Nov 4 2011

sketch du jour July 8, 1980. Versailles? just warning you…and other neurotic tendencies.

by admin

Oh, goodness!

If I had only read through this journal and sketchbook from my summer in Paris 1980 over the last 32 years, I might have identified some of my mental disorders sooner.  But, it is funny (to me). And, I really should warn you about any desire to visit Versailles…

Pre-conditioning...be prepared....

[a friend posted that I had a great memory about Paris.  I don’t particularly, these posts to sketch du jour in my blog are directly from my journal & sketches that summer.]

Tues. July 8, 1980.  Raining  [pretty much every day if you haven’t noticed]

Woke-ran 3 1/2 to Ile-St. Louis.

Bought cooked artichoke for lunch at Versailles.

I mention artichokes so frequently, I thought I should show my painting I did in a cheap frame of how they look in the market. This is in my apt. in Wichita. Mike Savage told me to drop the frame. The William Zorach Madonna & Child marble in front make it look better. And it’s on a Taos painted chest so the greens go together nicely, which is such a decorator non-art way of looking at wall art for an art history major, but I don’t care.

Took bus from Louvre to Versailles.  Smelled awful on the bus-lots of wet bodies-steamy but freezing!  As you can see, the day did not start out well.

Are you getting a concept for the scale here?

Anyway, toured Versailles-very cold-and began at 10:00 am. We finished at 2:45. Everyone was rather unhappy because we were supposed to be at Trianon Palace at 3:30 & we were starving!

Actually it would be nice if examined at this perspective, but confronted with so much it all just jumbles together. As Rooney Sellars would say to Susan in context of moving, "it's all just @rap."

Since we're on chandeliers....

[here it comes…the confession…to???  my mom?  my dad? the teacher? God?  such a baaad girl…]

Anyway, shouldn’t admit this, but Alison & I took off! We found the train-took it to the first métro stop & headed to the hotel!!  I was wet & cold & knew I couldn’t take it!!

I’ve decided that it costs too much to pack more than I can handle into a day-especially when I don’t get a thing out of the interior history.

[now I do have to explain that last comment here for professional reasons as it might hurt some future career and credibility.

I spent hours in a lecture hall au musée des arts décoratifs in the Louvre, happy as a clam, learning about period armchairs just from France, not to speak of references to foundations from Greek and Roman and Medieval sources.  

This spoke of politics, people, production modes, geography, and social trends. The same with armoires, boulle chests, tapestries, ceramics, silver, glassware, etc.  And there is something to be gained from seeing all of these things, “set-up” in period rooms, placed within the paneling and wallcoverings that would be contextual to that period. But the whole Versailles concept, while beautiful and I love it that Louis did this, is just excessive, addictive, and out-of-control. And it did come back to bite them from the people. Or at least, that is my excuse. Perhaps if we’d done the tour in a slight jog with headsets editing the talking I could have handled it. Thank goodness I haven’t ever wanted to be a docent, what a nightmare to be on my tour.]

This is the kind of stuff I did like to look at in detail relative to period, how it was produced, intricacy of art and craftsmanship. Versailles does not allow for this unless you are staying for a few years.

I’m going to get a lot out of the architecture but if the interiors are not interesting I’m going to use the time to do all the other neat museums and places in Paris that I don’t have time to do. Marie doesn’t know if we’re there are not [oh yes, Marie, I am afraid of Marie the teacher finding out! Marie had one pair of very very expensive shoes she wore everyday, very stylish. She was a fag hag, first time I ever had heard that term. There was a very good-looking blond superior-intellectual-acting Michigan fraternity boy who worked both games in our Parsons program with whom she hung, not to make a pun here.] 

Imagine just walking through thousands of halls like this....getting the picture(s)...

I may take the test, but if it is extensive I just won’t get the credit-even if I get the credit, I shouldn’t because it’s way over my head. [omg seriously neurotic, someone else please examine all this, I’m tired. I’m flunking it before I’ve taken it anticipating failure? Then feeling guilty that I might undeservedly pass it? and cheat them out of credits they would bestow upon me for all of my mother’s expense and my hours???]

