Où est la mort?

"One gets a good look at one’s country from this perspective and one learns to see one’s nation with double eyes, to feel what we have got and what we have not got. I've learned more about America in one month in Paris than I could in one year in New York. Looking at this country makes all the unimportant phases of the AMERICAN problem fade somewhat and renders the true problem more vivid." ~Richard Wright, in a letter to a friend, 1946 (a week after arriving in Paris.)

Today started off fairly early with a trip to the catacombs at ten. We got in line at about 9:30 although there were others already holding our spots. The catacombs were strange. We when down a spiral stair case, quite far in to tunnels that took forever to get to the "good stuff". The trail was about a mile long and it at times felt much longer.

When we finally got to the part with the bones it was very quiet. Although there were no signs telling us to, it felt very wrong and disrespectful to speak loudly around the bones. It was as though the bones had been through enough that the gawking of the foreign tourist was pushing. And I did gawk. It was so strange and oh so very sad. I can't imagine being the poor man who had to desecrate the graves and remove the bodies to make room for the newly dead. As well as the ones who had to handle the bones of their ancestors. They were probably the very poor and homeless. The only bones that I could see were femurs and the skull bones without the jaw bone. We kept wonder where the rest of the body bones went. The bones they did have were artfully designed, well as artful as you can be with bones. But on top of the low walls of bones were just thrown on top cluttered mess of bones, the sadness for those people's bones was massive. It a very cool place to go even with the morbid subject.

After the Catacombs de Paris, I had class prep-ing us for our trip to Musée d'Orsay. This is the museum that was once a train station and a hotel. There were no photos; however I snuck some photos of non-painting without flash, so I think it was okay. However they didn't seem very strict on that room since I can't tell you the number of old men I saw talking pictures of painting, with flash mind you. I spent about four hours wondering alone around the museum with a head set. That is the only way I want to do museums from now on, alone. There is no need to point something out to somebody something they have already noticed and no need to try and think of a comment. It is just you and your thoughts and feelings about each piece. 

At this museum we were given an assignment to talk about a piece you connected to. So from here on out I will be talking about Edgar Degas' painting "Répétition d'un ballet sur la scène" 1874. (online photo)

In English this is called "Ballet Rehearsal on Stage". So let's dive right in on my thoughts. 

The muted tones contrast with the feeling one should get while preforming or rehearsing. The soft almost dull pinks and browns gives the impression that the painter doesn't want the scene to be seen, there are no colors there meant to catch your eye. The way the dancers are posed they almost look like dolls there for others enjoyment. That in conjunction with the empty eyes and mouths make them look like puppets for the audience. They looked like used objects as opposed to beautiful spectacles that one might associated with ballerinas. The anguish in the faces of the dances who seem to be done with their "across the floor" drills shows the hard work that they give even when there is no audience. Or the faces could show the emptiness the ballerinas seem to be feeling.  

The man off stage represents the "puppet master". of the arts and the fact that there is always someone pulling the strings, someone that you must please or gain approval from. There also seems to be a shadow off to the right side of him. That looks like a man and kind of a machine (to my modern eyes). This is the one who maybe the sitting man reports to or a looming manifestation of his presence in the ballet. 

The lack of set dressing and visible audience (although it is a rehearsal there still would have been teachers and costume and set designers there at the rehearsal) this gives the feeling/impression that no matter how many times you practice it will never be perfect. As well as the fact that no one is ever truly watching so why put on a full show? (i.e. a metaphor for life)

I wrote all of that before talking with my professor who informed me that in the day of Degas being a ballerina was not a prestigious profession, they were part of the working class and often times they were in essence property of wealthy men who used them and told them what to do because they were just trying to survive and maybe support their mother and siblings. I had never thought that ballerinas were working class (I always thought of burlesque or cabaret performers as working/ lower class). And I was speaking later with another student who said that there was speculation that Degas might himself have been one of those men who lord their money over these girls. 

And I that happy note...   

Jusqu'à demain
Bisous- Janice

The Catacombs of Pairs

The top of the neatly stacked bones 

The dinning room at Orsay

The splendor that they got 

to live in foors me

What a view! The Seine and the Louvre 

in one picture from the Orsay. 

Can't believe this is real life!