Carl Nilsson-Polias

Recommended listening while reading this email (I’m going all “new media” here, put me in the Pompidou!):
Anouar Brahem – ‘Le Pas du Chat Noir’

The Louvre

I’m almost at the point where I need to go without seeing art for a few months just to clear my mind, but that can happen in Greece and back home in Adelaide … I’m in Paris and it would be cultural sacrilege to evade art galleries here. So, it was with a mix of anticipation and exhaustion that I approached I.M. Pei’s award-winning glass pyramid, which acts as the spectacular atrium for the musuem-in-a-palace that surrounds it.

The last time I was here in Paris I was eleven years old and had all of seven hours to sample what the city had to offer. I remember spending a good hour of that time waiting in line outside the Louvre for the sole purpose of rushing through it to see the Mona Lisa. No line-up this time and no need to rush. Much better.

We began on the first floor with objets d’art from the middle ages. Plenty of carved ivory, ceramics, glass, tapestries, weaponry. The glint of gold leaf caught the eye at every turn and the craftsmanship was impressive but I’ve never been one to rave about this kind of gear. More interesting was the collection of Ancient Greek ceramics that displayed the effectiveness of monochromatic designs, tessellation and simplicity of form that were lacking in the previous section. Maybe I’m just biased towards the Hellenic way of doing things.

After passing through the long hallways of Italian Renaissance art I think I’d seen the crucifixion of JC about a hundred times. Now, I’m as much a fan of seeing bearded men bleeding from seven wounds as the next Greco-Swede, but there comes a point when a cross and a loincloth begin to grate on even the most diplomatic of agnostic souls. At the end of this section came La Gioconda herself and, just like last time, she was sitting behind that protective glass with her come-hither eyes, androgynous face and smirk all attracting the attention of several dozen onlookers. Yes, I could make some iconoclastic comment that challenges Monsieur Da Vinci’s brilliance (eg “Gee, Randy, it’s so small!” … before you get dirty thoughts into your head, the anonymous American archetype is talking about the painting) but the fact is that having a go at the Mona Lisa has become so de rigueur that it’s beneath me in every possible way (he points his chin to the sky, scowls and makes his exit with determined strides).

After a quick “Maxi Chocolat Chaud” I was set to continue on my wondrous voyage through the rooms which brought back to me half-remembered details from half-attended art lessons. The ultimate case of which was a special exhibition of Delacroix’s works related to Dante’s “Divine Comedy” … haunting remembrances of “Power, Love and Evil 101” came washing over me unsparingly.

I’m going to go out on a limb and say that I prefer the Dutch masters (such as Vermeer and Rembrandt) to the Italian masters (like Raphael and Da Vinci). I fear this decision will cause wrathful replies from former English teachers and petrol pump attendants alike (but it can’t be worse than some of the things you guys said about my beard!). There were only two paintings by Vermeer (and “Randy, those two are even smaller!”) but they stood out in rooms replete with Van Dycks and Noordts. There’s something about the effortless manner in which he reproduces relatively natural scenes while retaining a distinctly personal style which really floats my boat.

John decided to head home after only four hours, the wuss. But I wanted to get my 8.5 euros worth, so I stayed on for a while longer. I wandered through the busts of French sculpture, the hieroglyphs of Egyptian antiquity, the giant relics of Mesopotamia and the marbles of Greek, Roman and Etruscan masters. Seeing the celebrated Venus de Milo, I couldn’t help but think of the song by Mel Torme (or was it Dean Martin?) that has the line “She’s like Venus de Milo with arms.”

However, the undoubted highlight of the day was a special exhibit of Islamic art that was on tour from the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. Sure, the small rooms on the lower ground floor that housed this display were free from the hordes of tourists that crowded La Gioconda and Venus de Milo, which allowed for more careful examination of the pieces. But the beauty, intricacy, elegance, brilliance and technical perfection of the works was, to my eyes, more refined and appealing than anything the Europeans have managed to invent (ever). Yeah, I was impressed.

P.S. My apologies to those who want stories about drunken Czech misanthropes and crazy Estonian laundromat owners but, when in Paris, it’s highbrow and lowbrow art commentary most of the way. You see, our hotel is really good, the food we’re eating is even better and I’ve swapped cheap beer for good wine, so I could describe for you the charming squid risotto that I had with a very tasty bottle of red wine from Provence but, you know, I’m enough of a wanker as it is.