Beth Arnold

Letter From Paris: 14e Pavillion Des Arts et Du Design

Last week, stylist James Leland Day zipped an email over asking if I'd like to present myself at the 14th Pavillion Des Arts et Du Design.  Most pleasantly, he had a ticket for us to get in, which, naturally, is our preferred situation.  I checked it out here online and typed as fast as my fingers could go that I'd be delighted to be his date, which we soon made a triple with our friend artist Theo Edmonds. 

I met up with my boys at the Pavillion, which we entered at the Tuilleries from the rue de Rivoli, stepping into a world inhabited by art and design professionals that were to varying degrees genuinely accessible to snooty.  Which variety do you think fared the best? 

Pretension is the road to nowhere on all my maps.

These are some of the most striking images from the show that was held from March 24 - 28, 2010.

Most handsome piece of furniture, sleek and natural not to mention handy.  I loved this chair, and if I had a fab house along the northern California coast--maybe Sea Ranch--I'd have it positioned with a fantastic sea view.

Chair by Jack Rogers Hopkins, 1973.  $33,000.00.  (Photo by Beth Arnold)

Todd Merrill & Associates, Inc.

65 Bleecker Street at Crosby Street

New York, NY 10012

Phone: +1 212 673-0531

[email protected]

www.merillantiques.com

The World Is Transforming...What About The Catholic Church?

Image via Wikipedia

We are living in extraordinary times.  The world is shifting.  Events such as the global economic crisis, the election of Barack Obama, the earthquake in Haiti, and even the passage of health care legislation in the United States of America have cracked open our brains in the 21st Century.  We have cut the fat of institutions that weren't working (though still not nearly enough in the greedy financial industry).  As we watched terrible human suffering in Haiti, we've had a chance to give new thought to our place on this earth and what we can to do help others.  This is a hard lesson to remember in our fat lives.

The election of Barack Obama has opened the pipes of communication and commerce to a planet that had been blocked in every way imaginable by his predecessor's administration.  Now, conservative leaders and media stars like Rush Limbaugh, S. Palin, and Glenn Beck are so afraid of the beacon of light that many of us see and feel in these days of worldwide evolution that they they'll say or do anything--with no limit to their fear- and hate-mongering tactics--to grasp at controlling the minds of good American men and women.

And now, a religious potboiler has been thrown into our transformational mix.  The Catholic Church is being raked over the coals again for protecting child abusers, and Pope Benedict XVI has been singled out for his personal knowledge of and official protection of some of these offenders in years past.  (Christopher Hitchens wrote a good article at Slate.com about this subject here.  For the record, Hitchens is famously an atheist.) 

The Selling of The American Soul

Crossposted at HuffPo.com.  Comments not included here.

Rachel Maddow spoke Monday in Little Rock at the Clinton School of Public Service. I was told that when she announced the passage of the Health Care Reform legislation the audience rose for a standing ovation, and Maddow said something like, "Does your senator (referring to quasi-Democrat Blanche Lincoln) know you exist in her state?"

I have been away from Arkansas for more than seven years now, and the political landscape has changed dramatically. I would like to remind my readers that in the early 1970's Arkansas had the most powerful delegation in Congress, with Senator John L. McClellan as Chairman of the Senate Appropriations Committee, Senator William Fulbright as Chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, and Congressman Wilbur D. Mills as Chairman of the House Ways and Means Committee--all Democrats and all strong leaders, no namby-pambies among them. The only elected Republican from Arkansas in D.C. at the time was from the northwest corner of our state, where hard-core white survivalists The Covenant, the Sword, and the Arm of the Lord eventually lived and had their siege (in which a surrender was finally negotiated without a firefight) with Federal marshals in 1985. That was the only real Republican part of the state, and look who populated it.

Notice I said white. I want to make a racial identification here, because there is no other color for these misfits. From Wikipedia:

The CSA also had links with other radical organizations, including the Aryan Brotherhood, The Mountain Church, and The Order, all dangerous white supremacist organizations which advocated the violent overthrow of the United States Government.

(For more information about hate groups and civil rights, check out the Southern Poverty Law Center by clicking here.)

Letter From Paris: Where The Wild Things Are

Last Saturday morning, I'd gotten up early to go to my favorite house of natural beauty, Anne Semonin where the facials are fab and the jet lag treatments are luxurious on one's arrival in Paris.  First on my list, getting eyebrows done.  Checked it off. 

I wandered over to Les Halles to see what I could see at some of my favorite stores--Habitat, H & M, and Maison du Monde--not to mention I wanted to peruse the concert schedule at FNAC.  FNAC used to be THE place to discover the music line-up coming to town.  Then they took the old non-tech board down and changed it to digital, which isn't set up as well.  Boo hoo.  But it's still worth a stop.

Now I was headed to the best "gettin' place" in Paris, BHV.  (Shameless plug here.  I just did an interview with new-ish website GirlsGuidetoParis.com that is dedicated to girls who are planning dreamy trips to Paris--or dreaming about Paris.  One of my questions was what store could I not live without.  Yes, it was the old BHV...to see why, you'll have to click here.)

I came up from the depths of Les Halles to a sunlit Saturday and decided to take the short stroll over to BHV.  I have just finished Emile Zola's pleasure-to-read novel, The Belly of Paris, which is all about Les Halles, and I loved it.  His descriptions of the flamboyant fish and feathers of poultry and the charcuterie, where Florent, Quenu, Beautiful Lisa, and plump little Paulette lived, the battles between the fats and the thins, made me see it and smell it and wish I'd touched Les Halles in its glory days.  Wild things lived in Les Halles, and Zola recorded them.  Some were the people who populated the streets, and, frankly, some were rats.

Les Halles

Obamarifix: Barack Almighty

I knew Obama would pull off Health Care Reform!  This is an amazing moment for the USA and all Americans.  A moment when we were fortunate enough to witness our Congress do the right thing, even with tremendous odds against it, and even with the usual crowd choosing their own self-interest above their country and its citizens.

It may not be perfect, but hallelujah and amen!  It's a miracle from ...

Letter From Paris: The Hottest Little Restaurant in Town

Crossposted at HuffPost.com.  Comments not included here.

It is no surprise that there's a whole lot of eating going on in Paris--crispy baguettes, pains du chocolate, and pastries not to mention garlicky escargots, cassoulets, and foie gras and toasts, which is not even getting into the hundreds of buttery cheeses and mounds of rich chocolates that melt so lusciously in our mouths. And there is a culture of people here whose "way of the samurai" is a map to the newest good restaurant in town. Food and wine are their raisons d'être, and they talk about it, live it and breathe it, and some make a living at it.

So when these food people (sorry, but I dislike the term "foodies") find the next hot place, there is a furious flurry of talk and blogs on the new resto in town, which has opened on either side of the Seine. And the weird thing is that it's like the hundredth-monkey effect, when one knows about it, they all do. And the word is mumbled in French and English before being blasted into the mainstream consciousness. They're a team of gastronomic cheerleaders with a bull-horn.

So about a year ago in April, the food people started rumbling about a new place called Frenchie, which happened to be in my neighborhood. (Here, I must admit that the rumble has to turn into a roar before I pay attention to the restaurant openings and closings or will go to the trouble to nab a reservation for a "must eat.") So it took me from last April until January to call Frenchie up. The chef was going to be kind enough to squeeze us in for a late dinner within about a week, but we opted for the routine 8:30 slot, which was available a few weeks later. We met friends Ann and Don there.

Letter From Paris: The Springing of Spring

Spring is beginning to unfold in Paris.  Tiny leaves thrust from their buds on the vine outside my door, and pose themselves in stages of unfurling.  I can see only a few from where I'm sitting now, but I know there will be more and more and more. 

The deep well of cold in which this winter so lovingly embraced us has fled for better climes.  She was quite an icy vixen, which pleased me well.  There is nothing like a cracking cold and clear day or snow falling softly around me, lighting on my tongue and nose.

Baby green is the color of Spring, clear and bright before the sun has given it the blood of light and toughened it. 

Spring at the Monoprix

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Letter From Paris: Beautiful Minds

A great season of exhibitions is upon us.  It is a coming together of beautiful minds being offered up to the citizens and visitors of Paris. 

We always have great shows, of course, but I find this to be a line-up that ranges across cultures, time, and sensibilities that especially appeal to me.  These are artists who have used their brains and talent to (have) evoke(d) potent images that run deep in our consciousness as well as unconscious.  Who better than Lucien Freud (grandson of Sigmund; painting above) to symbolize this artistically?  See list below.

Throughout time, artists have produced the work that compelled them despite the pressures to repeat the status quo.  This is how society pressures us—instead of encouraging us to stand out as our authentic selves.  As I said in my piece on Friday, the real luxury moving forward today is handcrafted people (not stamped with Like Everyone Else) with their own ideas and designs that they are contributing to their cultures and consciousness, and with a solid community behind them.

These are the shows I will definitely see:

1.  Edvard Munch at the Pinacothèque de Paris:  February 19th, and until July 18th, 2010. Munch is one of the most mythical artists but also one of the most mysterious of the end of the 19th-century and early 20th-century.

Death in the Sickroom by Edvard Munch

 

 

Letter From Paris: Celebs Are Out, The Fringe Is In

Crossposted at the HuffPost.com.  Comments not included here.

While Paris Fashion Week was gearing up and its participants were sharpening their stilettos (though hold the presses for the Big New Flash about that: According to a Reuters article, "buyers and designers at Paris fashion week are declaring the end of the celebrity cult." Has Hell frozen over?), I was hurrying down the street to meet my arty friend Louise. For those in the know: Louise has put up a new show at her chic Atelier 7. You don't want to miss it.

Louise and I were headed to a fashionable party. The Mademoiselle à Paris blog--which chronicles the adventures of a "Parisienne" via "Mademoiselle's" fashion and beauty ramblings--was throwing itself a 2nd birthday party. Oh la la! As a charitable part of the bon anniversaire celebration, stylish Parisian buddies e-boutique Je Ne Sais Quoi, leather cuff and other accessories designers Owen&Savary, and jewelry designer Nathalie Sevikian were holding a private sale of their luxury creations and products. A portion of their sales would be given to the Red Cross for Haiti.  Little Miss Cupcake and Synie's Cupcakes were providing the scrumptious hors d'oeuvre sustenance that would allow us guests to enjoy our champagne without its zooming to our heads.

Little Miss Cupcake's cupcakes

While millions of euros were being prepared to be spent on lavish splendorous events to woo the buyers, wearers, and fickle fashion press (with its soon-to-be-dead celebrity culture) of Paris Fashion Week, these smart women had come together to provide their own venue for their own private show, where clients, friends, and journalists would gather to ooh and ah over the quality, materials, and craftsmanship of these very personally chosen and created collections.

Letter From Paris: Loving the Luxe Astier de Vilatte

Synchronicity has recently been drawing me to the rue Saint-Honoré.  Isn't it fantastic when life works that way?  When we let ourselves be open enough to follow the leads that come from natural serendipity or a twist of spontaneous fate--when somehow our interests and desires summon the people, places, and experiences that we actually want and even need.

Okay, I didn't really need to find a new favorite shop, but that's the beauty of it.  After a recent delicious lunch at the L'Ardoise Restaurant on rue Mont Thabor, the Lone Wolf, our friend Mario, and I were strolling along famous fashionista rue Saint-Honoré--which has luxe window-shopping--salivating over this and that as our lustful eyes led us along.  (Though let me just state here that I don't care who applauds it, I don't much like boutique Colette.  It's a trendy so-what in my book.)

When we arrived at the door of Astier de Vilatte, Mario said that we had to go in there. It was a French company, an emporium of hand-crafted delight, and we would want to empty the stores shelves into our pockets or load up the nearest truck (something like that).