passionate undiscovered stories

So my mother got to Paris on May 16th.  The following almost-two-weeks were filled with every restaurant, expo, and sight I have wanted to go to but haven't been able to fit in/afford since I've been here.  Days and nights have been packed.  Hence the large gap in posts.  I will make up for it now with a couple posts-worth of samplings of all of the greatness I have been participating in.  Hooray.

Finding interestingness in unexpected places is one of my favorite things.  Paris scores an A+ in this arena.   On the 17th we went to a fabulous photo expo, right in the middle of couches and dishware on the third floor of Le Bon Marché, one of the most famous department stores of Paris nearby Sciences Po in the 6th. 

The expo presented the work of Ellen von Unwerth, a German model turned photographer and film maker who fell under the spell of hollywooders.  Her expo displays her playful and sexy photographs of some of the film industry's most heavy hitters: Marion Cotillard, Penelope Cruz, George Clooney, Brad, Madonna, Salma Hayek, Audrey Tautou, ...  

{Hayek}

 {Eva Mendes}

{Pitt}

Her photographs are presented to you in large print, suspended in the air, complemented by twinkling lights in an entirely black room.  With an accent on fun and beauty, these shots transport you into passionate undiscovered stories.  She brilliantly creates new worlds, to the point where many of the subjects of her photos, whose faces - plastered on every screen and magazine - we know by heart, are unrecognizable.  Unwerth succeeded at making these actors stay true to their careers and put on a show in every print.

 {Unwerth}

Definitely a destination.  Open until  June 19th.  Click.

paris des rêves

Yesterday, after standing in an über-ridiculously long line, I walked through the most enchanted free (!!) exposition. Housed at Hôtel de Ville, or Paris' city hall, Izis: Paris des Rêves, displays the photography of the Lithuanian artist, born Israëlis Bidermanas, spanning from his beginnings with portraits, to his Paris Match days, past Chagall, and into his wondrous world of the circus.

The man was in love with this capital; and through his often b&w photos, his amour is easily seen. I soaked it up.

« Pourquoi Paris ? Parce que Paris excitait mon imagination. C’était la Ville lumière. Pour moi, tout se passait à Paris… Nous étions attirés par la France comme pays de l’Esprit. La Liberté, l’Égalité de l’homme et la Culture, c’est ça qui nous faisait rêver »

The expo runs until the end of May, so there is time, but if I were you, I'd be on my way, running, right about now.

one notch higher on the maturity scale

Today at Sciences Po the smaller conférence style courses began their semester -- yayyyy learning! - but in between "Musique et Politique" and "Dessin" (an art class I was able to get into! !!) , I swung over to Pigalle to visit Musée de l'érotisme, the erotic museum of Paris.

In one word, "Whoa." First of all, the walk from the metro to the museum is bordered by sex shops and older women propositioning men to enter "Pussy's Lap Dance" -- semi-uncomfortable. When I entered the museum I was greeted by the familiar tracks of Madonna's 2000 album Music, which made me feel safe again. The 7-floor tour that followed was well, interesting. The museum offers much erotica - from ancient figurines to contemporary figurines, to odd painful-looking furniture, to photographs, to decorated dishes, to old porn, to art expos: if you can imagine it, it's probably there.

I realized that I am a bit of an immature little child when it comes to these things, and although it was educational and quite captivating [except for Antoine Bernhart's mega nasty expo that coupled too much blood with too much privates], I think this musée is one that I'll just reserve one visit for.

I do feel a little older though - I'm now one notch higher on the maturity scale --- just 17,342 more notches to go.

transformation

Strike two. Another two months went by: so I am a failure, but at least I am consistent! No, but for reals, my blogular issues are now coming to an end. Why? Because one of my resolutions is to prendre soin de mon blog --- along with working my French, being health-responsible, and others --- and unlike your regular misses lazy, instead of it taking a month for my new years resolutions to fizz out, it takes a month to get them started! wahoo

I have realized that my problem is that I have been addressing blogging as I would address painting a wall-sized canvas --- similar to the rideau de scene "La Tricorne" of Salvador Dali, currently exposed at the Musee des Abattoirs in Toulouse --- which is super scary and seems like a mega task; so instead of starting on my work of art, I would rather drop the brush and go eat a sandwich. I have now replaced this way of thought with une nouvelle in which I will address blogging as a once-a-dayish happy moment of pause and expression, just as it has always been meant to be. Now doesn't that sound nice?

So, to begin: a little praise.

A Nous Paris is a paper publication distributed in the metro every Monday morning, and it is the best read in town. Its pages are filled with the most exciting information on what's going down in the city. Every one of its sections is edited with style and enthusiasm --- I don't know how I would tackle this capital without it. My personal fave is its "Save the Date" section in which A Nous suggests one interesting activity: festival to go see, shop to browse through, literature to buy... for each day of the week.

This week, in their "Affaires Culturelles" section, I learned of the video expo of Keren Cytter in the 19th at Le Plateau. For her first solo exposition in France, the Israeli artiste is showing her short narratives, a melange de genres revolving around "the often tragic fate of different people mired in the violence of their relationships." Sounds a bit troubling, but unmistakably intriguing.

The cover of this week's A Nous Paris. Not my favorite, not going to lie --- but it's truly impossible for me to hate on this glorious publication.



See you tomorrow (ah!!!)

dusty shoes

In an international city like Paris, it is quite fun to people-watch and try and decide your subjects' origins.

fanny pack = o' say can you see (shout out to you ma')
stilettos = european, prolly italian
etcetera etcetera

While in Versailles, deciding who was foreign became my forté. Why? Because of dusty shoes. The gardens of the Chateau de Versailles, truely beautiful and amazingly expansive, covered in a mystical white sand, leave their mark on their visitors.

As soon as I descended from the RER into the little town, I took note of the accusing powder.

dusty shoes = tourist

After visting the gardens (free entrance after 17h30 woot woot), and getting a bit dusty myself, I realized that had I seen me and my shoes on the street, I would have labeled myself as a tourist. The idea of being a tourist has always irked me, that outsider feel. I feel like after living in Paris for one month, I deserved better.

But, then again, what is so wrong with being a tourist? If visiting the gardens of Versailles makes me a tourist, then so be it. The idea all of a sudden felt fresh. By touring, we discover, et qui ne veut pas découvrir?

So, instead of patting down my dusty shoes, i'm just going to let them be. Surely, the dust will eventually naturally find another place to rest. And soon my shoes will be covered in something autre, the mark of an entirely new freshness to tour.

Speaking of shoes, check out this Parisian expo yo':
http://www.maisondudanemark.dk/eventpopup2009.aspx?id=1590