Paris, day XI: Vanves and beyond

Seen at the Vanves market:
I wish I had a service like this. I would give up everything else, and just use this.  Perhaps one day.

Also seen, and badly suffered over, was this painting:

I fall badly for paintings. Especially paintings with bold 1960s blues. Especially if they are of that Don Quixote sort of thing. I simply died for this piece, and half of it was about the use of yellow. SO BOLD.

The frame was heavy; the piece was magnificent, and large. Maybe three feet tall. I would have bought it in a second, if it was remotely sensible. As it is, I suffer over it. And probably will forever.

Tomorrow, assuming it is not raining and also assuming Danielle feels well again (she started feeling poorly this evening, which is REALLY not fair, because she and Matt just got engaged last night, on their balcony, in freaking Paris, and that is very romantic and no one should feel ill the next day) we will return to the huge flea market, the Marches aux Puces, and perhaps once again see Laurent (above) who had another beautiful painting I adored, a little piece showing La Madeleine and her flower market, in winter.

Tonight, after a lovely day of shopping Vanves, having lunch, and touring Montmartre, I bought macarons and met my friend Paul up at the Sacre Coeur and we had dinner with Doriot.

And a lovely day was had by all.

Feel better, Danielle!

12 thoughts on “Paris, day XI: Vanves and beyond

  1. You look radiantly happy and your prose bears it out….minor observation for your consideration – old rare bakelite cutlery is more packable than a painting, less fragile, and can be used and loved every day….*G* – Christina (PS – did you know that’s my favourite cookie – they look so YUMMMMMMMMMM!)

  2. I haven’t been to Paris since the early 80’s. We stayed in my cousin’s apartment on the Left Bank.
    I wore a blue jean minskirt, a cropped t shirt and red kitten heels.The chic Parisians probably thought I was demented.
    We went out dancing every night after having Veuve Cliquot Gold and going to dinner at 10. The sun was still out at 10 PM, as I recall. The sight was like seeing a city gently brushed with soft gold everywhere you looked.
    Where my cousin was living was quite amazing, It was an incredible small building with an inner courtyard. You unlocked a big black iron gate to enter it. Oscar Wilde had once lived there.
    My cousin had two stories to his apartment, which he owned, with a spiral staircase and beautiful marble floors. He had a geat collection pf art as he used to hang out with Andy Warhol as a kid and just had good taste anyway,
    I spent all my money on the first day I arrived in Paris and had a lovely time.

    I have been following most of your posts and enjoying them.We all got a stomach bug here for a bit.

    You are wearing a blue and yellow scarf in this post. BUY THE PAINTING–IT is AN AUGUR> sp? AUGRE? darn I wish they had spell check on blog comments. AUGer.The painting is blue and yellow!!!

    What on earth is the story with the macaron fad? I even got some in my ice cream in a limited edition last week.I don’t even eat ice cream! Are they really that good? I couldn’t tell! HA! iF MINE HAD BEEN PINK, i WOULD HAVE BEEN ABLE TO TELL… or , even, blue. As Alfred Hithcock one said, “There isn’t enough BLUE food!”<–Jim told me this.
    It is 5:30 AM and I need to go back to sleep. I enjoyed this blathering on however.

    Much happiness to your friend.It istotally romantic, like something out of Gigi, my fav. movie.
    best wishes, jean

  3. aaacckk! the fabulous kids chairs!! (I collect them) Everything has sounded so wonderful, why do people say Paris is full of crabby unhappy residents?

    • Because, honestly, I think they bring their own prejudice, discomfort and expectations.
      I find that if I am polite and respectful, and of course friendly, people are friendly right back.
      Now to be fair, there are grumpy people everywhere, but I just avoid them, whether I am in New Jersey or Paris.

    • I belive something else in addition:
      if you really TRY to speak French and you REALLY let go of your inhibitiions about how lousy your accent is, and attempt to make yourself sound as French as you can and not like a foreigner speaking French, they will love you. Even if all you know is “merci” (thank you), but you take care to pronounce it as properly as you can, and not ike a World Wide federation wrsterler with marbles in his mouth. No one in the whole world can grasp how egocentric Americans can be about languages. It hurts their feelings. They all try to learn English all over the word, and we all sit on our butts not even undesrtanding our own grammar.
      Whoa, jean! It’s only your reflection! <–as Jim says

  4. I yearn for that painting- I especially love how his pokey sword doesn’t even fit in the frame. I’m tempted to get on the Eurostar and try and track it down but I would be distracted on the way.
    p.s. Who is this other Jean- I like her! She talks sense as us Jeans are wont to do

    • Goddamn that painting!!! I loved it so hopelessly hard. I could have had it for 200 Euros, which is still considerably over my budget, which hovers at about $45 for second-hand art. The frame alone was mindbending. And I could have shipped it home. Or hung it in your parent’s pigeonniere…

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