paris postcard, day 1: stealth shots, the orsay

when did the orsay outlaw the taking of photos? i don't recall a ban in 2008...

i defied them this time, i just couldn't resist taking a few shots while we took a rest/tried to get our bearings (and second wind):

this one, i had to take because of the christian marclay "clock" exhibit, which will elude me forever, but will continue to inspire...i also wanted to commemorate the time we were there: 6:30pm

i love the toes in this one...

i imagine this is my cousin, jenny, working one of her crafts...

the only downside of a trip to the orsay on this day in may was that many of the best impressionist works were out on loan to the hotel de ville (which we may try to see tomorrow) and major renovation forced the rest of the collection to be re-presented throughout the lower floors.

while the current configuration reinforces the awareness of the orsay's array of heavy hitters--one masterpiece next to another--there is little space in-between for a breath, let alone a deep thought about them...(the mental lingering starts in earnest much later). but the museum remains a must see if you're in paris.

bonus for 2011 travelers: through july 17, there is a major manet retrospective. manet: inventeur du moderne (the man who invented modernity--it sounds better en francais, oui?) is worth the extra euro and a long queue. i liked manet's work before, but i have new appreciation for his mastery of form and style, and some new favorites: the dramatic still life renderings (asparagus) and his more dramatic, photo- journalistic pieces, like the execution of maximilian and the velasquez-like "dead toreador."

***

a few au revoirs:

may 19, 2011

all photos © anita aguilar

read a good poem: "of the terrible doubt of appearances"

maurice denis. taches de soleil sur la terrasse, 1890.
at musée d'orsay, paris.

Of the terrible doubt of appearances,
Of the uncertainty after all, that we may be deluded,
That may-be reliance and hope are but speculations after all,
That may-be identity beyond the grave is a beautiful fable
only,
May-be the things I perceive, the animals, plants, men, hills,
shining and flowing waters,
The skies of day and night, colors, densities, forms, may-be
these are (as doubtless they are) only apparitions, and
the real something has yet to be known,
(How often they dart out of themselves as if to confound me
and mock me!
How often I think neither I know, nor any man knows,
aught of them,)
May-be seeming to me what they are (as doubtless they
indeed but seem) as from my present point of view, and
might prove (as of course they would) nought of what
they appear, or nought anyhow, from entirely changed
points of view;
To me these and the like of these are curiously answer'd by
my lovers, my dear friends,
When he whom I love travels with me or sits a long while
holding me by the hand,
When the subtle air, the impalpable, the sense that words and
reason hold not, surround us and pervade us,
Then I am charged with untold and untellable wisdom, I am
silent, I require nothing further,
I cannot answer the question of appearances or that of
identity beyond the grave,
But I walk or sit indifferent, I am satisfied,
He ahold of my hand has completely satisfied me.
-walt whitman

i got my hands and eyes on this poem today, courtesy of the writer's almanac. i would guess that most people i know receive twa emails as well, and they are probably more diligent than me about reading them. i have this problem with subscriptions--paper and online. i sign up for everything under the sun, because i feel like there is just so much out there to learn and i don't want to miss anything. but then everything starts flowing in and overflowing everywhere, on the floor of my apartment or my 4 in-boxes, and i wind up only reading a few things, here and there.

i used to read the writer's almanac every day (a poem a day! what a great idea! how hard is it to commit to that?!) but like i said, too much in the in-box. so it's become a completely random exercise. the nice thing about the randomness is there are some days when it feels utterly like fate. days like today, when after not having read a poem in weeks, i click and there it is, something so moving, or so reflective of me or my mood, it just makes the rest of the day seem good and full.

hope you like this good poem (and the photo, which i took at the musee d'orsay last year).

and as they say on the twa, "be well, do good work, and keep in touch."