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A Step Into The Profound, at The Louvre in Paris, France with Frau Kolb

 

Behold the mind spinning splendor of a crystal chandelier at the Louvre, in Paris France!
Behold the mind spinning splendor of a crystal chandelier at the Louvre, in Paris France!

 

In discovering a tossed away strip of silence, amidst the droppings of the ever hapless hordes, I found more than just an empty moment, which I picked up and folded, wrapping a bit of that precious silence, to be found… anywhere/anytime that one requires restoration… into a small shawl of contemplation. A snatched treasure, a  chunk of sweet folded silence, which works as shawl of contentment around my sometimes fragile body. I rediscovered myself, my purpose… wandering the halls of the Louvre, again.

 

Sit with me!  Let's have an imitate art chat... tell me... what are you thinking of painting, next?
Sit with me! Let’s have an imitate art chat… tell me… what are you thinking of painting, next?

Tourists, everywhere… Frau Kolb, no different, really… just taking in the eight miles of art… the whole grand history of theft and creation, slavery and the evolution of social norms. We stroll, and time peals back and reveals its secrets in rooms decorated to meet the taste of Napoleon.

Look!  Frau Kolb, texting The Muse, Ms. Crane, begging the beauty to join us for an art rich afternoon at the Louvre in Paris, France.
Look! Frau Kolb, texting The Muse, Ms. Crane, begging the beauty to join us for an art rich afternoon at the Louvre in Paris, France.

 

 

At the Louvre, I feel at home.  Hungry! We stop for lunch… the Angelic, a restaurant inside the Louvre. We sit down. I am aglow with pleasure. The sights! The Winged Victory of Samothrace! Ah! What splendor! What a treat! Ah! To be so far away from home and… oh… we are not so far from what we seek to avoid… there is a slick blond, one of those viciously expensive looking, women whose face is always freshly moisturized and glistening from a four-hour hydration and suction, green mud, facial(s). The woman announces to everyone within a one mile radius that she is American, from Miami, no less! Her blue eyes WIDE with determination, an indefatigable will to communicate, with the quiet bookish looking French couple seated just across from her, “We have gone to hugely expensive formal restaurants, two nights in a row!” She is agog with wonder. How is it even possible that such a HORROR could exist??? She continues, “Could you recommend something more casual?” She wails.

Frau Kolb at Lunch at Angelina, a cafe inside the Louvre Museum in Paris, France
Frau Kolb at Lunch at Angelina, a cafe inside the Louvre Museum in Paris, France

 

 

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My husband, Hartmuth Kolb, saying something smart, phone and lens in hand, as he prepares to document the situation, at the Louvre, in Paris, France.

 

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Hartmuth Kolb’s, priceless, photo of the ceiling at Angelina in The Louvre Museum in Paris France, Summer 2014

I feel sorry for her. She is in Paris, the birthplace of the casual bistro, the superlatively casual corner cafe… NO ONE NEED ASK FOR A RECOMMENDATION! No. No one. Not a single person need ask an entire room of strangers a question so stupid. Nope. Moreover, we do not care to know that you have eaten, nor where. Please be quiet. Frau Kolb was having a sublime moment. Frau Kolb was feeling a tense joy of self importance, savoring her much anticipated arrival at the world-famous LOUVRE, center of world LOOT, and to share it with this… clearly rich, pampered, loud, spoiled, BABY of a woman… well… that offends Frau Kolb’s refined sensibilities.

Loud American women and their public announcements of vacuity interfere with an on-going fantasy of sublime independence from the generall noxious environment, which I hold dear.

After lunch, we keep moving, allowing ourselves the pleasure of walking deeper into the bowels of the museum… ah! See the foundation… oh! Words, in blue neon, adorn big thick underground walls from when this building was a castle… a fortification, a keep, and all of the rest. We emerge into the throng of gawkers into the venerated Egyptian wing. Snippets of conversation catch our ears and hang like rings around the unfolding art adventure which is a much awaited and desired trip to the most extraordinarily well stocked cultural treasure house, in the world.

