Diane Arbus

Diane Nemerov was one of the lucky ones, insulated from the Great Depression because her father owned Russek's, the famous Fifth Avenue department store. She grew up amongst wealth and artists. Her father became a painter when he retired; her sister was a sculptor; and her brother Howard Nemerov would become a US Poet Laureate.

Diane Nemerov married her high school sweetheart, Allan Arbus, and became Diane Arbus.

A visit to the Alfred Stieglitz gallery brought the couple, who already had a budding interest in photography, inspiration. Diane's father hired the couple to do the advertisement for the store. Allan would photograph the war for the U.S. Army Signal Corps and after the war the couple started a commercial photography business.

Though they both hated the fashion world 200 pages of their editorials would make it into Glamour and 80 into the pages of the fabled Vogue. This work has been described as being of "middling quality".

Vogue 1953. Click to view larger image.

In 1956 Diane quit the commercial photography business. Two years later she and Allan separated. They divorced in 1969, but Diane had come well into her own. Her notable photographs, with their sometimes controversal subjects, for which Diane is known and remembered though in 1971 she told Lisette Model (another female photographer) that she "hated them".

On October 18th (until February 5, 2012) the Jeu de Paume will have an exhibition dedicated to Diane's work. This is the first such exhibition in France and will include all her major works and many never viewed before by the public.

I of course am going to be one of the first people in the queue, if I can't get my hands on some tickets for whatever is happening before it opens to the public. Below are some images of Diane's most famous photograph, Boy With Toy Grenade Central Park taken in 1962.

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Some of My New Favourite Things

LUSH

As you know I've been using the 9 to 5 (Matin et Soir) lotion cleanser and I'm still quite pleased with it. Especially when I use it with the Herbalism (Herbalisme), though I have to confess I'm still not pleased overall with Herbalism but I think it's because of my skin type because I use it to exfoliate my hands and I love it for that. Plus I got the Love Lettuce (Balancoire) facial mask which is also exfoliating and have been using that for about 2 weeks now. It leaves my face a little red honestly, but if I use the 9 to 5 to clean my face beforehand, then apply the Love Lettuce mask, leave it so that it's still damp, rinse with coolish water, and then recleanse my face with the 9 to 5 again my skin feels amazing.

Now I also tried the Coco Lotion because they gave me a sample and while I do like the moisture it gives to my skin because it's very hydrating and yet light - I hate the smell. I'm going to ask for a sample of the Karma Kreme next time, but I'm really pleased overall with Lush's products. I just wish they were a little less fragrant.

One added benefit of the Love Lettuce mask? It calms mosquito bites. This alone makes it worth buying in my book. Within seconds the itch was gone.

KLORANE

Klorane's Mink Oil Shampoo and Mink Oil Nourishing Conditioning Balm are my new favourite shampoo and conditioner. Since my hair is fairly long now (to the bottom of my back), it's fairly dry and prone to tangle. I bought this because I'd tried Klorane's mango butter shampoo and conditioning balm and was impressed with some of the results, but it still left my hair a little dry. I decided to give the brand another chance and am I pleased I did. My hair felt as clean and soft and well-moisturised as if I'd just been to the salon and all I did was wash, condition, brush, and let air dry.

Now the one thing I can say against it is it's not recommended for every day use. I don't know how often you wash your hair, but I find washing my hair every 3 days works best for me. Since they recommend 2 intensive treatments with the Milk Oil Shampoo and one regular wash per week, it works out perfectly for me, but if you like to wash your hair more often, you might want to try their Oat Milk Shampoo for every day use.

The website for Klorane has a great guide as well to help you better chose what suits your hair type and if you don't know your hair type they even have a little quiz where you can chose what's your hair concern and they'll make recommendations for you.

My suggestions based on choosing repair & strengthen were for the Mango Butter (repair) and Quinine B (strength) because I don't think the Mink Oil is advertised on the US site. Here are some Google shopping results to get you started in case you'd like to track it down.

Celebrities and stylists and make up artists swear by Klorane's Dry Shampoo, and I agree. As far as dry shampoos go, Klorane's is a great choice. I always brought it with me when I went backpacking along with Bed Head's Leave In Conditioner spray - not to look great, but to keep my hair clean and protect it from damage.

Gwyneth Paltrow, Christina Aguilera, and Sarah Jessica Parker swear by it. As do the girls at French Vogue.

But if you have the same hair issues as  me - longish hair, split ends, thick, coarse, dry - the Mink Oil Shampoo & Balm are the way to go.

NUXE

Nuxe's Huile Prodigieuse is a dream product. I use it usually from fall - spring as in summer my skin isn't all that dry. I like to use it on my hands and neck as well as on my face once a week as a sort of "treatment". It's amazing for feet too. I also use it as a hair treatment by rubbing it through the ends of my hair and wearing my hair up for the day and washing normally later. If you own either the Bliss hand or foot gloves, this works amazingly well with those as well. If you don't own the Bliss hand and foot gloves it's time to invest. Once a week and your hands and feet with be perfectly hydrated. If only they had something similar for the face and neck.

