Day trip-Biking in Vernon

Located just 45 minutes outside of Paris with the SNCF, this is a charming (bon marché) and highly recommended little excursion North-Westward en route to Normandy. The sights, smells and pace of life of the town of Vernon in Eure are a welcomed change from modish, and quick tempo of Ile de Paris. Pick your own apples, grapes and blackberries on an (easy) 7km bike ride from Vernon to Monet's village of Giverny.  A visit to Monet's house and garden (Fondation Claude Monet) is a must preferably during the sping/summer months when the gardens are in full bloom. 

My endeavors at verse

To Mormor on your 80th Birthday

September 23rd 2009, come on, come all, come celebrate!

For those not aware, let me translate,

My Mormor, Sue-Aunt, is maturing in age;

Sue Maguire Beckner is turning to the Octogenarian page!

Born on the Autumnal Equinox;

You hail from the era of pre-jukebox and moonwalks,

Yes, 1929, what an auspicious year! (ha!)

And, weren't you quite the hand-full--or so I hear!

As a youthful charm, you captured many hearts,

At St. Agnes, and Smith you excelled in the arts.

Traversing the world withyour refinement and grace,

Thank-heavens Daddy Bruce scored with an ace!

You're a card playing pro, and a devil at the net

Some might tease, and call you quite the coquette!

What a gregarious hostess, with such culinary proclivity,

Why not mention your cardinal and bluebird affinity.

As written by the stars, you rein with such magnanimity,

You're always perfectly poised and ever so witty.

You're never lugubrious, and neither iniquitous,

And we all laud your endeavors at societal justice.

The many miles you've traveled, criss-crossing the continents,

Withbags full of goodies, you've brought your steady guidance.

From rampant stagflation of the Argentine Peso,

To wobbly Jakarta rickshaws, and that swimming pool gecko!

From Grankulla's pugent lilac tree,

And Warsaw, rather bleakly.

To our many homes, you've come bearing gifts,

But, its your presence that always, always uplifts!

And what happy dog days of summer,

Those warm nights, so tender.

T'was Annapolis childhood bliss,

Those precious memories, how I do miss:

Cathching fireflies in old glass jars

Or the nightly indulgence in our favorite Klondike bars!

The bathing in kitchen sinks,

And your betraying gold-bangled clinks.

You're the P, B &J-sammie expert,

The queen of 'tough-love' but always comfort,

The wrinkled elbows, of course we shan't forget!

But, where were you with our chickenpox onset?

So, read to me in Swedish! Tack and hor du, how about Luparu?

Nobody tells a story quite like Sue!

The lingering family oral anecdotes: Mormor: whare you are?

And the smell of your ol' beat-up Toyota car.

Oh, what a Mormor you've been, and what a Mormor you'll be

Let me sit by you at your vanity!

So much to admire, like your horticultural prowess,

And, how did you ever become such a lexical goddess?

I'm in awe of your everlasting sanguinity,

Hats off to you--you've reach eighty!

Oh Mormor, you are boundless, and more importantly, timeless!

Come, come! Come to Paris!

xx 

Tracking Traces @ Kiasma, Helsinki

Sometimes Finnish art exhibits truly surprise me. In a good way. I loved this exhibit!

"The world that surrounds us is full of signs and messages – traces of the world that contemporary art makes use of by copying, recycling, sampling and commenting on them. Traces can be found near and far: on the human body, in advertising images, on cereal packets and in the urban space. The traces can be physical imprints, visible signs, actions or memory traces. Some of the traces are left consciously, others are accidental. The one thing shared by the traces in the exhibition's works is that they transmit as well as shape our idea of ourselves and of the world. They are about life and the need for interaction."

Monet @ Musée de l'Orangerie

Claude Monet was not only a gifted artist, but also a very intelligent man. At Musee de L'Orangerie, you will be able to appreciate the fruits of his labor: his enormous, all-encompasing, all-embracing 'Les Nymphéas,'  that he painted for the government of France to pay off his (many) taxes! 

The essentials: Coffee, Books and Design @ Merci: 111 Blvd. Beaumarchais, 3eme Arrt

This newly opened 'concept-store' on 111 Boulevard Beaumarchais in the 3rd arrondissement boasts a vast and unique collection of designers/ fashion/ lifestyle goods/ perfume, as well as a spacious, large-windowed cafe à la New York with heaps and stacks of used books (between 2, 5 or 10 Euros) in the entry lit by rather gaudy chandeliers.

The owners of Merci, Marie-France and Bernard Cohen, are the founders of Bonpoint, the chic French children's shop, and it seems as though with Merci, their children have finally grown up! The concept of Merci is simple--and geared towards the affluent yet 'responsible and sustainable' shopper: give to a children's charity in Madagascar while you shop! With the exception of the books and cafe au lait, prices are on the upper end of the spectrum and although they do feature some interesting high end designers at discounted prices, such as Jérôme Dreyfuss, YSL, Stella McCartney, Christian Tortu, Paul & Joe I still could not justify (charity or not!) paying 1200 Euros for a Prada over-coat!! All in all, its a eye-candy of a store and a peak is well worth it.