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An ancient Egyptian kitty… how very human… we animals are!
Frau Kolb is taking in the pictorial art of the ancient Egyptians at the Louvre in Paris, France
Frau Kolb is taking in the pictorial art of the ancient Egyptians at the Louvre in Paris, France

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Ack! Egyptian ART!” Exclaims the tubby girl in tank top and flip-flops to her following, of two boys about her age, and of a sheepish devoted sort. “Ya’ take the body of a human and stick it with an animal head!” She waves her hand dismissively at the vitrines housing objects whose history, provenance, and miraculously enduring meaning is of religious intensity to me… to us… the treasures of north African antiquity, dismissed by a slightly overweight, grossly underdressed, loud, person of probable mixed European, background. What else is new?

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The Pharaoh Taharka offering two wine cups to the Falcon God Hemen. XXII Dynasty, at the Louvre in Paris, France.

 

 

Ok. We move on. A few steps further, away from the girl and her companions, we fall into that slow and unwinding revelry which is waking up to the profundity of human ingenuity, triumphs in the face of daily examples of mass ignorance threaten to cloud our hope in humanity. We see and sense and experience the sacred that is really there in these sumptuous objects invested with human thought, values, intelligence, and priceless concentration.

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Nature deserves veneration, no? Our leaders need to remember what the ancient knew.
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Frau Kolb & Eternity: The Winged Victory of Samothrace

I had to go back to the Louvre.  I had to give myself more time.  The minutes in front of The Mona Lisa left me with an unsatisfied hunger.   I had seen and not experienced the overseen, bullet proof, Mona Lisa. I walked back to moment and I played it again.

The crowds were no less intimidating. Yet, I found something… else… in the experience. Yes, I did. Among thousands of people all rushing, pushing, and ticking off ART selfies to prove their level of cultural depth. I found… well, first I noticed this couple. They were in the same room as the Mona Lisa Pandemonium but they were far removed from the panic, the frenzy. Taking strength from their connected, centered, energy. I let myself walk away from the Mona Lisa.

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I sit myself down and forget where I am. The crowds disappear as I focus on The Winged Victory of Samothrace

Not too far away I sat down. I took my sketch book out. I began to draw. Then the magic happened.

Frau Kolb Takes in The Winged Victory of Samothrace in Paris, France
Frau Kolb Takes in The Winged Victory of Samothrace in Paris, France

 

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We capture the fleeting, made stone, in antiquity with our high tech gadgets.
Panoramic picture of the culture hungry hordes invading the Louvre in search of the enduring, by HC Kolb, Paris, France, Summer 2014
Panoramic picture of the culture hungry hordes invading the Louvre in search of the enduring, by HC Kolb, Paris, France, Summer 2014
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“Why are you bothering me? Can’t you see I am in the middle of something!”
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“Thank you for leaving me alone… now I can see what I am doing.” Frau Kolb at the Louvre, Paris, France. Summer, 2014 and forever.
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“Ok, now, I’ve got it…” Frau Kolb on NOT noticing this great backpack behind me, at the Louvre, in Paris France, Summer 2014.
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“I am totally focused. Screw the crowds!” Frau Kolb sketching The Winged Victory of Samothrace in Paris France at the world famous Louvre.
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“Peintures Italiennes, are that way! GO!” Thank goodness for signage, otherwise we’d all be so LOST!
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Glorious side view of “The Winged Victory of Samothrace,” all pictures associated with this piece are the copy written work of HC Kolb, Summer 2014Suddenly, I was alone. It was only me and the eternal curves of, another desperately famous work of art, yet not held in the distancing grip of bulletproof glass and wave of smart phone camera clicks.

 

Suddenly, I was alone. It was only me and the eternal curves of The Winged Victory of Samothrace, another desperately famous work of art, yet not held in the distancing grip of bulletproof glass and wave of smart phone camera clicks.

As soon as I focused my eyes on her, The  Victory of Samothrace, opened up to me. I saw how marvelous she really is! Her wings are powerful!  They look entirely proportionate to the strident female body. She is stone. Yet the artist’s mastery over stone is complete, pure virtuosity. A fluttering cascade of transformations occurs as you allow your eyes to rest on her heavily reconstructed form. She is at once static and full of a vitality that one associates with LIFE, living, good health. She is a harbinger of good news, Victory!

