Degas, women in the bath and the Musee d'Orsay

I spent a large part of Friday in the Orsay museum and learned, through the wonders of the audioguide that some two-thirds of Degas' work was of women in the bath, or taking a bath, or washing their feet, or squatting in a tub, looking at the bath, in any case, something to do with cleaning. Aside from the fact that he was on the wrong side of the Dreyfus affair his various images of dancers are exquisite to be sure, and he is justly world-famous for portraits of young ballet dancers. (As in the above painting, Ballet Rehearsal.)

(As a sidenote: the family crypt in Montmartre cemetery deads "De Gas," an attempt it would seem to enhance the stature of his family name beyond the more proletarian "Degas.")

I left the apartment at about half past nine and arrived at the d'Orsay at 10 am. The line was very short and I was soon ushered through security, paid for my ticket and picked up an audio guide and on my way.

I spent the next several hours -- including a short break for lunch -- renewing my obsession with the work of several of my favorite artists.

First up was Eduoard Manet, creator of stunningly powerful portraits of the people who lived, worked, laughed and loved in late 19th century Paris. I was especially taken with his several renderings of the strikingly beautiful Berthe Morisot, friend, fellow painter and wife of his brother Eugene. (That's Manet's portrait of Berthe below.) In fact all three and Edouard's wife are buried together in Passy cemetery, in the very shadow of the Eiffel tower.

I lingered over the 3D caricatures of Honore Daumier, trying to pick up bits and pieces of a lecture being given to a school class on his unique style of portraiture -- not terribly favorable one would think but quite fantastic and original. In fact Friday seemed to be the agreed-upon day by the Paris school system to pack up all the kids and haul them off to the d'Orsay for an afternoon of fun and frolic among the marble and oils.

Jean-Francois Millet and Camille Corot were two other artists that drew my attention, again. I just cannot get enough of the understated beauty in Millet's poignant renderings of the human spirit embodied in the nameless, faceless French peasant. (His piece The Gleaners is below.)

Upstairs, I strolled past most of the Impressionists, stopping at another personal favorite, August Renoir. The sensitivity in his portraiture of people long gone from us now, his ability to capture a moment in their lives keeps them alive and vivid for us today. Incredible.

Right around the corner from one of the Impresionist rooms upstairs you'll find another of my favorites, Toulouse-Lautrec. He and his model, caberet dancer Jane Avril, became world-famous through his posters (she's the model for five of them) that are now icons in pop art.

(A huge piece he did is on the backside of one of the walls of the Impressionist room; his other works are on the same level but the other side of the building. The artist is depicted standing next to Jane, who is talking with Oscar Wilde, and their back is to the viewer, as they watch Louise Weber, another famous caberet dancer, do her thing on stage.)

Another work I especially like, mainly for the piercing look of its subject staring right back at the viewer, is the portrait of Madame de Loynes by Eugene-Emmanuel Amaury-Duval.


I left the museum but not the artwork and took the RER back to the Gare Austerlitz where I changed to the no. 5 Metro to Jussieu, and although I could have walked from there to Pascal's, I switched to the no. 7 and got off at the next stop, Place Monge, which is right next to Pascal's. Simple. Easy. Hey, it's the Metro.

I stopped in to see Susie on her last day. They had just finished lunch and Pascal was looking beat and reading a magazine; Susie was making lemon creme for lemon tarts. It all seemed quite sedate. So I left her to her pastry and walked past the nearby Mosque where Friday prayers were going on -- with the police parked outside -- and the women waiting patiently for their husbands. I strolled past the open door and could hear the call to prayer. I turned the corner and made my way through the windy Jardin des Plantes and caught the no. 61 to Place Leon Blum and then home.

Later that night after Susie got home we celebrated her finishing at Pascal's with a bottle of champagne -- this is France after all.

Wish you had been there,

Steve