Friday September 26, 2014
Crossing the Place des Abbesses has always been an event.
When I first arrived in the Montmartre neighborhood, twenty years ago, the boundaries were clear. The ivrognes or winos took the helm directly across the street from the tall brick church Saint Jean and a small grocery with a good variety of cheep red wine . The young voyous not yet graduated to being gang members, but old enough to leave their neighborhoods hung out near the entry to rue de la Veuxville. The beautiful art deco Guimard Metro in the center, constantly streamed visitors to Montmartre's Sacre Coeur. Scattered around were always musicians with varying degrees of talent. Some really exceptional.
A classic carousel was a great solution to ameliorate the first flash image coming up from the Metro. And I guess the little ones think they can tolerate school if they have a chance at the merry-go-round later on.
It was late September bright and sunny. I decided to paint it again. I set up
on Friday late in the afternoon. The sun was behind me. Luck not on side.Gigi, the frustrated hard rock local musician set up his three amplifiers next to me. He was watching me as he began playing and finally asked if he was disturbing me.I nodded. He pulled up shop. I thanked him.I looked to the sky.
"Thank you God. "
He was replaced by an young street talent playing "La Vie En Rose" on an electric ukulel.
There is a nice garden on the far side of La Place. Behind the garden, a city retirement home.Francois, an 82 year old resident from the home began chatting me up. I realized that he could be a captain concierge. He knew all the local gossip. He also introduced me to the best chausson de pomme I had ever eaten. A remarkable melt in your mouth treat for this afternoon. Francois knew all that was the best. Including himself.
Saturday afternoon
Within minutes of setting my easel up, Francois was at my side recounting his adventures of La Fête des Vins the evening before. Some Asiatic tourists asked Francois a question. He began spouting off directions in Japanese. Francois speaks six or seven languages. "Idiots" he said returning to my side, "They were looking for that stupid wall ... when you've got Le Louvre in Paris. The "mur des je t'aime" is a large ceramic tiled structure in the garden with "I love you" written in 280 languages. A hot spot for honeymooners.
Another gentleman came up. He told me that he was an artist also. He built ukuleles. Another one. That's interesting. I introduced Ludwig to Francois and asked them to step aside so that I could work.
It took me three tries but it finally worked when I tried the grade-school-teacher-you've -been -bad- boys-intonation.
I really was feeling the amazing energy. A group of very tall loud Latin Americans approached me.
We're looking for Notre Dame. I laughed. No. You're looking for Sacre Coeur. The leader turned to his companions. We're looking for Sacre Coeur.
"That will do." The leader responded. I began to get weary and turned my brushes over to Carmela.
Posts