I also swear by Nuxe's hand lotion. It's perfect for carrying around to apply during the day.

Here's a few other things that might not be available outside of France, but are worth a look.

Roger&Gallet - their perfumes are becoming more and more impressive and cost half of what designer perfumes cost. I have a friend who wears a perfume of theirs and I'm always intrigued. You can find their perfumes in nicer Parisian pharmacies or Sephora.

Annick Goutal - I don't know what it is but whenever someone is wearing an Annick Goutal perfume I love it. There's this workshop you can do at their Paris Avenue Victor Hugo boutique on Mondays and Tuesday. The cost is 25,00 euros, which can be put towards the cost of a perfume (min. 80,00 euros)purchased on the same day. Though I suspect with the right amount of interest, you could probably get the same sort of service in the boutique without spending 25,00 euros as most of the Annick Goutal perfumes aren't 80,00 euros and save yourself a little money.

Actually I find the idea of proposing it as a gift kind of stupid as I'm sure they must try and sell something in the process and that wouldn't be so fun for the person you sent to be possibly pressured into a purchase. I think I'll need to pop by the boutique (which I never went to when I lived just around the corner because I'm stupid) to see what it's like.

If you'd like to buy Annick Goutal perfumes for a cause, stop by MERCI the charity shop on Boulevard Beaumarchais (Filles du Calvaire) where 4 of the signature Goutal scents are available at 40% off the regular cost and for a good cause too!

Doc Martens

I had a few pairs of Doc Martens back when I was in my teens, but what I'm nostalgic for is my first pair of Docs - the 30th anniversary edition that was sent to me by a boy I was dating from Ireland. They arrived 2 sizes too big because I didn't think about what a 37 was in UK sizing, but I still wore them until I got myself a pair that was the proper size. Like many of us who were teens in the grunge era, we probably put them away until they came back last year (as the 90's seems to be doing in fashion now).

The other day my pseudo little sister, 18 years old, showed up to visit me wearing a pair of patent leather Docs and the urge came over me. I went to the Doc Marten store at Les Halles and tried them on. I must be getting old because I don't remember them feeling like they needed so much breaking in, even though I also remember having a friend run over a green pair with his car...

I decided in the end that I didn't want the original 1460's and I didn't want them in patent leather either. I'm going with the Pascal because I like the slight gloss of the leather. I'm going to buy them from the boutique and start breaking them in immediately, though I'll also be bringing other shoes, band-aids, and extra pairs of socks with me. I want to break them in before Amsterdam because one thing I realised (when I pulled a muscle) last time was that I need good walking shoes from Amsterdam.

I figure since I want to pack light I could bring Docs and lots of black clothes so I can just mix and match. I hate when I'm packing to leave from somewhere and I realise how many things I packed but didn't wear. This time I'm packing to have plenty of extra room in my suitcase because I can always shop and do laundry while I'm away.

Just over two weeks to break in a pair of Doc Martens... I suppose it can be done. Maybe I can get my neighbour to run over them with his car...

Is there anything you absolutely love right now? Or crave?

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Paris Days

I couldn't find my checkbook to write a check for my dog's lab work (she has a defective thyroid) and since I couldn't pay by bank card my only option was to go and pay it in person, in cash.

I woke up it was 10 in the morning and the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was that the sky was a most unlovely shade of grey.

The weather here is merde. I would expect more sympathy since it's July and I live in what is supposedly an area of France that is supposed to have seasons, which the last time I checked included one with a much hotter average temperature and sun and is known as "summer", but according to friends in County Tyrone in Nothern Ireland, London, Amsterdam, and Barcelona I am merely suffering the same grey and rain along with everyone else.

I rarely get to just to flâner the day away, sadly, but I do find moments to take my seemingly pointless strolls even if it's just strolling in the direction of the next place I have to be. Today was a difficult day. I went for a little dig through some vintage clothing and then strolled down the boulevard Rochechouart towards Pigalle for the purpose of finding some sneakers, and then I strolled on towards the Castorama at Place de Clichy because it seemed a more efficient option than going to the Leroy Merlin at the Pompidou.
There I was paying for my chalkboard paint and all the other little odds and ends I needed to realise my chalkboard project for my Home Improvement Week, and the bank card gets declined. Not because there isn't plenty of money, but because BNP PARIBAS SUCKS. Three days ago they called offering all kinds of cards and advantages and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah - and now despite having the money I've just been humiliated at a hardware store during the mad rush hour when all the workers come to buy their supplies. MERCI FUCKING BEAUCOUP BNP PARIBAS.

I am forced to dig out everything I packed into bags and put it back on the counter. Once the money was withdrawn in cash and the purchases were paid for I decided to pay BNP Paribas a little visit.

Now there are ways to get things done in France and I'm going to explain to you one method. This method entails having on a nice outfit. If you know you look acceptable, then march right the hell into the place where you have decided to unleash your wrath, but it must be done in the "proper" way. Descartes was from France and we French have never forgotten it, so there is in theory, a proper way to do just about everything. Sometimes there are many proper ways to do the same task depending on the number of people you talk to, but don't get confused. The concept of there being a proper way to do everything is just the way it is for most French people.