She is on the brink of activity, in the midst of being a viable being, larger than life, monumentally scaled, yes… but entirely of this world. Proof of the higher orders in which all creatures meld into hybrid forms of superlative wonder. The wings, feathers articulated with scientific detail, might be those of an actual bird… which one, I don’t know… but I sketch their basic shape and take in the realization of a very complex idea, in this most enduring modality of marble.

The total visual transformation of stone into wet drapery covering the ripe body of a perfectly formed female, invites awe. Her arms are missing, yet I can’t image what they might have added to what looks like a perfect composition. (However, there exist scholarly drawing and replicas which depict the complete Victory.) Perched the prowl of a triumphant ship, looks about to fly away with the elegance of a swan, the ease of a heron. Water, “splashing up,” on the statue would have made the illusion complete. Imagine that! Imagine the effect that this sculpture would have had in its time upon people not desensitized to the static marvel of marble. Ancient people, steeped in ritual, ready and willing to contemplate the profound wonder offered by spiritual symbolism. People for whom this work must have held significance deeper than its mere representational (of the impossible) value, because it was stone yet looked like a living being, ready to reward those that have fought, and triumphed.

The crowds swarming past, determined to get their image of five-centuries-of-fame, and run to the next GREAT thing… on a packed itinerary… Yet, they do not disturb me. I draw in my red book, on a page after a Cafe sketch, and before another Cafe doodle, sandwiched between my habitual sketches, I now have my own “Winged Victory,”  mine is no where near as perfect as the reconstructed masterpiece, yet she is a personal reminder to fly above the petty problems and annoyances which threaten to confuse one’s mind and push a person toward the abyss of popular culture’s all encompassing oblivion.

Frau Kolb finds herself sketching Winged Victory, for NOT a long time, just forever.

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Lunch for ONE, at Café Constant in Paris, France

 


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Merci, Monsieur Claude Reich for the restaurant recommendation.  I waltz into to Cafe Constant with confidence.  I dance in the restaurant at the moment when the corner table becomes FREE!  I take my seat, guided by a divine feeling of fulfillment at having made it to LUNCH.  The table, from which I can see the entire room,  is waiting for me. I am waved into the freshly set table by a pert young man, Garçon.  He pulls the table out for me, appraising me in an instant, slightly bowing, and then nodding, “Bon Jour, Madame!”

I am in heaven.

 

 

Cafe Constant; Rue Saint-Dominique 75007 Paris, France
Cafe Constant; Rue Saint-Dominique 75007 Paris, France


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IMG_3907Cafe Constant; Rue Saint-Dominique 75007 Paris, France

Sometimes we encounter a spot, a specific location, a space, an entrée so delicious, an invitation so tempting… that being there is… an ongoing lingering pleasure… a savoring… of eternal good taste, forever.

Welcome to Paris.

Take lunch with me, please. Sit down across from me. You are the perfect guest because I can see right through you. I may dismiss you as I please. You are never offended. You care. Yet, you are transparent without substance. You sit. You listen well. Conversation is not your forte. I don’t mind. I’ve brought a book. I am reading, “Paris; True Stories of Life on the Road.” Or sketching… or perhaps I am daydreaming. Lazily watching others chew, sip, swallow, listen, answer, and gently argue over topics not likely to be resolved.

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I make a note to myself about the plain lady, looking very Catholic, stern and her prune like mother, an wrinkled replica of the younger woman. She, with her antiquated haircut would be an excellent character in a book. A book… I am not writing a book. I blog. I write about food, fun, and fast times in museum settings. Nothing too exciting, yet a few people care to read my words and I am grateful for their LIKES and shares, donations, endorsements, and trickle of praise.

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Frau Kolb is at ease at Cafe Constant, in Paris France.

 

Indeed, I feed on the positive attention of a few loyal readers that care to know what Frau Kolb had for lunch in Paris during the sexy summer of 2014.

Delicious fresh French food, I savor  every firm and well rounded green pea, every cube of carrot, delights me!
Delicious fresh French food, I savor every firm and well rounded green pea, every cube of carrot, delights me!

