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Living in a painting
"Paris Street, Rainy Weather," Caillebotte
"Parc Monceau," Monet (my favorite spot to walk/run!)
Being in Paris for only the autumn means that there is a premium on time spent outdoors: the prime window of time suitable for strolls in a park and sampling sidewalk cafés is coming to an inevitable close. For that reason, when faced with any unencumbered blocks of time, I have asked myself the question, what can I do or see outdoors? Though I love art museums (and have visited several since I arrived), I’m saving my full exploration of them for the colder weather.
I have spent time in the Jardin de Luxembourg, the Jardin des Tuileries, and especially the Parc Monceau, just a few blocks from my apartment. But I have also found myself lingering by a particularly nice fountain, or walking, contrary to form, with only a vague idea of where I’m going. As I love to bike, I have gotten familiar with parts of the city I’m not like to walk to. And everywhere I go, my thought is the same: Paris might be the only city I know of that visually lives up to its reputation. Quite simply, Paris is a work of art. Thanks in large part to many major European painters who once called Paris home, representations of Parisian streets, people, homes, and outdoor spaces are abundant. In addition to the plethora of films—“Sabrina” and “Amélie” are two favorites—set in Paris and made popular in the US, many of have come to know Paris through the galleries of our own art museums. Perhaps the most famous Parisian street scene, for example, lives in Chicago’s Art Institute: Gustave Caillebotte’s “Rue de Paris, temps de pluie” (“Paris Street, Rainy Weather,” 1877).
But unlike historical depictions of New York, which so rarely evoke the city I know, the Paris of the paintings really IS the Paris around me. The intricate building facades, with sculpted cornices and old world shutters (that require precarious leaning out the window to close) are not just in a carefully demarcated, “Historical Quarter.” They are everywhere, mixed in with Thai restaurants and Monoprix, and somehow it’s all so sensibly scaled that the mélange works. Though modernity has made its way in, the height and styling of the building has, for the most part, been kept congruous: amazingly, the streets of Caillebotte or Monet match quite closely those I walk down every day. Unlike walking by the East River or Hudson, a stroll along the quais of the Seine (maybe even past the Eiffel Tower, à la Dana!) makes it possible to imagine Sunday promenades of the 1800s, women in petticoats, and elegant black umbrellas.
For me, the idea that Paris has retained so much of its visual identity is tied to a larger theme here: the French have historically put a huge effort into preserving their culture. And it’s not just a question of cornices: The Académie Française is dedicated to making sure annoying English words don’t overtake French vocabulary (“faire mon planning,” a phrase I hear frequently for “work out my schedule” would probably make them cringe.) The government mandates that 40% of music on the radio must be sung in French. The attitudes towards immigration… well that’s another blog post! In any case, there are plusses and minuses to France’s determination to keep the Paris we see in galleries, in literature, and in films impeccably preserved. But when I’m walking back from dinner across the Pont Neuf and taking in the splendidly lit, old buildings around me, I’ve got to admire their efforts.