So begin by being excessively polite. If the person tries to be more polite than you, don't let them. Apologise for not being polite enough. Here's an example:

Sales Associate: But Madame, I apologise for any inconvenience.
You: And I apologise to you Sir for having to come here and bring this to your attention.

Apologise for not being polite enough and self-depricate yourself in a way that suggest you think you're the problem, but not really.

You: It must be me. Maybe I didn't use my card properly. I've only been banking with you for six years.

When the person catches on to your sarcasm, then you unleash just un petit peu of your fury.

You: Wait a minute, I have been banking with you for six years, and how is it I have this problem?

Now raising your voice is a very, very serious thing to do in France. It means you want to draw attention to yourself and the situation you're in. Today the sales associate at BNP Paribas said to me after I unleashed just the tiny, tiniest bit of my fury, "Calmez-vous Madame", which is the last attempt in such a situation that the sales associate has to make you look ridiculous. If you allow the sales associate to make you look ridiculous (even if there is no one else around), you lose. If you manage to make the sales associate look either ridiculous, stupid, impolite, or like they're not fooling you one bit then you win.

I won. I don't always, but today I did. I got him to admit that my problem was something that at his level he couldn't do anything to help me about and I immediately apologised for forcing him to admit it. He then arranged an appointment with the bank's manager and I did the last step - I asked him to tell his manager that I came in with a problem and that the manager should be prepared to address my concerns at our appointment.

Why do you do this? For starters it means he has to mention it to his manager because if you mention it to his manager first that sales associate is going to have a problem and you want the manager to know because he'll be more inclined to give you what you want. In my case I want them to reconfigure my account to the way I want it. If the manager is a smart guy and wants to keep my business, he'll be willing to meet me at least halfway if I give him the head's up that I expect him to review my account and give me an answer the day we meet. Secondly it shows the sales associate you mean business so since that is "my bank" I'll likely see him in the future and when I'm polite and show no hint of what transpired, it is in the French mentality to show a lot of graciousness towards the person who was in the right but isn't going to point out a previous mistake.

I marched out of the bank feeling like a million euros, which of course even if I had at that moment I couldn't have withdrawn because BNP Paribas sucks.

From there I sort of lost my stride though. I took a bus when I could have walked 3 minutes to the Metro I needed to take and the clock was ticking. If I didn't make it to this place I had to take my dog's centrifuged blood sample by 5 o'clock it might be no good. I stayed on the bus when I could have gotten off at yet another stop, but finally on the third attempt I got off at Gare St. Lazare and took the Line 3 to Metro Temple.

I was shocked to see that the Marché du Temple, a long Parisian monument to the much rarer indoor markets was under massive construction. Just the iron skeleton of her beautiful Art Nouveau bones remained. The rest was picked clean. I snapped pictures of her poorly attended funeral. (Sorry, but this is my eulogy to a building I loved even when the only thing they sold in her market was horrible leather jackets that looked like they should have been worn by IRA goons in 1970.)

But what I do love about Paris, despite my many, many complaints is that just when something heartbreaking happens to her; she shows you she's got plenty of other charms on her Cartier bracelet. Today that was the place I had to go today. The whole point of it really.

In the Marais behind a door I can't even remember was a one of the greatest courtyards I have seen in Paris to date. Not in the best shape mind you, but wow none the less.

The clinic was on the second floor off the grand escalier. I walked up well-worn stone steps (that were rounded towards their centers) through real stone walls with archways and little hidden stairwells that spiraled up towards the roof after passing through a cobbled courtyard with a table and chairs and two rows of single story ateliers with metal facades and great windows that were painted white for privacy (or to save money on curtains).

The woman was so nice! She thanked me for coming all the way and had a beautiful smile. I told her I thought the building was beautiful and she told me,"yes because it's not young like the other buildings in this quarter". I snapped pictures on my way down of the best bits.

I didn't take any of the courtyard because someone came in and I felt like I might invade someone's privacy.

I decided as I pushed open the door back on to the street to pass by La Fougasse on rue du Bretagne because they have two things I love there: fougasse-inspired pizza bread and pain des morts, a bread from a region of Corsica that is a dark bread roll with nuts and raisins and as they say "tres apprecie des vivants" - much appreciated by the living. It's the only place I've ever found it in Paris and it's really delicious if you layer thin slices of jambon sec and tomato between two butter slathered pieces. This is exactly what I was thinking of when I strolled up the street.

But then out of the corner of my eye I saw a tiny little shop. Close inspection proved it to be an atelier des relieures, a bookmaking shop. I started writing down information when a nice lady opened the door and started telling me everything about what taking a course there was like - how I'd learn every aspect of the art (in France bookmaking is still considered a métier - a craft) and how she would guide me every step of the way so I would have a beautiful book I made with my own two hands.