 

 

Yet, I will not tell you what I eat. I will show you. You can look over my shoulder. Or better yet, sit with me. Yes, take a load off.  Relax.  We have all the time in the world.  No one would ever rush us, here at the famous Cafe Constant, there are is an ebb and flow of patrons, ever so steady and well… I might stay here all day, it is so comfortable… and the people!  Behold the polished Asian couple now seated to my right.  Wow, they look like advertising, picture perfect. They must be from the future.  I gather by their high tech watches, slick designer space gear.  I love them, instantly.  Yet, hope they don’t notice me taking them in along with my espresso.

 

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Frau Kolb experiences Post Lunch Bliss at Cafe Constant in Paris France, Summer 2014.

 

I will take care of the bill. Keep your cash. You will need it, later. We will go out tonight, perhaps. IF you have time, after your next engagement, I will be around. Floating. I have a good book with me. I am reading, “Paris, Paris; Journey Into The City of Light,” by David Downie. I have my sketchbook, chalk, erasers and those black wing pencils, I prefer. Perhaps, I will POP into The Louvre and make a record of the wet dream of inter-species perfection, The Winged Victory, the statue… of a luscious female form emerging from the chiseling water, which plasters the wet “fabric,” of stone against her hot winged body. The ancient statue is mesmerizing work of art worthy of its pith. She is eternally ready for an armless flight into… forever.

Me, Myself, & Frau Kolb at Lunch, Cafe Constant, Paris.  Summer 2014!
Me, Myself, & Frau Kolb at Lunch, Cafe Constant, Paris. Summer 2014!

 

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Witness: The Mona Lisa, The Queen of Visual Kitsch, Rule the Universe!

We get out of bed and make our way to the museum early. We are on a mission!  Armed with a marked up map and specific instructions, thanks to Stephanie at Panoramic tours, we know just where to go, Underground. It is the most direct route. We were going to see HER.

THE LADY with THE ENIGMATIC SMILE.  A painting, imbued with a creepy load of personality.  “She,” rules the space around her.  Yet... how does a painting become more important than the living, breathing, beings around her?
THE LADY with THE ENIGMATIC SMILE. A painting, imbued with a creepy load of personality. “She,” rules the space around her. Yet… how does a painting become more important than the living, breathing, beings that bestow her power?

Of course, we did not expect to have any, “alone time” with her.  We knew that she is “everybody’s darling.”

What we got was much worse… we were reminded of how meaningless, insignificant, and trite our Bucket Lists are.  We were, 100% a part of the herd of humanity, snapping an image of La Gioconda, before being pushed out of the way by the next, equally determined tourist/pilgrim with a smart phone or a canon camera, at the ready.

Once, she was stolen, by a “crazy Italian,” convinced that she wanted to go home.
Once, she was stolen, by a “crazy Italian,” convinced that she wanted to go home.

(FOOL! She loves to be up there, behind bullet-proof glass, the absolute center of an ongoing panic, a perpetual craze, which occurs with clocklike regularity, from the moment the museum opens, until the last tour bus leaves, in the world famous and celebrated Louvre Museum, in Paris, France.)

Seeing her… I did NOT see her. She was invisible. I saw the flash of cameras, the crazed LOOK of… hunger? Yes, HUNGER for… what? Recognition, perhaps… we seek to see THE ORIGINAL, THE MOTHER IMAGE from which all the tacky little key chains, coffee mugs, calendars, and other scraps or fragments of the sacred, the untouchable, THE ORIGINAL, the a priori … which is stamped on the faces of the ART STARVED crowds… “Art starved?” You ask… Well… Yes, that is what I witnessed.

 I saw adult infants reaching for the teat of certified beauty and established aesthetic certainties. The queen of conformity, The Mona Lisa is the mental rabbit foot, the proof that one is CULTURED, cultivated, worthy of living. Having documented the sight of her with a selfie, we are FREE, to turn on backs—forever—on the little revered painting by Leonard d’ Vinci, the original Renaissance Man. (I believe, we all want some of the milky charm that sprays from this eternal fountain.)

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She and she alone sits and is worshiped by i-phone clicks and selfie sticks, wielded with an alarming lack of grace. She is photographed so many times per day, and visited by so many people, NONE of whom really see her. Instead, they ignore each other, pulling and tugging—fighting—to see her?