Go for the coffee and books as well as the fantastic Grom gelato!

Photo: New York Times

Bistro: Chez Janou

Pouring out from Chez Janou a neighborhood bistro, are the happy sounds of satisfied epicureans and smells of dilectable traditional Provençal-style cuisine. Rumor has it that this little Marais resto on rue Roger Verlomme in the 3rd arrondissement boasts an extensive selection of the traditional French liquor, Pastis. Although my first taste of this gem did not entail any Pastis what-so-ever, I do heartily recommend their cheapest bottle of house red, a sultry Côtes du Rhône does magic with any selection from le menu! Be prepared for a row with the maitre d' who will most likely try to squeeze your party into the smallest corner of the restaurant despite the abundance of space avaliable! Just smile and say: 'Pardon, mais non!' Reservations are a must even on a rain-forecasted Thursday night when 'la crise' (credit crunch) rages on, because by 9.30PM this place is packed!

Photograph by John Kernick

Concert: Vivaldi and Pachelbel @ Île de Saint-Louis in Sainte-Chapelle

Imagine sitting in a French chapel on Île de Saint-Louis built in 1242 by the canonized King, Louis XII and a quartet is about perform. Sunlight streams into the chapel's magnificent rose window as Pachelbel's Cannon in D Major starts. You are perplexed because the program indicated a Mozart, but delighted, because it just so happens to be your favorite Baroque Era piece. By the end of Vivaldi's Four Seasons, you have entered a peaceful reverie!

Evening concert, Sainte-Chapelle

The celebrated windows flamed with light

directly pouring north across the Seine;

we restled into place. Then violins

vaunting Vivaldi’s strident strength, the Brahms,

seemed to suck with their passionate sweetness,

bit by bit, the vigor from the red,

the blazing blue, so that the listening eye

saw suddenly the thin black lines, in shapes

of shield and cross and strut and brace, that held

the holy glowing fantasy together.

The music surged; the glow became a milk

a whisper to the eye, a glimmer ebbed

until our beating hearts, our violins

were cased in thin but sold sheets of lead.

-John Updike

Tea @ Musée de la Vie Romantique, Paris

If you have no interest in standing in eternal lines at the Musée d'Orsay on a sunny summer day, this charming little (free!) museum is a perfect alternative. Located in the 9th arrondissement on 16 rue Chaptal, La Musée de la Vie Romantique is worth it mainly for the little outdoor cafe, with heavenly savory and sweet treats. Sit in the beautiful rose garden and indulge!

The museum itself, is devoted to the avant-garde author George Sand, but was actually the home to the Dutch artist Ary Scheffer, who opened his house to her (Sand) along with several artistically-gifted followers, such as Chopin (Sand's lover) and Liszet. Go with good knowledge of Sand and her works, it will feel much more personal.

Adieu New York!

So long, Manahatta

So long, my dependable red line; my lucky silver express.

Take me to far off corners-- I only have 2 bucks.

Honk to me Mr. Taxi man; let me know if you are free!

Curry Hill or Murray Hill,

the 6-train will get me there.

Brighton Beach and Mercer street;

new sights to be seen!

So long, the long, long walks in Riverside.

I'll miss you, my 100th street willow,

And possibly you, Mr. Turkish fruit-man.

Speak to me Malcom X,

and you, Kim's fish lady.

Yo hablo Espanol!

So long, my little West Village.

Sweet Revenge. Jazz at Fat Cats.

Adieu Big Nicks and Bearded Pappa.

Lil' Frankies and Joe's will have to wait.

I'll take a Choux for the road;

no need to be late.

Good bye slooowww and steady Williamsburg,

I'll pocket your vintage and pinch your music.

Inspire me from a far, Miss street-artist.

Will hunt for you across the seas

or trace your mediocrity.

Miss me Perry Street. And you, Christopher and Commerce!

Uptown and Downtown.

Good-bye, Empire with your crunchy salmon avocado.

East side and West side!

Book stores and shoe stores!

Hello Strand. Or is it, stranger?

I'll miss you when you're gone.

Good-bye constant cacophony,

Good-bye sorrow eyes,

I'll see you somewhere, sometime down the line!

Art: The Generational: Younger than Jesus @ New Museum

What did Jesus do before 30? A lot...

And, if you do make it to this exhibit, go with your own bible of a guide to understand it all. Good luck. 

Art: Matisse: Cut-outs @ National Gallery

Matisse's gouaches decoupes have always been a favorite for their simplicity, minimalism and elegance. Although the National Gallery's Matisse cut-out collection is quite small, it is well worth taking a peak. Cut and composed later in Matisse's life, they continue to show the vigor, acute color sensibility and perverted spacial composition that his paintings are celebrated for. In his own words, these are his "paintings with scissors."

Art: Luis Melendez @ the National Gallery, Washington D.C

Luis Melendez, Still Life with Watermelons and Apples, Museo del Prado, Madrid.

I have never been drawn to 'Stillleben'. What exactly is so impressive and fascinating about paintings that portray, with such excessively embroidered detail, decaying fruits and vegetables or impeccable yet improbable floral arrangements? What possibly can be the meaning behind these overly crafted compositions? Where is the emotion that, in my (narrow) mind, art needs!?