After the catastrophic attempt to make River Song's Tardis notebook from Doctor Who that made me think momentarily of the Hindenberg - I'm really considering taking the class. Not only is the woman fantastic, but she has an infectious amount of enthusiasm. Plus I could make the Tardis notebook in leather. I have until September to decide because she's off for the holidays, so I promised I'd call her and she made me promise I'd stop by even just to watch and I wished her a bonnes vacances - good vacation.

I was back on the scent of La Fougasse and my beloved bread, but sadly it was closed for the summer. I was starving since I didn't eat a thing all day so I considered walking to Arts et Metier to have Chinese food (some of the best Northern Chinese cuisine restaurants in Paris are around here), but in the end I had a lamb kebab on rue de Rosiers that was so massive I couldn't finish it.

I stalled about heading home by going to a few vintage shops and a few kitchen shops.

La Chienne was pretty happy to see me and that helped. Plus the day wasn't boring. It could have been worse.

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London, Paris, and Amsterdam

Yesterday my friend arrived from London so we went out on the town. We had to - we stayed at Amnesia (owned by Barney's try the Acapulco Gold) until 22h30 and by the time she dropped off her bags it was too late to eat almost anywhere. Thankfully we headed towards Warmoerstraat and there was a Wok to Walk open. I have to say as far as fast food concepts go - Wok to Walk is brilliant.

Wow. I didn't realise Wok to Walk had so many locations...

Came back to the flat and watched Tosh.0 and old episodes of Married with Children.

We spent a great deal of time my friend and me talking about the crazy circumstances in which we met and how we used to pass the time together in London. L is one of those amazing types. She's brilliant, witty, has some many varied interests, and is a Scouser (from Liverpool) to boot.

One of my favourite stories that is L-centric is once in Islington while waiting for the pedestrian walk sign to indicate I could walk, I took a second too long and this girl behind me said "Hurry up you fat cow."

Needless to say I told her she was quite clever, but I was pretty mad. Who does that? So I hurried to meet L and G and M (my London mates) at the nearby bar where I'd coaxed them to meet me for some mid-afternoon champers (actually Bolly-Stolly's which are an Ab Fab reference to a drink Patsy likes of Bollinger champagne and Stoly vodka) on my expense account. I arrived and had a rant about this stranger, and a few minutes later when she walked by, I had to point her out.

"You're brilliant you. Yes you!" L shouted at the girl. "Don't pay her any mind," L said to me reassuringly and then raising her voice so that the girl would overhear, "she's got a face like a well-slapped arse. Like she should be saying anything about anyone."

It's thanks to Lisa that I've seen Black Books. Or have this vivid portrait of what life was like in Northern England in the late 70's & 80's (Thatcher, Thatcher, the milk snatcher) - my favourite time period of music that gave birth to The Clash, The Jam, The Sex Pistols, Madness, and of course The Smiths.

And that's when I remembered when I knew L would be more than someone I was introduced to by a mutual friend. There's a Light that Never Goes Out. Taking the night bus from Soho to Old Street I mentioned to L how I always wanted to ride the night bus while people sang in unison. So she started singing. P joined in. A few other nameless strangers roused from their drunkeness and sang along. The bus driver joined in and I followed him.

When after the first time we met L, G, and P came to Paris for the wedding of the mutual friend who introduced us we went out for big steaks and to watch the World Cup match France vs. Brazil. When France won we all marched up the rue Rivoli to the Place Etoile. We stayed out until 3 in the morning drinking champers and cheering every time we encountered someone on the street all the way back to the old house. Right after I typed that line, the song "Back to the Old House" started playing...coincidence...

L mentions to me there's a version of Morrissey singing "Every Day is like Sunday" that brings her to tears. So I'm dedicating this to her. She came from London to hang with me here in A'dam and even though a little ditty does hardly do, it's a little something anyways. Not that I want to make you cry. But to say hey girleen, I get why ya do.

Look at the Moz ham it up for his hometown. One day I will see Morrissey in Manchester and L will most assuredly be by my side.

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The Banquet Years of Apollinaire, Alfred Jarry, Henri Rousseau, and Erik Satie

I cannot possibly write a review of Roger Shattuck's book "The Banquet Years: The Origins of the Avant-Garde in France 1885 to World War I without including the quote from Plato's Symposium (also sometimes translated as Banquet) found on the very first page.

. . . there remained awake only Socrates, Aristophanes, and Agathon, who were drinking out of a large goblet which they passed around, and Socrates was discoursing to them.  Aristodemus did not hear the beginning of the discourse, and he was only half awake, but the chief thing which he remembered was Socrates insisting to the other two that the genius of comedy was the same as that of tragedy, and that the writer of tragedy ought to be a writer of comedy also.