We all wish to solve the mystery. She is a treasure, that is for certain.  Yet, why? How is it that a painting can stimulate such visual appetite, cultural hunger?  The standing whiff of desperation around her is a grand spectacle. Frau Kolb was a part of it; flaunting her own needy and naked desire to be beautiful, famous, loved, and celebrated. We all want a piece of that excitement. The thrill of being seen as significant, worthy, ein Schatz (which means, “a treasure,” in German). We all want to be valued, special, celebrated or at least accepted. Don’t we?IMG_9321

Well, long ago, a German cultural critic, Walter Benjamin (15 July 1892 – 26 September 1940) wrote an essay which, I’ve tried to read, many times. Yet, I simply don’t understand it. He speaks about, “the Aura,” of the work of art and… how that aura was lost via reproduction, which is not… or is… I can’t tell which… a BAD thing. Opps! (I know… I studied art history, I really should be able to understand what Benjamin or Theodor W. Adorno, who responds to him. “Art in the Age of Mechanical  Reproduction,”  is the article by Benjamin which I regret falling to comprehend, because that is the heart of the matter…) Mona Lisa’s pull is in the ease with which her high impact and mysterious image can be turned into endless reproductions! Yes. She reproduces like it is nobody’s business.  She sells!

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Mona, with her come-hither looks is forever… a siren, beckoning tourists, to the crush… to the HORROR of Invisibility.  Since we are all NOBODY in comparison with the famed Dame!

Leonardo d’ Vinci’s Mona Lisa is reproduced in cheap prints on coffee cups, deli napkins, and shopping totes… enough “kitsch,” (A wonderful German word, which art historians LOVE, which means… crap art we get a KICK out of like… whoopee cushions of culture…) to populate a cosmos of gaping landfills.  Clearly, the tightly guarded ORIGINAL work of art was painted by Leonard d’ Vinci, a time traveling genius, who had the political savvy to die in the arms of a French King, (no less!). Moreover, Leonardo may have understood, precisely how to make an immortal image, one which could easily be pressed and passed on, a type of female figurative currency. Yet, she is nothing special, really… She is not even… BIG… she’s not even Marilyn… platinum blond….but she is pure POP, contemporary art, that is for certain.  Who among us can verify that the painting we think we see is not a poster?IMG_3809

The “painting,” sits behind bullet proof glass and must have a red velvet rope around her. I mean… if she were not the real thing who among the millions that snap a picture in a year could tell? Certainly NOT I! I got no where near enough to see the genius, the otherworldly, Uncanny hand of the master! One barely has time to snap a selfie before being pushed out of the way by someone convinced that their need for a selfie is greater than yours.

Frau Kolb among the crowds, visiting the Mona Lisa at the Louvre in Paris, France.  Summer, 2014
Frau Kolb among the crowds, visiting the Mona Lisa at the Louvre in Paris, France. Summer, 2014

I believe that when The Muse of Talkinggrid, Ms. Crane said, “Fuck the Mona Lisa!” She was nailed a sentiment I share. Why all the fuss? Mona Lisa’s tripped out, picture perfect, made for selfies image, is as vapid as that of two bit hussy. We refuse to be humiliated!  We are better than THAT! Well… actually, we (husband & I) fought the crowds to see her. We pushed. Shoved, each other… Actually, Harmuth never pushes, but is not a person anyone can dismiss.  Ms. Crane is likely not to have pushed anyone because she is,The Muse, after all and people really do respect her “Aura.” Frau Kolb is convinced that “the Aura,” of La Gioconda is one more example of a sheepish desire to fold into the herd, while feeling superior and civilized.

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I did not see a single person that looked satisfied by their brush with the inordinate tourist crowds mobbing Mona. After grabbing a snap of her, across the room and over the heads of a gaggle of other anonymous gaping gawkers, every visitor I saw looked cranky, disappointed. One and all, we are NOTHING in the face of Mona Lisa’s FAME, her radiant reputation!  She rules.

