Looking Back at the Louvre Lens

The Louvre Lens (a satellite of the Louvre Museum in the Northern French town of Lens) displays its main collection in one enormous 'grande galerie', more than 120m long.  The art is arranged in slices along a timeline, so that as you move through the space you moved through the history of art.  What with the white plinths, the strict geometry and the reflective walls, it's quite an effect …

But there's another effect, too.  As you walk through the gallery, almost all of the sculpture is facing you -

which means that if you happen, like Orpheus, to look back - you see a sea of naked bottoms.

Evidence of the law of unintended consequences or a deliberate decision?  I'm not sure which would please me more, but these photos still make me laugh.

Can You Visit the Same Place Twice?

Retracing my steps has been a theme of the blog this week, so I thought it appropriate to tie in a hint.  It’s one I came up with last year, when I was in Marseille for a conference. 

I’ve spent quite a bit of time in Marseille over the past five years since my sister moved nearby (along with husband and Adorable Nephews) and I love it – I think it’s one of the most interesting and beautiful cities in Europe.  But I notice in myself a tendency to want to do the same things when I’m in Marseille: I want to have lunch in LesArsenaux, admire the ex-votos and the stunning views at Notre Dame de la Gardeand – if time allows – have a drink at the bar at Le Corbusier’s CiteRadieuse. 

So here’s my new rule (slash hint): for every familiar thing I do when revisiting a place, I’ll do something new as well.  It’s an excellent balance, if I say so myself.

Roof of the Cite Radieuse, Marseille

Sardinade

Zut.  Today I'm taking a break from all things island and returning to France.  I don't know why I didn't post these photos at the time (they were taken at the end of June) but I thought they'd be a nice celebration of the summer before we get into September and autumn - and an antidote to a Monday morning.

Alors, HTLT presents la Sardinade: starring sardines, sardine grillers, the village square, bright colours and two adorable nephews.

Just a few euro bought you a plate of grilled sardines and bread; frites were also available with mayonnaise or ketchup or both, for the indiscriminate (like me) who like to mix.

The eldest adorable nephew discovered candy floss.

The slightly smaller adorable nephew discovered sardines, frites, churros and ice cream.  He likes to eat, this one.  Like his auntie.

A la prochaine!

Overseen: Box of Delights

Overseen, Paris, July 2013.

The window display at Diptyque, 34 Boulevard St Germain.  Yes, I was lured inside, where I bought a Maquis-scented candle.  My sister to the contrary, it didn't smell of grimy Résistance fighters, but of the herby, sun-warmed countryside of the South of France.

MuCEM

My trip to Marseille a couple of weeks ago was centred around a visit to the new MuCEM: Musee des Civilisations de l'Europe et de la Mediterranee.  Long name aside, this is a museum devoted to the Mediterranean: people, places, culture.

You can approach the museum from several directions and several levels, but I would recommend crossing one of the metal bridges that connect the MuCEM complex with the surrounding area.  What a fantastic way of priming visitors for the museum visit, evoking the idea of crossing cultures, crossing continents, crossing the sea ... as well as nodding to the working history of the port.

I landed at Fort St Jean, a historic fortress with lots of cool, dark spaces, many of them featuring interpretation about the site.  There is also a temporary exhibition space, a shop, a cafe and terraced seating.

Oh, and amazing views -

- not least of the new museum building, which, I may as well tell you now, I fell completely in love with.

Designed by Algerian/French architect Rudy Ricciotti, the building is a cube of glass and metal overlaid with a skin of cobwebby concrete.  I know that's an oxymoron but the structure manages to be both delicate and industrial.

The play of light in, through and around the concrete super-structure is beautiful and particularly apt, given the strong, pure light Marseille enjoys for much of the year.

And of course the light creates lovely dappled effects.

Most of these photos were taken from the rooftop terrace (you can enter from the roof or the ground), complete with chairs and sunloungers for enjoying the view.

You then follow a ramp down and around the building (think ziggurat) with glimpses into different spaces and offices - what would normally be behind the scenes is very much on view.

