hotel window, as well as out on the pier: fishermen and ships.
There were a multitude of restaurants – our first choice was closed, and our alternate choice served the best fish stew I’d ever eaten: in a sauce of langoustines and cream.
We drove our rental car to Treport (very touristy), St Valery-en-Caux, an exceptional fishing port full of boats and a stony beach we sunned on; and in-between Dieppe and le Havre a multitude of tucked-away beaches where we played and relaxed.
Our trip to Normandy changed my thoughts about tours: the best thing about travel is discovering new things: I found a yellow sweater with sewn on pearls, a new restaurant serving delicious fish; a whole new color for the sea. Harika discovered she could have fun off the leash. When things are planned it is difficult to discover. Naivete is paramount.
So it was with the art, as well. I realized not all art must be beautiful to be good. Some art just makes one think differently. It is a process of discovery, and applying that discovery to one’s own point of view.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
ARTNOTES: DEFENSE