The actual work of art, as it hangs for “public pleasure,” at the Louvre, the painting is erased by the mass unseeing of the image under a storm of “distracted,” self absorbed, self appointed, “art critics” of mostly ZERO integrity (this, of course, includes me… I too have fallen, stooped, and hustled to see the Lady behind glass… only to encounter what I knew would be a monumental waste of human energy, in search of sacred… something… Which, of course was NOT there. There is only a flimsy experience of emptiness, in an overcrowded museum hall, where all the other paintings are made utterly invisible, erased, by the frantic crowds clicking images of themselves and the beast that is desire for recognition, reputation, and singularity; which may be the fuel that gets all the tourists out of bed and ready to face challenging crowd conditions for so little reward, paying for the privilege of being one more ART LOVER!  Hah!

We, at Talkinggrid, admit to being vain.  We want, no less than anyone else wants, our “brands,”to endure; our own five centuries of fame. We want to be Marilyn, the American La Gioconda, The Girl with the Pearl Earring, and The Venus de Willendorf rolled into ONE, mega MOM, a super being, with an ample bosom, ready to feed the entire world. Yet, few are willing to do the exercise, the calisthenics required, of those that seek enduring glory.  Few are going to die in the embrace of royal patrons, either.

This fortunate young woman is tall enough to get her Mona Lisa Selfie, without losing herself in the throng.
This fortunate young woman is tall enough to get her Mona Lisa Selfie, without losing herself in the throng.

 

 

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Je thé… Me, Taste Paris, with Jacky Larsonneur

We were early, the first customers of the evening at Je thé… me, a romantic restaurant known for its good food. We crossed the thick curtain covering the door and into a comfortably furnished, tight, dining room. The host, Jacky Larsonneur, tall and erect, is standing at the center of the room, his mischievous blue eyes sparkling.  He pounces on us with the grace of a well fed tiger!  We were to be his willing prey for the evening.  We loved being the center of his sage and savvy attention.  IMG_3618


He ushered us to our padded seats and fully welcomed us to his place, with a touch of formality which would be soon brushed away, he instantly signaled that the ancient rules of hospitality were in effect.  We had arrived into the care of Je thé… me, a space where we could put our guard down and swallow the delicious fact that we had entered a restaurant unlike any other.  Larsonneur has deftly owned and operated the enchanting restaurant for almost three decades. The space is a home away from home, a well polished jewel of romantic corner kitchens, an absolutely perfect, quintessentially French spot. I’ve quietly dreamt of such places my whole life. In New York, we attempt recreate the energy of such spaces… perhaps Balthazar’s succeeds. The shelves are filled with books, tea pots, and other “comforts of home.” The warmly furnished room is acutely inviting, a place to melt away stress and enjoy a fine meal. The Germans call this feeling, “Gemütlichkeit,” which loosely translates to, “cosy,” or “warm and familiar.” It is a complex word, really… yet it fits perfectly in thinking of the warm embrace of the space, the restaurant, Je thé… me… such a sensual name… such an excellent evening, about to unfold.

Le Vin, the wine, cements a new friendship at Je thé... me in Paris, France.
Le Vin, the wine, cements a new friendship at Je thé… me in Paris, France.

“English?” He asks after a few pleasantries in French. He introduces us to his menu. It was poetry in food, just delightful.  Salivating over the options, we allowed him to guide us, making recommendations, choosing which wine we drank. At ease in the roll of Culinary Guide, he takes us on a marvelous trip into a familiar yet new world of flavor.  We eat and drink with silent reverence. Other guests arrive. First a man with two beautiful Asian women, who sound 100% California. They are seated on the other side of the attractive room. Later, they come to appear flabbergasted, mouths open, eyes bulging, at the wealth of attention we receive from our talented host. Shortly after an older woman and her (likely) granddaughter appear and are seated. Finally, a young blond couple from Denmark take the table next to us, where they proceeded to make-out passionately for two hours. Did they eat food? I don’t know. I was busy scarfing DOWN my entire plate, making every morsel vanish, worshiping drops of reduction sauces, expertly prepared.