Luis Melendez, an Italian by birth, but a life-long Madrileno, captured my interest at the National Gallery in DC. The 30-odd oil on canvases by Melendez focused heavily on the juxtaposition of 'exotic' and common-place edibles displayed in various arrangements, often set in peaceful rural Spanish landscapes. From the Royal house of Asturias, Meledez was commissioned to paint "the four Seasons of the Year -- with the aim of composing an amusing cabinet with every species of food produced by the Spanish climate." It was perhaps, the painting featured above, as part of this season order: Still Life with Watermelons and Apples, that did it for me. Up close, the juicy, palpable chunks of pink watermelon dripping off the canvas with little black cockroach-like pits roaming through the rose-colored terrain, were a calling that wrote: virtuosity. He captures the subtle shifts of textures, and the gleams of light from the succulent watermelon and the lustrous pits with such care that its almost...comical!

His contemporary, Francisco Goya, overshadowed Melendez’s career and only recently has his work been re-evaluated and reappraised. Today, he is seen as one of the preeminent still-life artists.

Art: Francis Bacon: A Century Retrospective @ the Met

Painting, 1946 (MoMa) Oil on Canvas

"I remember looking at dog shit on the pavement and I suddenly realized, there it is--this is what life is like." --Francis Bacon

Crude, unapologetic, caged biomorphic bodies, butchered cadavers, unremorseful, pummeled faces, horrific intensity, a dance between self-love and self-loath. These are the words that spring to mind while wandering through Francis Bacon: A Century Retrospective on display at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Sixty-five punches of unrepentent intensity.

And the critics response? Same as its always been: hotly divided. While Slate's art critic, Christopher Benfey gave the show a remarkably attuned (and sagacious) appraisal , The New Yorker's art columnist (and ruler #2 of my universe--after Schama, of course), Peter Schjeldahl held Bacon's work at an arm's length in Rough Stuff, where the paintings are undermined as mere "pageant(s) of hangovers and refractory lovers." Ha!

With my own short-lived aspirations to become 'an artist' Bacon had been a powerful force in my search for self-expression. His images to me dwelled in the shadowy margins of socially 'acceptable' emotions, the angst of youth, horrors of life and death, and the battles between conceit and self-hate. Bacon's images in reproduced form, were very familiar and became part of preparatory work for my own oeuvres. Something was awry, however, as I walked through the glut of Bacon-filled rooms. I had waited what seemed to be an eternity to see a full retrospective of his work, as a thought crept in: was I really and truly feeling ever-so slightly nostalgic and (gasp!) disappointed?

What ever my own hopes and expectations were, it became clear to me that Bacon's work had once meant something quite different to eyes trained as an artistic sponge, directed to soak up emotions and inspiration. It was a revelation that today Bacon's work, while still riveting, shocking and awe-inspiring, could be appreciated from a healthy distance. It seems fruitless to dwell in my own personal development at least in blog-form-- I realized that I no longer needed Bacon's hateful and tortured images; they have served their purpose. From an art historical perspective, however, Bacon remains a seemingly eternal curiosity. Artistically he cannot be categorized as a member of the abstract expressionists, nor the Surrealists. His world-view inhabits that of existential compatriots such as Alberto Giacometti. His world stands on its own, and in some form or fashion can be seen to have inspired artists such as Lucian Freud. History (and the auction world) has proved to be been kind to this old gent, where his paintings can fetch over $80 million (in at least the pre-credit crunch era...)

Celebration: Yellow Duck + Cupcakes = Quarter of a Century in Style!

A little Veuve Clicquot (Yellow Duck or den Gula Ankka, en Suedoise) along with delectable Red Velvet and German Chocolate cupcakes from Two Little Red Hens is how I rang in my quarter-century mile-stone in the charming Upper West Side Riverside Park!

Film: L'heure d'été (2009)

(Jeannick Gravelines/IFC Films)

"The divergent paths of three forty-something siblings collide when their mother, heiress to her uncle’s exceptional 19th century art collection, dies suddenly. Left to come to terms with themselves and their differences, Adrienne (Juliette Binoche), a successful New York designer, Frédéric, (Charles Berling) an economist and university professor in Paris, and Jérémie, (Jérémie Renier) a dynamic businessman in China, confront the end of childhood, their shared memories, background and unique vision of the future." (Film.com)

This movie felt sadly superficial; everything was basked in that late-summer August sunshine, where French feasts and wine flowed at a gorgeous chateau outside of Paris. There was such an emphasis on the precious objects left behind by the matriarch Hélène Berthier, (Edith Scob, who was superb in her fleeting role) all to be donated to the Musée d’Orsay, that I felt it was more of a crafty commercial for the museum! Berthier's death is only hinted at, and grief that naturally ensues from death is given a fleeting scene where Adrienne breaks down, but life continues affably through the objects. I suppose that was the modest purpose of this film: to give objects, whether they be rare and extraordinary pieces of art or ordinary tchochke, a much greater meaning with death. Slightly anti-climactic though!