Roger Shattuck's book The Banquet Years is a book devoted to five subjects: Henri Rosseau, the self taught painter who would influence Picasso, Léger, Jean Hugo, Beckmann, and the Surrealists; Alfred Jarry, who is most famous for his play Ubu Roi (King Ubu) and its rather famous opening word "merde" that caused a quarter of an hour of pandemonium with the traditional theater attending public booing and jeering while the avant-garde countered with cheers and applause; Guillaume Apollinaire (Wilhelm Albert Włodzimierz Apolinary Kostrowicki), who is accredited as the coiner of the term "Surrealism", Apollinaire was the impressario of the avant-garde, who met his end of the very last day of the first World War; and Erik Satie, the true progenitor of "Musak" with his 1920 manifesto advocating "musique d'ameublement" (furniture music), the brilliant composer that beat both Debussy and Ravel in the race to create modern music, and brought together in his own way the avant-garde, Surrealists, the Dadaists, and the old and the new.

Shattuck states in the Preface (to the Vintage Edition),

"Then came the idea - a kind of gambler's hunch that the trio Rousseau-Satie-Apollinaire represented several significant aspects of the period and could reveal them better than any single figure. . . Within a few weeks Jarry had forced his way into the group and established himself close to the center of things. He helped me clarify my underlying subject: how the fluid state known as bohemia, a cultural underground smacking of failure and fraud, crystallized for a few decades into a self-conscious avant-garde that carried the arts into a period of astonishingly varied renewal and accomplishment."

It all started with a funeral. On May 22, 1885 French literature was dealt a tremendous blow with the death of Victor Hugo (who received his letters addressed à Monsieur Hugo, sur son avenue - to Mr. Hugo on his avenue after they renamed the Avenue d'Elyau Avenue Victor Hugo in his honour). More than two million people joined in his funeral procession from the Arc de Triomphe to the Panthéon where he was laid to rest beside Alexandre Dumas, who was buried only fifteen years before. The endless procession included several brass brands, every political and literary figure of the day (like Zola who would also be buried in the same crypt as Hugo and Dumas), speeches, and numerous deaths in the crowd of the mourners. A church had been unconsecrated. No monarch ever had such a funeral.

Victor Hugo's funeral procession in a hearse of the "people" as he demanded in his will.

Paris had just had a lot "done". Baron Haussmann was the ultimate Svengali, preparing his ingenue for her ultimate role in la belle epoque. Every theater, avenue, cafe, and street corner would be her stage. Paris would become the Muse for art, literature, theater, fashion, and how to live the good life.

Unlike most celebrities, Paris is fairly open about having had work done.

Of all the stages set for her, the most demanding was that of the salon. The new Napoleonic aristocracy had replaced the old. The most elevated member of the new nobility, Princesse Mathilde Bonaparte, Napoleon's niece, did not mince her words: "The French revolution? Why, witout it I'd be selling oranges in the streets of Ajaccio." Princesse Mathilde cultivated" the great minds of Gautier, Flaubert, and Renan to her dangerously liberal salon. During the Third Republic she began receiving Alexandre Dumas (fils), Henri de Régnier, Maupassant, and Anatole France at her house on the rue de Berri. The same house would later be the Belgian embassy and it's next door neighbour would be fashion designer and rival of Madame Coco herself, Elsa Schiaparelli who was heavily influenced by the Surrealists, most notably by Salvador Dali and Jean Cocteau.

Elsa Schiaparelli, lobster painted by Dali, made for Wallis Simpson.

Elsa Schiaparelli with details by Jean Cocteau.

Paris is nothing if not the cleverest of ladies. Knowing she could not conquer the salon, she used her new face lift to attract new admirers to the cafés. Here anyone could sit for the price of a drink. This singular idea would give birth to the café culture that still exists today. Here artists and writers could meet and exchange ideas. Impressionism came from The Café Guerbois on Avenue de Clichy thanks to Manet who was often joined by Zola, Bazille, Latour, Degas, Monet, Renoir, and Sisley with Cezanne and Pissaro visiting from time to time. Together the group was known as Les Batignolles, named for the area where the cafe was located. At the Nouvelle Athènes on Place Pigalle (torn down in 2004) one could find Matisse and Van Gogh. Degas painted L'Absinthe here. The Napolitain, the Weber (a favourite hang out of Henry Miller), the Vachette - all the cafés of Paris were full of people putting their glasses and minds together.

L'Absinthe on display at the Orsay Museum in Paris that was once booed off the easel and thus kept in storage for nearly 20 years.

With that much talking go on and amongst so many gifted minds, it is inevitable that a quarrel should occur but none more bizarre than the one between Count Montesquiou and Henri Regnier. After the new cinematographe of the Lumiére brothers caused a fire at the Bazar de la Charité in 1897 that led to the death of a few prominent French aristocrats a quarrel broke out between Count Robert de Montesquiou and the symbolist poet Henri de Regnier and all over a cane.


It was rumoured after the fire at the Bazar that some of the upper-crust youths used their canes to clear a path for themselves out of the fire, abandoning their lady companions. Upon meeting Count Montesquiou at the Baron de Rothchild's, Regnier's two sisters-in-law made a comment about the count's cane, even though he had not been present. Regnier himself added some comments about how dashing the count would look with a muff or a fan. Montesquiou demanded satisfaction, choosing pistols.

But Regnier claimed to have said, on the contrary. "There are two things I wish I could use - a fan in the summer and a muff in the winter". The offender became the offended and chose swords. The poet proved as mighty with a sword in his hands as with a pen and wounded the count. They both refused to be reconciled.

