A musician in the Metro. I’d stopped to take a photo of him as I was coming down the stairs, but he saw me and got up and moved. I felt awful. Apologized as I dropped a Euro into his case. I didn’t mean to offend. “Oh, no,” he said in a heavy accent, “It’s all right.” He waved me back. “You’d be surprised how many take pictures but don’t want to pay.” Ah, okay.
To the Musee Rodin! I love Rodin’s work. I had an amazing experience here in ’83. I was here on my own, and spent the afternoon sitting in the nearly empty galleries sketching various statues. I didn’t see the whole museum because they began calling out that the museum was closing. My watch had stopped. It was kind of magical, because I would never have spent the kind of time drawing that I did if I’d realized the time. Hmmm…
I watched this girl sit on the floor with her classmates and draw The Thinker. The drawing was kind of a mess, as a kid’s drawing will be. But she looked at it, cocked her head, smiled and gave herself a little nod.
How wonderful! The drawing barely represented what she was looking at, but she was so happy with it. It would be nice to feel that way about one’s art a little more often!
She noticed me a moment later, and I have another photo of her looking into the camera solemnly. Then she politely backed away to get out of my shot. Sweetie. I thanked her.
Le Petit Chatelaine by Camille Claudel, Rodin’s lover. It’s great that she’s represented here. Rodin did not give her the due or the help she deserved.
Detail from The Burghers of Calais. This is an amazing study in the various ways that individuals deal with their own impending deaths. There’s a great story behind this statue, if you care to read about it. It struck me that each of those 5 stages of grief are represented here.
Back in our nieghborhood, we walked the Seine to the Pont des Artes, which is a footbridge (not the one pictured here). It was full of people of all ages, picnicking on blankets or benches with bottles of wine, deli foods, street-vendor foods (panninis, crepes or gyros). What a wonderful way to spend an evening.
Having had a very late lunch in a cafe on the Boulevard St. Germain, we went home for leftover Asian noodle soup from the night before and fabulous citron (lemon) tarts we picked up at a patisserie along the way.
Our last night in the apartment. It’s the blue door to the right of the wooden cafe Le Balto facade. Sigh. A flurry of au revoir photography ensued. There’s the one I took of my feet on the ceiling above the loft bed, but I’m not sure you really want to see that.
Looking up rue Mazarine toward the Institut de France, which we had dubbed the “home dome,” because it was a landmark in finding our way back to the apartment. I took several photos of this as I hung out the apartment window, which was up to the right of this shot, but this one came out the best.