Fondréche 2012, Ventoux
Fondréche 2012, Ventoux

I am transported to a purely sensual zone. Ms. Crane, The Muse, sits next to me on the bench, laughing, making funny comments about the cast of characters around us, the universe, and beyond. Hours slip by, we don’t fret.  This is a time reserved for eating, drinking, and conversation.  My adoring Big German Scientist husband, enjoys the view, across from us and documenting our good time without being intrusive. Speaking of welcome intrusion… did I mention that Jacky planted his laptop on our table and sang to us, old French songs? He did. He sang to us!  He serenaded our table! (How’s that for entertainment?) He has a marvelous voice.  He popped his laptop on our table and shared with us a video of him, on youtube singing in a choir as a young boy. He was an angel. He sang solo, brilliantly!  The camera loved his blond boy beauty. Oh, Jacky!  You are a restaurant man beyond compare!  What talent!  Pure charm! Je thé… me.

IL ÉTAIT UNE FOIS, 2012
IL ÉTAIT UNE FOIS, 2012

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The food was divine. Yet, I refuse to divulge the details of what I ate.  Eat bite was a discovery, an explosion of flavor in my mouth.  No, I won’t write a laundry list of ingredients.  No.  Exactly what I ate doesn’t concern others…  Unless, of course, they man-up NOW and venture beyond the barnyard gate, to Je thé me… in Paris!  Once there, I can imagine, a parade of pilgrims, FRANCO-FOODIES by the herd, hereby and henceforth, respectfully paying homage to Larsonneur’s impeccable hospitality, good wine, and super-fresh French food with bus tours (god forbid) and other (less tacky) fanfare.  I will just say: that if one does not live to visit Jacky Larsonneur at Je thé… me, is simply missing out on enjoying living, breathing, singing history in action.

There is no television in the historically preserved room. By and large, French restaurants do not bombard you with advertising while you are eating. French food is to be taken s l o w l y, quietly or boisterously depending on the mood. The music, wine, and incredible quality of the food all collaborate to take you to sacred heights within yourself and in communion with tradition. French food is famous, of course, but when you actually sit and eat food that deserves this degree of reverence it changes you.

I will never again be the same woman. I have changed from the inside out, a part of me, my heart… I think… is now––forever–– French. I do not know IF the Potato Eaters at the other tables felt the same AWE over the delicate, fresh, innovative, yet totally traditional FRENCH cuisine, prepared sensitively, and served with intimate flair.

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At our table, Ms. Crane, Hartmuth and I were swaying in a whirl of FOODIE JOY beyond general comprehension. It was a secular, intensely sensual, culinary-come-religious-experience. In this mood, of beyond bliss, the hours passed and we continued eating. Finally, we begged Jacky to pick our desserts. He brought one for each and each was pure perfection with the entree, eaten. WE had NEVER had such a meal, such service! The wine… ah… it was sublime. I shall never recover from this re-introduction to what food can be. Food is a potential space-ship with direct shuttles to heavenly JOY! Now, from the shelf, tumbled one of the encyclopedias on France. (OK, I admit, that I could not resist pulling one of the books off the shelf and perusing it, while the ice wine was being retrieved.) The book popped open, before us and there was Jacky, turning the pages to his Chateau… really? Yes, he pointed to a picture in the book and said that this was his family’s country property. Oh… now my American mind wrapped itself around very foreign concept. His Chateau… WOW!

That our host  enjoyed our company was demonstrated in that he invited us to stay with him for a few more bottles of wine.  We were out till the earliest hours of the next morning, sitting, conversing, laughing like lunatics well past midnight, playing, and dancing with Jacky.  The Muse, Hartmuth, and I Frau Kolb… this evening could be the stuff of legend and myth. We were early, the first customers of the evening for Je thé… me. We crossed the curtain and into the room and found ourselves in a new relationship with the world, with life. We were welcome, ever so welcome, so we stayed and renovated our selves, with intensive healing doses of hilarity, studied frivolity, and unfiltered joy expressed in hearty appetites.

The Muse, Jacky Larsonneur, Hartmuth, and Frau Kolb at Je thé... me in Paris, France. Summer, 2014!
The Muse, Jacky Larsonneur, Hartmuth, and Frau Kolb at Je thé… me in Paris, France. Summer, 2014!

