(An article I wrote in Brioude, Auvergne, 28/09/07 for The Sanctuary, another student publication at Durham University)
I recently visited the magnificent city of Paris before travelling further south to begin my year abroad. During a brief, and what turned out to be a rather rainy break in the city, I was struck by the abundance of art in every corner of Paris.
Paris. Art. The two words are synonymous. Everything about Paris is artistic! My very first metro journey was accompanied by an accordion, which transported me to very Amélie-esque sentiments, and made me realise that for many Parisians, art and music are a way of life.
Every single busker I encountered was an accomplished musician, one lady in particular I remember playing the harp beautifully for passers-by. Having just spent a weekend in London, I couldn’t help comparing the two cities, and I’m afraid that in terms of art, aesthetics and a general ‘joie de vivre’, London just doesn’t compare.
One area I had been eager to visit was Monmarte, made famous by Henri de Toulouse-Laturec’s depictions of absinth fused visions and backstreet brothels, which were apparent from the moment I arrived. I also took the opportunity to take some very touristy photos of the Moulin Rouge, famed by Baz Lurhman’s musical extravaganza, although in the daylight it was less than “spectacular spectacular”.
However, having climbed a vast array of steps, I reached the cœur de Monmarte, a busy central square alive with art. Budding artists presented their Parisian landscapes and Eiffel Tower nightscapes, whilst others floated about offering to sketch portraits, a much greater souvenir than a rushed and simplistic caricature.
Whilst there I was lucky enough to catch the Salvador Dali exhibition, demonstrating thirty-five of his wackiest works. As an art history student I was a little disappointed not to see any of the works I had studied, but it was an excellent exhibition nonetheless. Particularly impressive were his models of elephants crossed with giraffes and his strange pieces of optical art. Dali was unquestionably a genius, although after encountering some of his pieces first-hand I’m unsure whether I agree with his claim that “the only difference between myself and a madman, is I’M NOT MAD!”
The next day I queued up with scores of others to visit the Louvre, and was surprised to find that the entrance was via a shopping centre. Its glass pyramids and grand architecture however did not disappoint, and I can only hope that the scores of other visitors were there for the same reason as me, and not simply crazed fans of the Da Vinci Code.
My only complaint about the Louvre, and probably a seemingly silly remark, is that it is far too big! I know I should appreciate the vast amount of masterpieces within its walls, but when you have only a day to see it all, it’s hard work! Unfortunately I also started in the wrong section, a collection of classical sculptures and artefacts, not my forte. I still managed to burn out my camera in this section, although it was the architecture of the building I found most photo-worthy.
The only piece of art which was signposted in the entire museum was Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa. It was like the opening of Oxford Road’s Primark in that area, with crazed Japanese tourists taking their lives in their hands to get close to the piece. The museum had been forced to protect the work with a pane of glass and barriers due to the vast amount of attention it receives meaning that unfortunately I couldn’t see it closely. I still feel privileged to have seen it, despite its disappointingly small size. Far more powerful and impressive in my eyes were Daviid’s Oath of the Horatii and Liberty Leading the People, two pieces which I had been eager to see and which disappointed neither in size nor classical academic technique.
I was rather sad leaving Paris; as a country girl I was shocked at the impact the city had had upon me. I have never seen a city so alive with art, and it really made me realise that for many of the residents of Paris, art is not merely a visual pleasure which satisfies our desire to appear cultured, but a way of life.
I recently visited the magnificent city of Paris before travelling further south to begin my year abroad. During a brief, and what turned out to be a rather rainy break in the city, I was struck by the abundance of art in every corner of Paris.
Paris. Art. The two words are synonymous. Everything about Paris is artistic! My very first metro journey was accompanied by an accordion, which transported me to very Amélie-esque sentiments, and made me realise that for many Parisians, art and music are a way of life.
Every single busker I encountered was an accomplished musician, one lady in particular I remember playing the harp beautifully for passers-by. Having just spent a weekend in London, I couldn’t help comparing the two cities, and I’m afraid that in terms of art, aesthetics and a general ‘joie de vivre’, London just doesn’t compare.
One area I had been eager to visit was Monmarte, made famous by Henri de Toulouse-Laturec’s depictions of absinth fused visions and backstreet brothels, which were apparent from the moment I arrived. I also took the opportunity to take some very touristy photos of the Moulin Rouge, famed by Baz Lurhman’s musical extravaganza, although in the daylight it was less than “spectacular spectacular”.
However, having climbed a vast array of steps, I reached the cœur de Monmarte, a busy central square alive with art. Budding artists presented their Parisian landscapes and Eiffel Tower nightscapes, whilst others floated about offering to sketch portraits, a much greater souvenir than a rushed and simplistic caricature.
Whilst there I was lucky enough to catch the Salvador Dali exhibition, demonstrating thirty-five of his wackiest works. As an art history student I was a little disappointed not to see any of the works I had studied, but it was an excellent exhibition nonetheless. Particularly impressive were his models of elephants crossed with giraffes and his strange pieces of optical art. Dali was unquestionably a genius, although after encountering some of his pieces first-hand I’m unsure whether I agree with his claim that “the only difference between myself and a madman, is I’M NOT MAD!”
The next day I queued up with scores of others to visit the Louvre, and was surprised to find that the entrance was via a shopping centre. Its glass pyramids and grand architecture however did not disappoint, and I can only hope that the scores of other visitors were there for the same reason as me, and not simply crazed fans of the Da Vinci Code.
My only complaint about the Louvre, and probably a seemingly silly remark, is that it is far too big! I know I should appreciate the vast amount of masterpieces within its walls, but when you have only a day to see it all, it’s hard work! Unfortunately I also started in the wrong section, a collection of classical sculptures and artefacts, not my forte. I still managed to burn out my camera in this section, although it was the architecture of the building I found most photo-worthy.
The only piece of art which was signposted in the entire museum was Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa. It was like the opening of Oxford Road’s Primark in that area, with crazed Japanese tourists taking their lives in their hands to get close to the piece. The museum had been forced to protect the work with a pane of glass and barriers due to the vast amount of attention it receives meaning that unfortunately I couldn’t see it closely. I still feel privileged to have seen it, despite its disappointingly small size. Far more powerful and impressive in my eyes were Daviid’s Oath of the Horatii and Liberty Leading the People, two pieces which I had been eager to see and which disappointed neither in size nor classical academic technique.
I was rather sad leaving Paris; as a country girl I was shocked at the impact the city had had upon me. I have never seen a city so alive with art, and it really made me realise that for many of the residents of Paris, art is not merely a visual pleasure which satisfies our desire to appear cultured, but a way of life.
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