Something I should probably mention here, to give a better understanding of something that perhaps other people might not understand. I come from Australia. I live in a city that 200 years ago was bushland. I think some people forget just how young Australia is as a nation. While I do not mean to disrespect the Aborigines, their history is best known to themselves, and is not the material culture others are. Our oldest building was built in 1823. So for me, walking down streets that were long before we were a country, seeing places that I read about in history books, and staying in a hotel that was around long before the French Revolution, it was hard to believe. I was literally walking through history. To give it some perspective, the Eiffel tower was built in 1889. Australia's federation was in 1901. We are children compared to the rest of the world, and comparatively impoverished when it comes to material history.
On the second day we took a proper bus tour of Paris. The commentary was terrible, but it gave us a good orientation of Paris, and we could finally put names to the places we had seen the day before. When the tour finished, we grabbed some cookies from a sweet shop and sat by the large fountain in the Tuileries gardens. With the Louvre in front of us, the ferris wheel on one side, and the Seine on the other, it was definitely one of the better morning snacks I've had. I really should mention the statues. Around the fountain were a number of statues on plinths. One in particular I liked. It is of what I assume to be a Rome, leaning improbably on his cloak (his only garment), giving all of Paris a very 'come hither' stare. The statue of Theseus slaying the Minotaur was also rather eye-catching.
After this sojourn in the gardens, we headed over to the Musee D'Orsay. This was something I had been particularly looking forward to. I will admit to being a Doctor Who fan. I will also admit that seeing the episode of 'Vincent and the Doctor' made me very anxious to see the work of Vincent Van Gough. His paintings are amazing. But I have to say, I didn't see them quite the same way that the guide books, and other descriptions have suggested I should. Perhaps its because I know the story, but all of his paintings seem incredibly sad to me. Like someone desperately trying to capture a moment, because he know it'll be gone. There is something tragic about his work, and its a feeling I can't shake, no matter how hard I try to imagine the brush stroke as bold and the colour joyful.
The D'Orsay is full of incredible art by some of the most famous artists in the world. Even the building itself is beautiful, converted from an old train station, it has high curved ceilings and glasswork typical of what I imagine as a 19th century railway station. Aside from Van Gough's work, there were two paintings that made a very strong impression, which is impressive in itself, considering the calibre of the work. The first was a Monet. I'm not even sure if it has a proper name, but it was very small, about 1 foot square, and was one of his haystacks. I swear that man could paint sunlight. It was not like looking into a photograph. Rather, as Plato would say, more like looking at the form of sunlight, the very essence, beyond the physical sunlight we normally see. It was possibly the most striking work I saw. The second painting was Whistler's Mother. This is a very fine piece, but not what I would normally notice. The reason it made such an impression is first, because I recognised it. I try to be as cultured as I can, but my education is sorely lacking in art and in some ways, art appreciation. So when I see a painting I immediately recognise it is a bit of a shock. But the thing about it that really surprised me was that I didn't expect it to be there. Perhaps it is may lack of education showing again, but I did not think that Whistler's Mother was displayed in the D'Orsay. I walked in expecting Monet, Renoir and Degas. I did not expect to find Whistler.
From the D'Orsay, we walked back to the Ill de la Cite, to Saint Chapel. Again my luck turned up. People often don't believe me when I say we had to ask for directions to the entrance. Later in the week we saw the line for it and I understand their disbeleif. Usually, the line stretches from the entrance and around the block from open till close. When we got there, however, there was no line at all, and I didn't even know if we were in the right place. I put this down to good planning. We were taking advantage of the later opening times on the Wednesday evening, and either not many people knew about this later time, or thought early evening would be a bad time to visit the famous chapel and see the stained glass windows. Those people would be wrong. Something I have found is that in strong sunlight, stained glass windows have a tendency to become a little less impressive, the colours being bleached just a little bit. I have also found the on a summer evening in Paris, for about two hours before sunset, the light becomes blue, and this blue light perfectly accents the beauty of the stained glass windows of Saint Chapel. We were incredibly lucky to be standing in the Chapel almost completely vacant, and sit and watch the light change behind the glass. It was beautiful to watch, and I know just how lucky we were. Without trying to be superstitious, or self-congratulatory, Paris was putting on a show for us. And we were happy to take it in.
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