Dueling or demanding satisfaction were not uncommon during the age. The newspapers announced each day's affaires d'honneur, with interviews from the seconds as to what had and had not happened. Engagements were fought untl the first blood flowed only. Fatal duels were rare though sometimes death was only just avoided as in the case of Catulle Mendes who almost lost his life defending Sarah Bernhardt's right to play Hamlet.

But despite these fanciful things in 1885 Paris there was a need for fresh outlets of expression that was met in part by the new literary reviews, the Salon des Independants, and the private gatherings of artists such as Mallarmé's mardis (Tuesdays) and Edmond de Goncourt's grenier (attic). The pressure was building up - and the effects would go farther than just the limits of Paris.

The year was 1913. Cubism was now in London and DH Lawrence published Sons and Lovers. 1913 is the year that Joyce would send in Dubliners for publication. In New York, in Italy, in anywhere that mattered things were starting to happen, but in 1913 Paris everything was happening at once.

Apollinaire was writing about Cubism and sitting for portrats; Satie was composing music that would be later pumped into elevators; the pistol of Alfred Jarry the pataphysician was now being carried around by Picasso after Jarry died of tuberculosis after years of drinking and drugging in 1907; Rosseau would die three years later and be buried in the same cemetary as Jarry outside of Paris. Apollinaire would compose his epitaph that Brancusi would chisel on to his tombstone:

We salute you Gentle Rousseau you can hear us.
Delaunay, his wife, Monsieur Queval and myself.
Let our luggage pass duty free through the gates of heaven.
We will bring you brushes paints and canvas.
That you may spend your sacred leisure in the
light and Truth of Painting.
As you once did my portrait facing the stars, lion and the gypsy

The Dream, the last painting of Henri Rousseau painted just before his death.

Ubu Roi, Alfred Jarry.

Apollinaire painted by Maurice Vlaminck. "Faut-il qu’il m’en souvienne
La joie venait toujours après la peine..." Our loves recall how then after each sorrow joy came back again".

Erik Satie's first published composition,  Gymnopédies No. 1.

With the exception of the Renaissance, the avant-garde was a time when writers, artists, and musicians lived and worked together and tried their hands at each other's arts in an atmosphere of constant collaboration. But the avant-garde years, The Banquet Years as Shattuck calls them were more than a period, more than just a movemement. It was, as Shattuck puts it in Chapter Two: "a way of life, both dedicated and frivolous.  The question is where to look, where to concentrate one's attention in order to distinguish its form and details." Shattuck mentions in his footnote that Edmund Wilson's Axel's Castle and Marcel Raymond's De Baudelaire au surréalisme are worth a read, but one couldn't go wrong to read "The Banquet Years" (or at least purchase it for its footnotes and bibliography.

* I would like to comment here that while Satie's work in music did eventually lead to modern day Musak, his compositions are well worth a listen and can easily be listened to on Deezer. Please don't let your experienced with Neil Diamond "Musak" at grocery stores dissuade you.

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Some French rappers ask me for fashion advice

Today while waiting for my train to London I was approached by a French guy, probably no more than 20 years old asking if I wanted to buy a CD of his rap group Serieux Bizness. We get to talking about music and New York city. I tell them I used to live in Jay-Z's old hood and he's impressed.

He changes the topic to fashion. At first I thought I misunderstood him. Fashion? As in clothes? I ask him. He wants to know how French women's fashion compares to New York women. I tell him French women are more conservative - that they wear a uniform of navy blue, black, beige, and grey. He laughs and tells me that's true. I think it's the end of it, but then he asks me if I think overall French women are better dressed than American women. I tell him the styles are different. I'm trying to be impartial.

He ribs me about not answering. I offer to give him an example, does he know Sex and the City? He rolls his eyes and laughs. He does because his "girlfriend forced him to endure it". I ask him if he knows which one Carrie is and when he admits he does I go on with my analysis.

"Carrie Bradshaw (and SJP in her own right) is a widely acknowledge style icon in the US. Carla Bruni Sarkozy, who is a former model and now First Lady of France is considered a style icon (though she did not beat Ines de la Fressange in a recent poll). If I were to put them side by side I would say Carrie Bradshaw is more stylish..." At this point he lights a cigarette and one of friends comes over and joins our conversation.

Even the short version of my comparison is lost of these 20-something French boys. They want to know what I think about the way they dress. I tell them with their Nikes with white tennis socks, Armani Exchange jackets, and dark blue jeans it's sort of French gangsta. They ask me what gangsta means. After I explain what a gangsta is one of them holds up an index finger and says, "les ghettos sont comme des cités". Still I tell him given the absence of sweatpants that their gangsta look is much more chic. They like hearing that. So much so that they ask me to check them out on Facebook before I make a dash for my train.

On the train I gave some further thought to my comparison. Carrie vs. Carla.

I love what Patricia Fields did with the costume design for the series and the films much more than the show or the films themselves. She is also one of the most interesting women to have a conversation with - the real deal. Plus she can work the hell out of a one piece jumpsuit in a way that Jennifer Lopez should really study closely.

