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Posts from the ‘Buildings/Architecture’ Category

Finding Paris in Chicago

I have been traveling non-stop since I returned from Paris and collecting photos of “French America”.

I came across this awkwardly shaped piece of the Notre Dame de Paris embedded in the Tribune Tower. Inspired by the Button Tower of the cathedral at Rouen, France, “the Tribune Tower exemplifies the way American architects have elevated office buildings to sacred status.” 

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The base of the Tribune Tower contains 120 stones from important locations all around the world, including the Parthenon, in Greece; the pyramids, in Egypt; the Taj Mahal, in India; the Alamo, in San Antonio; the Great Wall of China; Injun Joe Cave in Missouri, and of course a piece from Paris’ grand dame.

Is that a gargoyle’s nose? I hope so.

I love Chicago’s architecture. Who doesn’t? So much tradition blended with startling metal and glass. It is especially fabulous on a rare blue-skied spring day. It was wonderful to catch up with my lovely girls and take Kitcat out for her first legal drink stateside.

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Cheers!

No. 356: à faire une pause

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The packers were more than two hours early this morning, and the day quickly spun out of control. I’ve been chasing my tail since 6 AM, so all I have for you this evening are some happy pictures of a lovely day we recently spent at Vaux le Vicomte–a peaceful alternative to Versailles–and a LINK for you to see what makes it so interesting and special. Every Saturday night until October 4, more than 2,000 candles light up this stunning château and the magnificent gardens, and at 23h a magical fireworks display fills the sky and lights up the estate with a shower of gold and silver. It is also gorgeous in the sunshine.

Vocabulaire

à faire une pause: to take a break

 

 

No.354: La nuit à Paris

I love Paris when the sun comes up. I love Paris in the morning as the clouds burn off. I love Paris on a drizzly afternoon. And I even love Paris in the bitter cold dusk. But there is something so dreamy and thrilling about la nuit à Paris.

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Vocabulaire:

la nuit à Paris: Paris at night

No. 347-349: la Madeleine, Madeline, and les Madeleines

Which one is your favorite?

Here’s a yummy Madeleine recipe to try at home.

 

No. 318-320: Henri Matisse, the Cut-outs, and the Chapelle du Rosaire

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I had the privilege of spending the afternoon with Henri Matisse and his cut-outs at the Tate Modern in London a month ago. The expo, Matisse Cut-outs, ranks in the top-5 of my all time favorite expositions in the history of me. It was simply remarkable, and a once in a lifetime opportunity to see so many of his fanciful and inventive works all in one place.

Matisse came to this scissors and paper form of art late in life. It was a brave and radical departure from what was going on in the art world and the real world at the time. One critic described his new form of expression as “a pot of paint flung in the face of the public.”

At the time he started the cutout phase of his career, he was mostly confined to bed. Sheets of pre-painted paper in every color he could imagine, piled high in his bedroom were his palette. His many pairs of scissors were his only tools. Working from his bed, he cut the shapes and his glamorous assistants would move them around his bedroom walls. Together they would trim and slash the pieces until the picture he had in his mind was realized. I imagine the room in a shower of colored paper, trimmings flutter down and swirling around as the work emerged.

Working during the dark days of the WWII, Matisse sought to created a world in harmony and peace, and heartily embraced his carefree and colorful cutouts. He defied the Nazis and the blacked out windows with his outrageous colors and forms. Rotating, inverting and changing his art as he worked must have been quite liberating in a time of occupation and strife. As the war wore on, his extraordinary works became both grander and, at the same time, simpler. He produced an enormous body of work, both in number and size.

I would have loved to be a fly on the wall in his bedroom studio in Vence, France and watch him work with those dazzling piles of paper, a cane tipped with charcoal to draw his visions, those hypnotizing gliding scissors, and a simple bamboo wand (and elegant assistants) to place them on the studio walls.

 

 

The Tate Modern expo is jammed-packed with so many of his famous pieces, but I was particularly taken with his blue nudes. It was striking to see all four of these joyful and seemingly effortless women in the same room at the same time, I was also caught by one of his most abstract works, The Snail, and the fascinating story of how it was recently and lovingly resorted by the museum.

A spiritual soul, his art wasn’t limited to wall cutouts, in his last years, at the age of 77, he began worked on the redesign of the small Dominican Chapel of the Rosary (Chapelle du Rosaire) on the hills above the Mediterranean at Vence, not far from Nice. The views of the sea from the chapel are stunning as is the chapel itself. Rising up from the rocky terrain, the blue and white tiles and the lofty cross, bejeweled with gilded fires and crescents, seem to rise out of nowhere. Matisse “wanted those entering the chapel to feel themselves purified and lightened of their burdens,” and that he has achieved. The chapel is his self-proclaimed chef-d’oeuvre. “It isn’t perfect, but it is my masterpiece…and the fruit of (my) whole working life,” he asserted. He was the architect, designer and artist from start to finish. Everything is Matisse’s work from the altar and furnishings to the liturgical items, and simplistic passion triumphs throughout. The stained-glass windows are of course breathtaking, especially in contrast to the stark white walls. First designed as cutouts, they are humble, yet dramatic, as are the priests’ vestments, still worn for mass today. A perfect study in how stripping away the details lead to the most pure expression, it is a colorful and calm escape. Simply exquisite.