So far, so magnificent.  But on the ground floor the problems began.  Poor orientation led to many confused visitors wandering around looking for somewhere to start.  Though there is no prescribed route, most people seemed to choose to visit the two permanent galleries first (dedicated to the culture/s of the Mediterranean).  These, I'm afraid to say, I found disappointing.  Little reference to the stunning architecture, bland exhibition design and often quite generic content.

The exhibition was themed around four 'singularities' of the Mediterranean: 'the birth of agriculture and invention of gods', 'Jerusalem - thrice-blessed city', 'citizens and citizenship' and 'beyond the known world'.  For me the problem was that the narrative veered uncomfortably between wide generalisations and odd specifics - and that the objects very often didn't support the narrative.

There were a couple of honorable exceptions - for example a display about bread and breadmaking, which included these beautiful moulds from all over the Mediterranean:

I also liked these talking heads within the citizenship area - a mixture of ancient, modern and virtual portrait busts.

The final area - 'beyond the known world' - was, perhaps, my favourite as it seemed to be more truly focused on issues of Mediterranean culture and identity.  I also fully acknowledge that my disappointment was largely because what I was hoping to find (exhibitions engaging with what Mediterranean culture and identity were, are, might be; exploring links and connections between Mediterranean cultures) wasn't present.  That's not to say that others wouldn't be delighted with the content, though I still think the exhibition design is distinctly underwhelming.

But I did take a few encouraging things away.  First, the museum felt somewhat underripe - it had only opened a few weeks before I visited.  So it is very possible that the exhibitions will develop and mature - and that the collections will do likewise.  I note that the museum plans to change the permanent exhibition every 3-5 years, which may also account for the temporary feel.

I would still recommend a visit to the MuCEM.  Even if I might be tempted next time to skip the exhibition and get my dose of Mediterranean culture by enjoying an aperitif on the roof.

La Dame de la Garde et la Dame Blanche

When I revisit a city, I like to do something new - and go back to somewhere I loved the first time.  In Marseille, the choice for revisit was a toss up between Le Corbusier's Cite Radieuse apartment block or the church of Notre Dame de la Garde.  The church won, perhaps because it was on my mind as soon as I left Marseille-St Charles train station.  You can see it from almost everywhere in the city, perched on top of the highest hill, the gold statue of the Madonna like a beacon.

Notre Dame de la Garde is a very clear example of the psychology of faith.  In a city that was founded by sea-farers, build a beacon that can be seen from way out to sea. (The French word for lighthouse, 'phare', and the nickname for Marseille, 'la cite Phoceenne', are tangled in my head, so that I want to call Marseille 'la cite Phareenne', the city of lighthouses.)  When you come safely back to shore, pay your respects - and in cases of near-escape from death, leave a token of gratitude for your delivery.

The ex-votos hanging in the church - models of ships, paintings of ships, plaques with names and dates - are endlessly fascinating to me.

Be warned, it is a long walk up the hill and this time, rather than cycle, I got the bus.  I did walk back down though and, in what has become something of a birthday tradition, ordered a Dame Blanche to replenish my strength.

Vanilla ice cream, creme chantilly, hot chocolate sauce.  Oh la la.  One bite and I was twelve years old again.

From Notre Dame de la Garde to la Dame Blanche.  Two forms of spiritual pilgrimage, you might say.

Overseen: Go via Paradise

Overseen, Marseille, July 2013.

At first I thought it was some kind of art installation (there are lots of them dotted around Marseille on account of the city being European Capital of Culture 2013) but no - it's an honest-to-goodness road sign.  Which translates as 'detour via Paradise'.

Disappointingly, Paradise turned out to be an unexciting shopping street but still - what promise!

Overseen: Matchy Matchy

Overseen in Marseille, March 2013.  Oh those French, with their matching vans and window treatments.

French Weekend

Why, yes, I am in Australia and will shortly commence posting about my adventures here, but in the meantime here's something I wrote but neglected to post last week (I was overcome by packing).  It's about France and what it has in common with my current surroundings are the blue skies.  I know, it's sickening.