Now in the Carrie vs. Carla debate, Carrie wins - for me. I'm not a conservative dresser. Most of my favourite outfits involve wearing as many mismatching Missoni prints at the same time as possible. At the moment I am typing this I'm wearing a Guns-n-Roses t-shirt and a black chiffon Prada skirt with patent Chanel ballet flats and multiple strands of pink, grey, and black pearls.

While I love a skirt suit and good tailoring as much as Carla does I tend to wear my vintage YSL and Chanel skirt suits with funky shoes, Morrissey t-shirts, or with men's dress shirts, an Hermès tie, and cufflinks. I like mixing high fashion with casual pieces. I like dressing up like a female dandy. I probably own more ties (Hermès only) and pocket squares (all vintage) than most men. I have an impressive collection of cufflinks and tie pins too. I've even had shirts made for me by the best shirtmakers on Saville Row, Turnbull & Asser.

While I would chose Carrie's style over Carla's there is one French style icon who I think Carrie or her real life fashionable counterpart will never out fashion and that's Loulou de la Falaise. Loulou accredits her mother Maxime for her style. Maxime was a model for Schiaparelli and an icon of her age. In Schiaparelli's autobiography "A Shocking Life", Elsa mentions Maxime is "draped in lavish furs" to attend the Surrealist Ball being thrown by Salvadore Dali. Like mother like daughter. Loulou inspired Saint Laurent to create one of his most famous looks "Le Smoking". Loulou and Yves were life long friends. He referred to her as "his twin sister".

But a good friend of mine who is also a designer has the right answer to the question of which nation's women are more stylish. "When American women get it right, they get it right like no other women in the world". I agree. I like the airy aspect of a stylish American woman's style. A stylish American is more capricious. An American woman will splurge on something that is absolutely fantastic and build an outfit around it. I think stylish French women tend to buy quality classics that can be worn season after season and that's why they tend to stick to a muted colour palette because they tend to build their wardrobes up and don't shop as often or as recklessly.

As for me I get my love of fashion from my grandmother. She was always elegant and well-dressed even when she was working in the garden. From my grandmother I inherited a love of dresses and skirt suits and for couture. From my mother I inherited a sort of fearless sense of spirit that can only come from when I feel I know I look great. Living in the US inspired me to take risks. To mix and match. To overaccessorise. To make no apologies. To want to stand out from the crowd.

So the next time you're in Paris rock your style fashionable American ladies. Yes you'll be easily spotted, but that is, in my humble opinion when done properly, a good thing.

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À Rebours, J-K Huysmans

Every once in awhile you open a book and it speaks to you in a way that seems to make you think it's come along for some express purpose. Such is the case when I began reading J-K Huysmans' "À Rebours", which translates to "Against Nature" or "Against the Grain".

My father used to say that he believed if people shut their mouths and opened a book, the world would be a much better place. He was constantly seeing parts of the world most people would chose to ignore. The bombings in Beirut; the fall of some dictator only to replaced by another; how much money there was to be made just across this border or that. He often came home visibly exhausted to shut himself away in his library.

"...whither he could fly for refuge from the incessant deluge of human folly."

For my father when he had little need for anything else besides a library, though he was a man of many passions. He judged people by their libraries. He considered a vast library full of unimportant books to be vulgar, but my own little bookshelf at age seven earned a short nod of approval. I suppose if I could ask him now my father would say something along the lines of a man only need own one book, as long as it's a great one.

In the past few days I have often thought about what my Papa might say now if he saw my library. I think he would understand the joy I feel in seeing all my books in one place and be happy I've decided to be serious about my life as a writer.

As for me, I wasn't sure until I read this passage:

"...He searched the outer suburbs of the capital and presently discovered a cottage for sale, above Fontenay-aux-Roses, in a remote spot, far from all neighbours, near the Fort. His dream was fulfilled; in this district, still unspoilt by intruders from Paris, he was secure against all harassment...

As he thought over the new existence he meant to make for himself, he experienced a lively sense of relief, seeing himself just far enough withdrawn for the flood of Paris activity not to touch his retreat, yet near enough for the proximity of the metropolis to add a spice to his solitariness. Indeed, in view of the well-known fact that for a man to find himself in a situation where it is impossible for him to visit a particular spot is of itself quite enough to fill him with an instant wish to go there, he was really guarding himself, by thus not entirely barring the road, from any craving to renew intercourse with the world or any regret for having abandoned it..."

In modern days it's impossible to maybe feel the same level of isolation that Huysmans felt at the idea of retreating into the suburbs of Paris. These days more people live outside of Paris (Paris and its region is referred to as Ile de France than in Paris itself. And Paris isn't that far away from the suburbs anymore thanks to the Metro or the local trains. From the place in the country the train is a short walk or bus ride away and forty minutes later I can set my foot on the voies of Gare de Lyon. I don't think it'd be easier if we had a car because well, traffic can be quite horrible.

