Monday, 21 June 2010

In Paris Again, part 1

Well, I couldn't very well only spend three hours in the Louvre, now could I? That just isn't nice. Also, as a long-term resident of the EU and in my early twenties, I was eligible for free entry or a discount at every place I visited, and I wanted to take advantage of that while I could.



Musee de Louvre: I had already seen (and posted on) seeing the Louvre's signature pieces like the Mona Lisa, the Nike of Samothrace, and the Venus di Milo. This time around I spent five hours in the museum and walked through the Egyptian, Babylonian, and post-Baroque paintings. I also got to see, in person, my favorite creature from my art history class, the lamasu. See the five legs?



The Paris Catacombs: In ancient times, Paris was a quarry, and a lot of stone used in the building of the city came from the rock beneath it. During the nineteenth century, these tunnels had to be reinforced to support the buildings above. It was also decided to move the remains buried in several Parisian graveyards here. These are not catacombs like I pictured, though, with bunk-bed-style niches holding skeletons. Alcoves on either side of the path were walled off with a four foot high pile of human leg bones placed end out, with horizontal rows of skulls. The rest of the bones were piled behind these barriers. Plaques labeled which graveyard a collection of bones had come from, and quotes from French poets, the Bible, or other works of literature on death in French and Latin decorated the support pillars. In some places, the skulls had been set into the walls of femurs in the shape of crosses and the support pillars carved to look like alters or coffins. You walk for a kilometer or two, under a cavern roof barely six feet tall, with water dripping from the ceiling, lights dim and yellow and spaced far apart, past millions and millions of bones.

Some places show evidence of a more flippant view of death, like in the picture below. It's rather hard to see, since the tunnels were dim, but that is a heart made of skulls.




Chateau Versailles: Built by Louis XIV, France's Sun king, this was the royal residence for the last century or so before the revolution. I found it both awe-inspiring and repetitive. The palace is beautiful, with huge galleries, gilded bronze in abundance, marble statues, and oil paintings. It makes one truly wonder at Louis XIV, whether he was visionary to make himself so much the focus of the entire state and keep nothing back from his court, or ego-centric on a gargantuan scale to expect everyone to watch him wake up, go to bed, and play cards. The repetitive part comes that most of the rooms of Versailles are laid out on the same plan, with only color schemes and motifs really changing between rooms; I had to focus to follow the differences between rooms, and after about twenty they start to blend together. Of course, I frankly admit that French Roccoco architecture is not really my thing.

I enjoyed the gardens more, and went to the evening fountain display and fireworks show. The gardens of Versailles are massive, more of a maze of trees and shrubberies and fountains than tended beds of plants. On weekend nights during the summer, the fountains are decorated with lights and paths are marked through to guide visitors from fountain to fountain. Torches and flamethrowers, dry ice, and other things like that are used to make the fountains even more fun to watch. One even had its jets going off to music. The evening ended with a fireworks display.

Musee d'Orsay: First, I did not take the picture above; photography isn't allowed in this museum. It is my favorite painting from the museum, "La Calanque" by Lucien Levy-Dhurmer. Orsay is devoted primarily to nineteenth century artists like Van Gogh, Monet, Degas, and Renoir. I think this museum probably hosts the highest percentage of artworks I studied back in my art history class, as I saw many pieces I remembered discussing in class. I also learned for myself why it is suggested you stand back from these paintings to admire them; most of them look funny up close. They make much more sense when you step back and admire the colors without being distracted by the very obvious strokes and smears of paint. Distance makes the paintings easier to grasp.

No comments: