Beth Arnold

Jours of Our Lives: 17) THE ENCHANTED WEEKEND

 

An ongoing series about uprooting our lives in America and moving to  France. For what's  happened before, see previous Jours of Our Lives entries here.

 

IT’S BEEN HARD to find that grounded place within myself in the last few weeks. First, I was working very hard. Then the house sold, and I felt rudderless and fearful. I had to feel the emotion, breathe it in and understand this chosen loss in a more visceral way than I had before.  I believe I’ve been able to do it with some success. I’m moving ahead.

I went shopping for Blair’s birthday and filled a box with goodies for her—meats and sweets,
crackers and cookies, books, bijoux, and clothes. I wrapped every gift with fuchsia, chartreuse, and purple crepe papers and tied them with red and green bows. We piled the cache of birthday booty in a carton I’d snagged from a store and mailed it through the French postal service, paying for priority delivery. This was my daughter’s first birthday in 22 years that I haven’t thrown some sort of party, and it was important that our good wishes and surprises arrive on time. It was a festive cadeau!

Letter from Paris presents...Paris Fashion Report

Image via Wikipedia

 

By Contributing Editor Philippe Perisse de Montchenu, Fashion Reporter and Consultant

 

THE 800 DOLLAR QUESTION: THE SUIT

THIS MONTH I needed a suit. So, after trying all the quick and cheap options, I started to think that it would be a good idea to invest in THE suit.

You know, this classical and basic piece that one needs in ones wardrobe. I once had a cool Gucci summer suit…but, as a rule of thumb, if it is perfect for yachting at IBIZA, it is not ideal for professional interviews.

Jours of Our Lives: 16) LETTING GO

An ongoing series about uprooting our lives in America and moving to France. For what's  happened before, see previous   Jours of Our Lives entries here.

WE GOT AN offer on our house. It wasn’t as much as we’d hoped for; not as much as we needed. But both our Realtor and our accountant advised us to accept it. So, with much anguish, we said yes. That night I cried in bed.

Now the movers were coming to our house in Little Rock to give us a bid. The whole idea threw me into a tailspin that left me scrubbing the oven in this borrowed house, while tears dripped from my nose into the toxic foam. Can you imagine how much I hate cleaning an oven? I was reduced to this horror, the most onerous domestic bore, to find some relief from worry over my furniture and other belongings.

 
Cover of magazine story about us

Frida was purring: But sweetie, we’re in France! Nothing else matters.

Letter from Paris presents...The Sound Hunter

Image via Wikipedia

 

STREET MUSIC IN THE FAUBOURG SAINT-ANTOINE

 by Contributing Editor Des Coulam. Recording the street sounds of Paris attempting to capture that gratuitous, never-ending show for which no ticket is needed.

WALKING ALONG THE RUE du Faubourg Saint-Antoine from Bastille towards L'hôpital Saint-Antoine, past the clutch of wonderful half-hidden passageways, it’s easy to slip back in time.  Since the 13^th century the Faubourg Saint-Antoine has been full of artisans plying their trade. An exemption from the Medieval guild membership and the associated fees and taxes attracted carpenters, cabinetmakers, blacksmiths, ironworkers and a variety of other craftsmen to the area. Even today, if it’s furniture you want, the Faubourg Saint-Antoine is the place to be.

Jours of Our Lives: 15) A PART OF SOMETHING

An ongoing series about uprooting our lives in America and moving to France. For what's  happened before, see previous Jours of Our Lives entries here.

 

AFTER FOUR DAYS in the house, and I literally didn’t walk outside for three, we decided it was time to start exploring this part of Brittany. One evening we drove into Auray to the port of St-Goustan. The St-Goustan Quartier is very old and charming, with the River Auray and 15^th-century houses still standing, including one where Benjamin Franklin stayed when he came to France to negotiate a treaty with the French in 1776. Now Le Relais Franklin is a crêperie. Other restaurants and cafés line the quay. It was very dark and quiet on this night, but I understand it can be quite lively in season.

Plaque, image via Wikipedia

Letter from Paris presents... Paris EyePhone

 

SPRINGTIME IN PARIS

 

By Contributing Editor Mario C. Servin, iPhone Photographer and Traveling Economist

 

Spring is here? 
This little wonder of a snuff box by Victoire de Castellane (of Dior Haute Joallerie)  depicting flowers in a coital embrace is now on display at Gagosian Gallery, Paris. The glossy lacquered-silver leaves of the flowers on a heart-shaped jade box, although seductive,  leave me longing for spring of the natural variety. This precious little piece brings haute joallerie to the temple of high art. I love the idea, but can't wait for spring to bloom for real!

 

iPhone photo by Mario C. Servin.

Letter From Paris: The New Les Halles

Image by Éole via Flickr

 

I am a lover of Les Halles, the area in the center of Paris that from the 12th Century until the 1970's was devoted to the selling of food--the central market--that was a cornucopia of fresh goods that arrived in Paris from the fields and villages of France every morning. For five years, I lived by the most divine Place des Victoires, and Les Halles was a hop, skip, and a jump away from me. At first the mammoth beast that Les Halles was and still is was confusing to me, but I learned her paths, discovered the riches of her neighborhoods, and bathed in her history. I felt the deep vibe of France--her people and land in the earth and sky there.

I never saw the enormous pavilions of iron and glass that Napoleon III commissioned from architect Victor Baltard, constructed between 1854 - 1874, to organize and house the different markets. I wish I had. This was the Les Halles that Emile Zola wrote of in his wonderful novel The Belly of Paris. This was a part of Paris that shouldn't have been torn down, in my opinion.

Les Halles, image via Wikipedia

Over the years and since Les Halles' 1970's renovation, it has been criticized as not only ugly but as a haven for unsavory characters. As a former resident of the neighborhood, I would like to point out I found the underground shopping center really handy, loved the movie theaters there, and was never afraid although I did not randomly walk through there during the weird times in a city that bad things can happen anywhere. Not saying problems don't exist...just that people need street sense no matter where they're navigating. And as for Les Halles's ugliness, I'll just say that that what is the most unattractive are the tacky, bad 70's buildings that circle Les Halles.

Jours of Our Lives: 14) THE BORROWED HOME

 

An ongoing series about uprooting our lives in America and moving to France. For what's  happened before, see previous Jours of Our Lives entries here.

 

WE MET ALICE at a boulangerie in her village of Auray, where she lives when she’s not working at Gallerie Daniel Besseiche in Paris. We jumped out of the car and hugged like we hadn’t seen one another in years, instead of weeks; then we got back in and followed her to the lent house that she had so generously arranged for us to use for a month. Here Jim would actually begin writing his book.

The road wound through a housing development, around a curve, and out into pastureland. Finally Alice slowed down and made a left turn through a big blue gate. It was a country house, maybe once a farmhouse, with a patio and outbuildings. When Alice opened the front door, we  entered a house that was large and lovely, old but not ancient. The owners had redone it beautifully. A modern and good-looking kitchen with tile floors is open to the dining area, which has a long table and lots of chairs—ideal for a dinner party. The owner’s paintings—his own work—adorn the downstairs walls with grace and vitality, a range of solid technique and styles. I’m going to call the living room Primal Breton, with hints of Africa and 30’s chic. In the four upstairs bedrooms (including two for kids), modern furniture is mixed with antiques. In other words, we liked this English couple just from their stuff. What a place and space to work!

Letter from Paris presents...Paris Art Market Buzz

Image via Wikipedia

By Contributing Editor Paul Paradis, Art Historian, Specialist Consultant in French Furniture and Decorative Arts

Drouot’s Dirty Laundry

Paris weather has been unexpectedly bright and clear this week after a long period of grey winter frostiness, and the mood in the auction world seems accordingly rather upbeat.  The specialized art press recently released optimistic auction results for 2010 and reminded us that Paris is regaining her rightful place on the international art and auction scene, the top ten auction houses in Paris having enjoyed a 41 per cent increase in sale activity over 2009.  The Paris opening of a new gallery by contemporary art demigod Larry Gagosian (in the building flanking Christie’s) last fall all but sealed her newfound international reputation.  Although rather begrudgingly if one paid heed to the snobbish coverage the opening received from some bitter journalists who were happy to drink his champagne. 

Letter From Paris: Meet The Neighbors -- Sarah Bernhardt

Sarah Bernhardt as Hamlet, Image via Wikipedia

 

Once the curtain is raised, the actor ceases to belong to himself. He belongs to his character, to his author, to his public. He must do the impossible to identify himself with the first, not to betray the second, and not to disappoint the third.

--Sarah Bernhardt

 

A few days ago, the Lone Wolf and I were taking a morning constitutional around the hallowed ground of Père Lachaise.  It was a rare winter day in Paris with the sun shining bright in crisp blue skies, and the cemetery, which is more like a posh gated community, was full of visitors who had come to see the famous residents who rest there.  

We happened upon a charming Moroccan woman--an engineer--and her lawyer brother who were looking for the singer Edith Piaf.  They were a long way from the Sparrow, so L.W. and I decided to lead them in the right direction.  On the way, we took a turn by "the most famous actress the world has ever known"--and certainly was in the19th Century--Sarah Bernhardt.  The Moroccan couple did not know her.  Time is fleeting, and the memories of man are short.  Universal consciousness is brimming with the energies of brilliant artists who made the earth greener and stars shine brighter in our skies, who enriched the world that we all live in, but are lost and forgotten now.

Ms. Bernhardt may not be forgotten in history, but I decided it was time to relight her flame.

 

Sarah Bernhardt, image via Wikipedia