***

I frequently praise my sister and brother-in-law for having had the excellent taste and foresight to move to the South of France.  The perfect pick-me-up after Christmas was a weekend in the Provencal sunshine.  Stepping out of Nice airport, putting on my sunglasses (which hadn't been worn for months), the sight of the palm trees just lifted my heart:

We drove inland, George obligingly explain quantum mechanics to me on the way (I have an enquiring mind) and reached chez eux just as after dark.  As the small boys ran around reclaiming their stuff and their papa turned on the heating, Ro and I went to the supermarket where she bought groceries and I amused myself by marking, once again, the delights of the French supermarket experience.  (Nine kinds of chocolate mousse.)

Next morning, bright but cold, we pushed the boys (one in a pram, one on bicycle) into the centre of the village.  I always love seeing the church perched on top of the village.

We bought the papers and a selection of pastries and then sat at the cafe in the village square for our coffees.

Why, yes - that is my sister looking very glamorous and sitting outside, OUTSIDE I say, at the beginning of January.

A Perfect Walk

A few weeks ago I wrote about my small and roguish nephew and his newfound love of custard.  But before we shared the bowl of creme anglaise we went for one of the nicest walks imaginable.  Well, two of us walked, one small and curly-headed nephew rode in a rucksack, equipped with rear-view mirror.

We started in the car park of the Relais de Saint Ser (the place what made the custard and many other delicious things) where Ro had the foresight to book a table for lunch.  The restaurant is at the foot of Mont Sainte Victoire, the mountain overlooking Aix-en-Provence, painted by Cezanne and Picasso, among others.

The proprietor of the restaurant recommended a path that would take us up to the chapel of Saint Ser  where mass is still said on Sundays.  It's about 30 minutes up - adjust depending on the size of your party's legs.

We passed through proper Provencal maquis: the scrub growth that gave its name (first) to the French resistance and (second) to my favourite Diptyque candle which smells, gloriously, of herbs and flowers and sunshine.

The path is quite steep but has wonderful views.

The small and blond nephew found a stick somewhere, the better with which to 'encourage' his steed.  All in an adorable way, of course.

Arrived at the chapel, I rang the bell and we passed inside for a few meditative moments: the interior is distinctly medieval, not to say spartan.  Someday I'd like to come back for a service (and meet the priest who has to make the hike, week in and week out.)

 Outside, the small and determined nephew lifted up his voice (I think he just likes the sound of it) - and perhaps he has some primeval powers because just at that moment the thunderstorm began ...

We jogged down the mountain and reached the restaurant just as the rain started to come in earnest.  

A perfect walk.

L'Isle Sur la Sorgue - Market Day

This trip was in the works for a while.  I have a magpie mind and when I spot something shiny (=curious, pretty, unusual) I store it away for future use.  I can’t even tell you where I first heard that l’Isle Sur la Sorgue was the antiques capital of France, but when I looked it up and discovered that it is a paradise of friperies, ranging from the most expensive of carefully-provenanced antiques to the shabbiest of odds and ends, I knew that I had to go.

Sunday is market day when, along with the usual Provencal-style market, you can browse through stall after stall of bric a brac.  Word of caution: the town, being pretty, picturesque and close to Peter Mayle territory, gets very full on Sundays so I’d advise going early if you want to park (or else try going in low season).

I towed the eldest adorable nephew through the market – he has inherited the magpie gene and was very taken with this bell,

but particularly with these clocks:

(Then he got bored and his father took him to the playground.)

I was enchanted by this row of enamel coffee pots (each one upwards of €100), 

by the genuine vintage metal signs, by the posters, by the coffee grinders, by the antique table linens … in short, all of the things that are sold at VAST EXPENSE in shops all around the world trying to recreate the French shabby-chic look.  While the items on sale at l’Isle Sur la Sorgue were not cheap (don’t go expecting bargains) they were at least sans mark up.

Off the main street are various vintage / antique shops and undercover markets.  Again these cater to every purse. 

I was very taken with the elephant on sale here,

But even more by this sweet display:

Around the corner I found the motherlode for every rusty metal table and chair you’ve ever seen outside a French-style (or ‘French’) café in any remote corner of the world.

I resisted all temptation until I came face to face with this: 

1930s wooden tray, souvenir of Rio, inset with mother of pearl.  I mean!!!  It was mine for €20 which, all things considered, seemed pretty reasonable.