From the ether of fantasy and wishful thinking, surrounding Paris and The Muse, that which prompted this life-altering trip to a new return destination, a NEW cultural base for Frau Kolb & The Talkinggrid from which to learn and grow, the health and happiness of yours truly and those that truly crave a slice of a very good way of life, the French Way.  I will return again and again to now beloved Paris, France and specifically to see Jacky Larsonneur and  the most romantic of restaurants, where we feel in love, not just with the food, the wine, the host, but also with Paris, Je thé… me.

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Le Grand Art Adventure: Frau Kolb in Paris

Paris! Strange to be on a plane, going to a place so familiar from film and literature, that it feels more like a homecoming, instead of an arrival at a new destination.  Paris, weirdly, is tremendously familiar,  it is almost another home.

Does everyone feel this way, arriving in Paris?  

So many have visited Paris before me, before us…  Paris is a city that dwarfs the biggest ego.  Considering who I am, and what interests me most (Art and History!) it is strange that I’ve before never visited famed Paris before, today.  It is a momentous occasion in the history of Frau Kolb!

Have you been to Paris?

Indeed it is odd to think, that I, Frau Kolb, experienced globe trotter, am a bone-fide virgin to Paris. Paris, old and self regenerating center, holds unique appeal. Yet, Paris is a virgin to Frau Kolb. A ripe and fertile beckoning. The dynamic, conquest driven, Frau Kolb, cannot resist the call of legend. One more big goal checked off the bucket list.  Ah!

The murmuring of the Seine, snaking around the watery core of an ancient multi-layered city.

So… here I am loaded with guide books and ready to add my experience of it to the wealth of history which defines this rich old dame. She dazzles, I hear. “The City of Lights,” They call her! I listen to her name, whispered, shouted, co-opted. A wistful nostalgia for other times grips me. I feel one with Josephine Baker, mistral performer and emblem of beauty. Her banana peel dress forever revealing, appealing.  This trip has, is a dream come true and I am delighted to be able to share my observations and discoveries with you.  Thank you for reading.

I am applying my sacred SEVEN BOOK RULE. Yes, this is the key stone of Frau’s success in many aspects of life, not being perfect, yet being certain… confident.  Paris, is wondrous to read and apparently to write about.  So many books are available about this city.  Paris is a city that has inspired artists, architects, writers, and others without professional claim to aesthetic understanding. Paris is a Grand Muse, so much is written about her, she is famous, beyond measure.

 

I’ve arrived!  Behold the legions of tourists!  I am among them.  Camera clicking, what has been photographed countless times, but never before by me.  I’m so happy to be here, realizing a life goal.

On the plane, I dealt a serious blow to TIME by reading, a tidy little hard-back full of simple colorful images, stark in its naive and charming comparisons between the two cities,Paris Versus New York,” by Vahram Muratyan. I am a New Yorker. Born and Raised in Manhattan, I know the grid and its ease, the speed with which one can traverse worlds, any day in Manhattan. I know about bagels, yet baguettes were always an option. The beginning of his book works much like the beginning of this post. He introduces us to Paris as a woman, an individual of unique strengths and mysterious, enduring, character. Seductive, Paris, is even to those that call her home. She is like New York, only older. I storm through that picture driven book, soaking up a few of his impressions, and moving on, but not before asking myself about that book I was reading yesterday and last night, “Paris, Paris.” by David Downie, until I passed out, exhausted from PACKING FRENZY and FRENCH STUDY, went… I pick up a thick paper back, I’ve hauled a number of books with me onto the “Business First,” seat my Dearest booked for the trip. The book I chose is… not high brow, not an elegant seemly tome but a door-stopper, heavy in page weight and light in content; Edward Rutherford’s, “Paris,” pops into hand. Now, I don’t know if you know about Rutherford’s work. You might. It is likely that you know it like I do, as a secret passage into the annals of history light. He weaves a pleasant tales into the fabric of known history often placing his characters as witnesses to the great events of a historical epoch. I started reading Rutherford when I was a girl. “Sarum,” was the first book of his I read.  I enjoyed it very much and followed up by reading others of his books.  Eventually, the formulaic style of the author wore out my interest and I’ve not read one of his books in almost a decade.  This, too, is a type of return to the known, the familiar author, with his soothing uncontroversial, light writing style fits the mood of this maiden voyage to picturesque Paris! IMG_8782