Anyway-home-Chinese Restaurant. Bed.  [speaking of…found this nice picture, see below]

I actually remember this gold bedroom, though all the bedrooms looked similar. I am sure I only remember it because a) it sounded so awful for people to come in and dress me in the morning or b) I was fascinated that the King and Queen did not sleep in the same bed or c) there was a homosexual prince who cavorted in here.

So, any questions about Versailles? I think if you’ve made it to here, you have passed the test and get full credit.

Enjoy you day of architecture, shopping and eating in Paris when you decide you don’t really need to do Versailles.  I am confident you are in the company of the majority of Frenchmen. And please give me full credit for skipping out. :). 

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Oct 15 2011

le sketch du jour: Mon. July 7th, 1980. Trapped in Wallpaper nightmares…

by admin

It is funny because I just repeated a story to someone else about a friend who had made the comment, “if it’s not one addiction, it’s another.”

He went on to tell about how he’d decided that he would wallpaper this room. He said it looked so good, that he decided to do another. With each room, he started to feel better about his wallpapering abilities, and thus about himself. So then he shared that he started letting his thoughts race and get ahead of themselves. “I’m pretty good at this, I ought to start a business” and so on, and so on. If you don’t relate, just move on. Anyway, you get the idea, pretty soon, ego out of control, he was a Wallpaper(ing) Magnate, at least in his head.

Well anyway, I just thought I would relate because there are those people who really do focus on wallpaper and know their stuff.  Unfortunately, I had the opportunity to spend one of my afternoons in Paris au musée des art décoratifs with this very person: the Curator of Wallpapers.

I respect the art of the design of wall coverings in paper. I love the color, pattern, texture, historical motifs, etc. After living in a 100+ year old house, I now also understand the functionality in old houses with cracked plaster. A bandaid is much cheaper than complete re-haul of skin. But even later in my own home, I preferred to continue to spackle; I claimed these fissures in my own walls as the wrinkles that told the history.

So to generalize, architects don’t do wallpaper. And at that time, while not an architect, I was the daughter of an architect. Maybe this is all just an excuse, but I was BORED OUT OF MY MIND.

Here are the notes from my journal, Mon. July 7th, 1980:

Lecture at le musée.  Headed to Institute of France (Baroque) and east façade of Louvre.

Instead of lunch, went to jeu de paume-the impressionist museum in the Tuileries. Loved it. Saw the Degas ballerinas…the one in the cafés, all that you’d ever recognize.

Lecture in P.M. & then we saw the wallpapers….Quelle nightmare. She pulled out rows after rows that all looked the same and kept us until 5:45. The technique and earlier examples were interesting, but…

 

Climbing the wallpaper.

[More about paying for bus fare to London, 276 Francs, $70 for bus and Hovercraft.]

Home at 7:30. Got spinach and artichoke for dinner.  Cindy (Bean) came over and confirmed train reservations to Barcelona. Sun, warmth, no rain, above 60 degrees :). Wrote letters to hotels in Barcelona. Bed.

and a note:

Later when working for Bobby Smith at Jack Rees Interiors, I had the job of picking wallpaper for an older home off of Overbrook in Mission Hills. In many of these homes, the bathrooms are small, the original small white hexagonals still intact on the floor. They were well done, grout well maintained, and if it ain’t broke….Plus, old money, slow as honey, and there’s a lot to be said for not moving with the latest trends. Ranchers live like this, but to an even greater extreme since a home on a ranch is of virtually no value and there is no return on investment.

Point is, a little must have soaked in after viewing all of those many many bird & bee, basketweave, fleur de lys, strawberry, chinoiserie, toile, blah blah blah across western Europe papers.  I was able to weed through vast samples to find the appropriate color, scale of print, and historic meanings to give the owner a selection of edited choices from which she might choose. And, it was fun! Not boring at all.

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Aug 1 2011

le sketch du jour: 30 June 1980. SMOOCH à la français.

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[I did not include June 29, the day of arrival. I arrived before everyone from NYC with the Parsons Group. They gave me a free breakfast, a croissant and café au lait.  In France, they bring a croissant in a basket or usually a plate and a big coffee cup or most often, it is already at the table. Then, they come to table to pour the two pots of coffee and steamed milk simultaneously into your cup. The steamed milk always tastes very sweet.  It is all on lots of thick, very white ceramic tableware, but the carafes are stainless.