Matisse Cut-outs, Tate Modern, London

ends 7 September 2014

Chapelle du Rosaire
466 av. Henri Matisse, F – 06140 Vence, France

Hours: Tue and Thu 10am-11.30am, 2pm-5.30pm;
Mon, Wed and Sat 2pm-5.30pm
closed Fri, Sun and Bank Holidays

No. 315-316: Cute Little French Towns and Half-Timbered Houses

France is sprinkled with cute little French towns. Well actually it is more than sprinkled, I think “slathered” might be a bit more accurate. It seems like once you leave Paris, the cuteness-factor goes up by about 100. The French do an outstanding job of flowering their hamlets, and as I have mentioned before, compete for the designation of les Villes et Villages Fleuris (Towns and Villages in Bloom) and the title of Les Plus Beaux Villages de France (Most Beautiful Villages in France). They are also quite keen to preserve and present the history of their centres-villes anciens.

 

In 2013 the Huffington Post published their list of France’s 10 most charming towns. So far I have only visited two of their top-10, which thankfully gives me plenty of undiscovered villages to look forward to in the coming years. Les Plus Beaux Villages Association also provides their annual list, which you can find here—this year there are 157.

While I can’t say that I have been anywhere close to 150 French villages, I have been to my own fair share of small enchanting towns, and every time I turn a corner on my bike or by foot, I find myself smack dab in the middle of another one. And, it just tickles me pink.

Lately the half-timbered houses that add to the image of these fairytale towns have especially charmed my socks off. As these split-lumber dwellings seem to be everywhere I turn, I decided to do a little bit of research and find out how they are built.

It appears that French examples of these houses-of-charm dates all the way back to the twelfth century. Although the country was blessed with an abundant supply of oak, it was still an expensive building material, so most could only afford to use it for framing. According to medieval historians the term “half-timbering” refers to the fact that the logs were halved, or a least cut down to a square inner section. The fact that they used oak so long ago is an added bonus for us; its durability explains why so many medieval half-timbered houses are still standing.

While in modern framed buildings we installed the walls on the outside and inside of the frame, in the ancient half-timbered houses the walls were filled in between the structural timbers. What were they filled with? Why, wattle-and-daub, of course. In case this term is new to you, as it was to me, it was a mixture of different lengths of branches woven together and covered by muddy clay or bricks and sometimes plaster. (The best translation I could find for wattle-and-daub was clayonnage et torchis en français—ça marche? Native French speakers aidez-moi!)

 

These days most of the surviving structures are extremely narrow and surprisingly tall, and packed together like sardines. This has to do with the taxing structure of the time where buildings were taxes on the amount of street front they took up. As time went on and living conditions improved, faux half-timbers were added as decorations to improve the facades of newer houses. The wobbly and slanting timbers and windows we see nowadays on the ancient buildings are not due to shoddy workmanship of the time, but simply victims of the passage of time and the expected buckling of aged wood.

So there you have it, a brief history lesson on the half-timbering that makes these little towns so darn adorable. C’est très charmant, n’est-ce pas?

No. 299-300: Le Petit Palais et la Belle Époque

Kitcat was in town last weekend and since she is my “expo-kid”, we decided to make a leisurely visit to le Petit Palais and the wonderful exhibition ‘Paris 1900, The City of Entertainment’. I know I am a cliché, but I adore this period of French history, la belle époque, and turn-of-the-century Paris. I suspect there are many American Francophiles who do. If I had a time machine, I would slap on my button boots, slip on my pouter-pigeon blouse and trumpet-skirt, grab my feathered chapeau and set the dial for Paris, June 1900 and la Exposition Universelle

Mais malheureusement, time machines are still a vision of the future, so an afternoon at le Petit Palais will have to suffice. Amazingly there are over 600 works on display in the gorgeous ‘small palace’ that was designed by Charles Girault for the exposition. I cannot imagine a more perfect venue than these halls where the hatted and coiffed western world came to discover what the new century held. It must have been a real lollapalooza!

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The exhibition is organized into six ‘pavilions’ beginning with ‘Paris, window on the world’ featuring Gare de Lyon, Gare d’Orsay and Gare des Invalides, as well as Hector Guimard’s fabulous métro entrances. The expo ends with two pavilions focusing on the posh and wild world of entertainment on offer in Paris at the turn of the century—from opera to café singing, to Sarah Bernhardt and Debussy to brothels and circus acts, to everything else Baz Luhrmann would have us imagine in his fanciful film Moulin Rouge.

Filling the space in the middle are art nouveau posters and paintings, costumes, gowns, jewelry, everyday objects, objets d’art, sculptures, furniture, fine-arts, stained-glass windows, photographs and corridors filled with life-sized footage of revelers and curious fair-goers. A whole ‘pavillion’ is devoted to the myth of la Parisienne—the elegant Parisian women whose mystique still captures the imagination of women (and men) around the world.

 

Cézanne, Monet, Renoir, Pissarro, and Vuillard, are featured alongside Gérôme, Bouguereau, Gervex, Béraud, Degas, Besnard and, of course, Rodin and Toulouse-Lautrec…le Chat Noir, anyone?

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In lieu of a vrai time machine, this marvelous time capsule housed at le Petit Palais until August 17 will provide you with your Belle Époque fix and dazzle you with the promise and creativity from a storybook era long gone.

Vocabulaire

Mais malheureusement: But unfortunately

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