Montmartre Art

I write to you of my Paris travels once again, dear reader. It has been several days since my last missive, unfortunately this humble seal of yours did come down with a slight malady of which I needed to recover. Nothing serious, mind you, but a seal who has lost his bark is a sad thing, and I do wish to be my best for you.

I ventured by Paris metro to the 18th arrondissement with mentor. There are many lines of the underground here, perhaps less easily navigable than other metro systems in other cities, but it does make me feel like I am joining the locals of the city.

Between the metro stop of Abbesses and the top of Montmartre, what I do not show you, dear reader, are the number of stairs. The number is many. Very many. But the reward is the church, Sacre Coeur, and the view of Paris from it. Only I did forget to take one of those photos so I do hope you may at this point be able to trust me that the view from this cathedral is spectacular.

Although I may not recommend being in this arrondissement alone at night, as it is a rather gritty region of Paris, it is not without its charm. Every city, grand and less grand, has areas that are unkempt, it would be unrealistic to expect otherwise, especially in a city with such age and history. Montmartre itself has become over its history as a sort of haven for street art and artists.

Finally, allow me to introduce to you Mr. Pehyeb, a fine artist who lives in Normandy much of his time, and often comes to Paris to display and sell his oil paintings. He allowed me to take a photo with him after my mentor haggled with him for a fine piece of his. I do hope to meet him again on my next excursion up the stairs of Montmartre.

I have great respect for those who make their living in art, dear reader, for although there is much talk of museums and paint in these memoirs, I myself can only paint with words. Flippers are unfortunately not conducive to paintbrushes, but I do hope to manage some beauty with a keyboard.

Look But Don't Photo

As I write to you, dear reader, about these travels and these sights I share, I wish to clarify my intentions for these annals of adventure. What you see in these images are perhaps not in perfect chronological order, as some daily journals may be, but rather travelogues presented thoughtfully, by subject and theme.

I have been to several museums in the days I have been in Paris with my mentor, some I have been to before. One of the main differences between the art museums in this lovely city compared to those leading up to this part in our journey is the gratuitous use of No Photography signs.

This being the case, I share with you the view of the Eiffel Tower from the top of the Centre George Pompidou, as the modern art collection inside was off limits.  The collection here is extensive, and though I do enjoy a good collection of contemporary art, it was agreed between my mentor and myself that the Pompidou could stand some equally extensive editing by the heavy hand of a new curator.

Another lovely museum, one of my mentor's favorites, dear reader, the Musee d'Orsay. Also stringent with their rules on photography, I was only able to give you a taste of the special exhibition. My mentor enjoyed the selection of male nudes more thoroughly than I, I would believe.

At the least, an interior of the Musee d'Orsay, once a bustling train station, now a bustling gallery. Last I was here the Musee was still in disarray, being renovated at the time. The top floor is now an impressive show of some of the finest impressionist artists known to time.

To continue with the impressionists, my visit to the L'Orangerie was one I found greatly satisfying, and I never had the pleasure of a visit before now. Though I show you myself gazing at one of Monet's Waterlilies, I am slightly ashamed to admit this photograph was not strictly a permitted one. But I felt compelled to sneak just a small amount of the image that surrounded us in that meditative space, full of light and color that was the artist's greatest works.

Finally, dear reader, though not all of these musee were explored in the same day, I thought I should touch upon the art which is the food. Often we eat from casual boulangerie in the day, but in the evening we often sit and dine together. Here, the finest boef bourguignon stew I have had to finish off a long day and replenish our constitution. The evenings are cool and the weather the slight damp of autumn, and cobblestone streets can be tiring to delicate flippers.

A Return to Paris

Another day, another train to a new destination. An escape from Amsterdam and its wild weather and wilder ways. This is a return of a bittersweet nature to me, dear reader, for Paris is a city in which a lovely femme caught my heart, and I did abandon you our last adventure for the pursuit of passion and have hence become a wiser seal.

After a ride through the countryside of the Netherlands and Belgium, an arrivé sign at the Gare du Nord did seem so welcome.

And this, a most welcome, familiar, spectacular surprise, the view from the window of the salon of the apartment of which I shall be residing with my mentor.

Oh how she does sparkle, my Tour d'Eiffel, and shows with even more dazzling light through Paris skies, the city embraced with rain. Nothing is more lovely, in this humble pinniped's opinion, than Paris in the rain.