The other notes were mention of my roommate Charlie from Toledo, a small town in Texas. She is kind of a bit bigger girl, smiley eyes, short dark hair, and proved to be a bit promiscuous with the men from Marseilles, but she had a kind heart. The other girls were soon to be very good friends that I met that day. They were a Tri Delt (Allison from Tuscaloosa) and Kappa Delta (Lisa from Memphis) from the University of Alabama and had southern accents. This was my first contact with southern women and they were very very nice, not unlike my KC/KU girlfriends, but more attune to feminine things it seemed.  I hung with them much later in the summer as I realized I was alone so much with Charlie out all hours of the evening with dark men. ]

30 June 1980.  

Paula ravished by Frenchman in a SMOOCH! au coin de Boul Saint Germain-des-Près et Boul Saint-Michel.

Woke 7:00.  Ran 3 miles. A man kissed me twice when I was asking directions!!! What do you say?! On the forehead-actually took my face in his hands!

[Can you tell I loved it? This has only happened to me one other time upon first meeting someone, though it was actually upon re-meeting someone I had only known a little bit from my past.]

Breakfast: croissant & thé at hotel.  We met at le Musée (des arts décoratifs which is the north wing of the Louvre and where we would study and meet in the mornings for our lecture). It is closed to everyone but Parsons students at the present due to renovation.

Orientation:  Michael is my lecturer-young, dark beard, long jesus-y hair, nice.  Charlotte Lacaze gave a lecture on the History of Paris City Planning & then we bought our subway cards (carte d’orange). I bought some cold chicken & carrot salad which I ate in the Tuileries $(4.50). Then, I walked around ’til two when class began again.

[This is the start of my pleasure in doing things by myself which I still enjoy.  It was not by choice in Paris most of the time. But to this day, I love to eat, go to movies, and travel by myself.  I sometimes am lonely, but not very often when I am alone. If so, I just go out. I love watching people and meeting new people and I don’t feel compelled to talk so much and can listen and ask questions and learn.]

Map of Paris Stomping Grounds, Day One. from (still very old) 14th edition antique bookstore copy of Karl Baedeker's "Paris and Environs : Handbook for Travelers", published 1900.

This is the first of many maps from my antique 14th edition of Baedeker’s classic field guide to Paris, found and given to me by my mother Ginny Graves. What I love best about this book is his blessing to the reader…

‘Go, little book, God send thee good passage,

And specially let this be thy prayers

Unto them all that thee will read or hear,

Where thou art wrong, after their help to call,

Thee to correct in any part or all!’  

-Says everything a writer hopes for.

At 2:00 we had a Decorative Arts lecture au Musée and then we visited the 14th, 15th, & 16th c. pieces. 

Walked on Rue St.-Honoré to find American bookstore & needlepoint shop. But needlepoint store was closed. It was very expensive, too.

Very tired so bought dinner in a charcuterie-a little quiche & some kind of spinach/vegetable salad. 

Big Day! Lots of walking!

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Jul 13 2011

le sketch du jour: The train to Paris. Those snotty little bastards. Stay away from the dark-skinned men. Sat. June 28, 1980.

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Trying to get my luggage in the overhead bin.

Sat. June 28, 1980.

Woke at 10:00. Ran to Le Lac Montrion (7 mi.).

Group went to Chamonix, but weren’t getting back ’til 7:00 & I had to be at bus then, so I stayed home to pack.

[I’m repeating myself, but I went over with KU French Department. I studied and traveled with them for two weeks, but I was actually enrolled in classes with Parsons School of Design, New York City, in their study abroad program. We studied the History of Decorative Arts in the Museum of Decorative Arts that is the north wing of the Louvre. And, we had brief lectures in afternoon on Paris history and urban planning. Then, we hit the streets to see all the arrondissements, boulevards, and buildings. These told the story of religion, kings, politics, power, prostitution, learning and most of all, people wine and food that are the things French that we love, despite WWII and their superior attitude about us saving their ungrateful asses from Hitler.]

a tangent: The French and WWII. Why American men refer to Frenchmen as “those snotty little bastards.”

