Buns2025: Day 7 – Paris

Soundtrack: something old and French

It’s another day for cool art, this time from the last 200 years or so at the Musee d’Orsay. I’m finding my French comprehension to be a little better when I see things like that and don’t bother to pause at the apostrophe, so it’s Musee dOrsay, and he apostrophe is just for show.

Speaking of just for show, the Musee d’Orsay used to be a train station. When they decided they didn’t need it anymore, there obviously weren’t any rich property developers around to turn it into a bunch of overpriced shoebox apartments, so they put a bunch of art in there instead. With the Louvre already having grabbed the old Italian stuff, they scored the newer paintings and sculptures, a well as some furniture and stuff.

I got there early, I wasn’t expecting queues like the Louvre but was prepared for fairly large lines anyway — it’s Tuesday so the Louvre is closed. I don’t know where everyone went that day, but the queue was short enough that I headed past and grabbed breakfast at a local spot. I’m beginning to like the small French breakfast of coffee, orange juice, a croissant and sometimes a length of toasted baguette too. There’s no one who really does good bread like that, except the Vietnamese, who took it from the French when they send their sorry derrieres packing at Dien Bien Phu.

Full of bread I headed back to the Musee, and there still wasn’t much of a queue so I was right in and experiencing art before you could say Charles de Gaulle (well maybe not that fast, as I had to do the bag check, but close enough. I bought the Paris Museum Pass for this trip, and it’s done me pretty well.

The first artwork that grabbed my attention was the crazy self-portrait by an artist whose name I forget, but I’m sure I’ve seen it in memes (I really should remember to take a pic of the painting info when I’m there). Anyway crazed looking artist, big eyes, short forearms, goatee that could use a trim (I can recommend a place in Macau for him). Then there was Courbet’s “Origin of the World” which you probably don’t want to google from a work account, trust me on this, or at least use the computer of a co-worker that you don’t like. Suffice to say I didn’t stop to admire the brushwork.

The John Singer Sargent exhibition had some excellent pieces, for a USian ex-pat he painted well, there’s a lot to be said by folks smarter than I about his colours and textures. I was amused that his work went from handsome barely clad Italian men to well dressed, elegant French women, and the exhibition didn’t seem to mention whether he had a wife or mistress. Makes a change from so many other painters who just had to put a nude female into anything and everything (yup I’m looking at you Manet).

Then came the impressionists and post-impressionists, all the stars and flowers and boats and hats and stuff. I get the whole historical importance of their work, they were capturing ordinary scenes and people, moods and stuff, moving art away from nude baby jesus, biblical and mythical scenes, gorgeous red-headed women, that kind of thing, but I just don’t love their actual techniques, the paintings that look okay from a distance but up close less so. They can all paint far better than I ever will, my stick figures just don’t measure against them. I guess I just like my art less about ordinary scenes, less pastel, and more dramatic, darker, detailed, and with impressively detailed hands. But it would be a boring and soulless world if all art was the same, or the slop images that genAI shits out. But now I can say I’ve seen more of the famous ones, and while not completely stunned, I might be coming around on Manet at least.

An amusing coincidence at the Musee was finding Burne-Jones’ “Wheel of Fortune”, which looked rather familiar. Flicking back through my trip pics, I saw almost the exact image that I was standing in front of, only I’d taken the photo at the NGV in Melbourne. It turns out that there are three versions of the painting, one in the d’Orsay, one in the NGV, and a third unfinished one somewhere else. The d’Orsay also has a version of Rodin’s “Thinker”, but I was expecting that. The d’Orsay has his “Gates of Hell”, a crazy good sculpture of which “Thinker” is a central figure.

Lunch was at a bistro nearby, ouefs mayonnaise and steak frites, which were decent, before a wander around the left bank. Stopped for coffee and dessert at Les Deux Magots, where Hemingway and folk used to hang out when they weren’t doing manly things elsewhere. Decent coffee, and I went with the most expensive dessert to splurge, a filled ball of tempered chocolate with a small jug of warm chocolate sauce to pour over. Then it all melts into a gooey tasty mess that I enjoyed a lot — though I’m sure if Hemingway saw how much it cost he’d shoot himself all over again.

In the evening I headed up to Montmarte, the hilly area around Sacre Coeur, where I’d booked for the cabaret at Lapin Agile, a traditional sort of place that dates back to the 1860s. Dinner was from a corner bistro, more onion soup and a main of the steak tartare. Again, the onion soup was wonderful and rich. The tartare was good, but I found it maybe too much, I’d have preferred it entrée-sized. Otherwise no qualms about eating raw meat (I’m blogging this 3 days later so I’d likely have exploded by now if it was dodgy).

Lapin Agile is definitely a traditional kind of place, just a little building in the side of the hill. I got there early and it was closed, so took a wander around the quaint old neighbourhood while trying not to get hit by the masses of joggers charging down the hills. Booking Agile is via email, and the place is cash only, no cards. There were a small group of USians in the line ahead of me who’d obviously missed the bit in the email about this, so they were turned away, cards in hand. Once inside, the cabaret takes place in a single room, patrons seated around the edge and at some tables, while the performers take their seats at the table in front of the piano. Then it’s just a singalong, jovial tunes, some historical, for all I know they could have thrown in a new mix of “Pink Pony Club” as it was all in French. The performers then swapped instruments, out came a guitar, violin, accordion, and the songs continued. I understood none but enjoyed all.

Tomorrow is all about dead people, as I head down to the other Mont, Montparnasse.