You know I love the French. This is from so many men I know, and they do have a point since it seems to continue.  You know how that goes…”that accidental bomb dropped in France en route just slipped.”  Or, as someone on the internet put it….

“We only fucked up one place, we accidentally dropped a bomb on the French embassy. ‘Whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa! Aw, sorry about that fellahs. I’m sure we would have had better aim if we had more FUCKING SLEEP! Thanks for those 6500 extra air miles, you fuckheads, BUILD A NEW HOUSE!’ BLAM!!!”

Walked to town at 3:00.  Had café au lait $ read.  Lots of people came in.  I sat by a German Shepherd.

Jeanie and Bob took me to the station. Raining. Station was very stark.

Two nice ladies answered all my questions, but I am making progress→I kept kind of having them reiterate what they were saying about reserved seats vs. tickets, etc. & finally I said I’m American.  They said, “Oh! Vous parlez français bien!” J’ai dit “j’ai besoin de longtemps pour le comprendre.”  🙂 [I need a long time to understand]

Train was funny.  2 seats facing each other w/ overhead racks. [I always spent least possible, so even though overnight, I did not get a couche-lit with bed. They are like sleeping in a sardine can anyway though the train does lull.]

You should have seen me try to get my bags up.  I finally left one on the floor. An older couple and girl got in my car in Annecy. Wasn’t too bad except for the cold. I think I’ll get a bed the next time I take an all night trip.

one woman’s warning

[It is interesting to me that I so vividly remember a woman at the train station in Morzine speaking to me before I embarked on the train, but that I haven’t written about it.  She was older and looked very nice and kind to speak with me in French before I left. She was concerned about me being alone on the train to Paris. And, her particular words that I remember are warning me to be careful of “les Marseilleuses.” She mentioned that I would know because they had such dark skin. The French have so many cultures they accept that they don’t have the same p.c. hangups about speaking of racial generalizations we do in America. Of course, as with most people, people carry racial stereotypes that are formed for a reason, historical, regional, cultural. But, France has always welcomed and attracted such a multi-cultural population that I hardly think this can be termed “racist” in the “hating” fashion that it labels people who current venture into talking about race this way in America. There are many healthy things about being able to discuss race. Anyway, you’ll see later in the summer with my roommate, who slept with every man on the left bank from Marseilles, that this came into play with my immediate bunking situation in Paris.]

 

 

 

 

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May 9 2011

History of the French Sketchbook, 1980. En anglais.

by admin

Au marche

I went to school at the Museum of Decorative Arts in Paris with Parsons School of Design, New York City in 1980.  But, it wasn’t necessary to take French for the School of Art and Design at KU.  After five years of Madame Honig (Indian Hills) and Madame Speidel (Shawnee Mission East), I decided that I was not going to forget those words and I took French classes all my semesters at KU.

I went with the French Department at KU with the French students with whom I traveled for two weeks (chateaux of the Loire Valley, la cathedrale of Bourges, Morzine in the French Alps, Chamonix) staying in youth hostels.  Three days before they departed for the French Alps for Paris by bus, I had to be at school at the Louvre because the students from New York were arriving in Paris, and I took the train by myself during the night.

A woman of a certain age plus twenty years took me under her wing et told me to take care to stay far from the dark men of Paris. It was useful advice for the entire summer (it’s just my opinion, but I think that the French have never embraced the words politically correct, particularly not a country whose metro signs said “give your seat to the mutilated of the war.”) I love the French.

After the summer in France, I dreamed in French.

And after I moved away (withdrew) in my head and to the country, I dreamed (yearned) of France.

When I went running on the Cimarron River, I dreamed of my running route on the banks of the Seine by the Louvre.

When I made homemade baguettes for the cowboys (too funny, a woman who bakes…there is not even a word in French for bakes, much less, bread) I daydreamed of the bakery on rue du bac near l’hotel Cayre on le Boulevard Raspail where I lived that summer.

France, I dream of you still.

Here is my book of that summer, the food, the buildings, the people, the strange men, the professors, my epicerie (like a deli with artichokes), the boulevards of Haussmann, and the stories of that summer when I was able to be a young French girl from Kansas. With only myself, but never alone.

And now, my French friends have returned to me in Kansas.

 

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