Within minutes of reaching Gare de Lyon yesterday I realised that Paris doesn't miss me when I'm away. She has kept going as pleased with herself as ever and perhaps a bit smug that I am forced to return at the end of the weekend. I know she had a hand in the forty minutes of queue I endured to simply buy a ticket to take the Metro and the torrential downpour I was subjected to whilst in suede shoes. And all because there are loose ends to be tied and things I left undone.

I must see so and so. I must get stuff to make kimchee. I want to have a really good cup of chocolat chaud. I want to stop by my favourite vintage store. I need a lamp for the country house and maybe a few things to hang up photos...so as much as a squawk about the madness of it all - I know already I'll have to stay in Paris all week. Then go to London. When will I get back to the country again?

But Huysmans would understand all too well my current predictament, "...purchases of all kinds still kept him perambulating the Paris streets, tramping the town from end to end..."

And there you have it.  The saddest reason of all to abandon my idyllic, fairytale came true, beautiful little cottage in the forest. SHOPPING. (and work, but I can't even get into what the hell is going on with work at the moment).

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A Major Score, Handmade Reproduction Tapestry "Lady of the Unicorn"

I have never seen the famous "Lady of the Unicorn" (La Dame à la licorne) at the Cluny Museum in Paris, but now I definitely will. With my beloved La Chienne not feeling well I needed some beauty in my life and so I headed to my favorite brocante in Paris, on the Quai de la Seine, for much needed retail therapy.

There it was high on the wall and immediately I was charmed, but I have not been the only one to be forever changed by the beauty of these six tapestries. Authors George Sand, Jean Genet, and even J.K. Rowling (the tapestries are hanging in the fictional Gryffidor common room) were also enchanted.

"If something happens," I said to myself, "it will be the appearance of a unicorn. Such a place and a such a place can only produce a unicorn." Jean Genet, A Thief's Journal

Not being one to resist impulse when enchanted, I promptly asked if it could be brought down from the wall. The kind salesman, who knows us well I think, climbed over a few pieces of furniture in order to get to it . A quick inspection revealed that this was not an ordinary run-of-the-mill reproduction. It was obviously made by hand and in high quality wool fibers. The colors are deep and bright and the condition was nearly immaculate and what wasn't could be easily cured with a gentle vacuuming. The previous owner or maker pre-stretched on to a canvas frame with a wire for hanging and GRANDSARD signed on the back.

This made me curious. After a quick Google.fr search turned up two GRANDSARDs who were heavily involved in tapestry making, though I was unable to discover to what degree.

Being an ebay junky I immediately searched ebay to see how much of a bargain the beautiful tapestry really was. I paid 50,00 euros for my new treasure. Ebay.fr has many reproductions, but nothing handmade for less than ten times the price.

The Lady of the Unicorn tapestries that hang in the Cluny Museum in Paris are full of symbols, some from alchemy, and each of the six tapestries has a specific meaning. Five represent the senses and the sixth known as "Mon seul desir" (My only desire). My new treasure represents "Sight" and what a beautiful sight it is!

The original six tapestries, Cluny Musuem Paris

Lady of the Unicorn Tapestry, "Sight"

The treasure, probably to be placed over the bed.

Lion detail on my tapestry.

Lady and the Unicorn detail.

Rabbit and Fox.

Good dog.

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A Huge Collection of Vintage Children's Illustrations, The Invention of Hugo Cabret, & George Melies

I have a a project in mind to scan all my children's books for their illustrations and with a little searching, I happened to find a group on Flickr who had the same idea. There are nearly 30,000 illustrations on this site to inspire any aspiring children's book illustrators.

I am not often asked who my favorite children's book illustrators are and while I will buy a book for beautiful illustrations, the story is far more important to me. The most recent book I read that was beautifully illustrated was Brian Selznick's "The Invention of Hugo Cabret". It's more illustrations than text, but really beautifully done. The story revolves around Hugo Cabret who works in the Montparnasse train station fixing clocks, the automaton he discovers, and a man who sells little toys in the train station modeled after French film director and magician George Melies.

I highly recommend this book (soon to be a movie directed by Martin Scorcese) for any child, especially if they love comic books and films. The text isn't especially spectacular, but it does tell a good story.

Here are a few illustrations from the book:

If you do read this book you may become fascinated by the French director where the story was taken from, George Melies. His most famous work was titled "La voyage dans la lune".

If you do become obsessed with the films of Georges Melies you can buy his films, released by a little French restoration company called Lobster Films on Amazon. I stumbled upon the coffret at the MK2 shop on the Quai de la Loire (19eme) and think this collection is worth every penny.

If you read about the history of George Melies' little studio in Montregeuil and see these films you will be amazed. I'm pretty sure the George Melies is why Scorcese agreed to direct the film. Melies had no modern equipment. Not even lights. Instead he built a glass ceiling in his studio and used the sun to make a film about the moon. The more you learn about George Melies the more you will learn about the birth of cinema, invention, and ingenuity.

Melies had a somewhat sad end in real life, but I like to think rediscovering his work makes the story less sad because his magic continues to live on.

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A little about Walden Pond (and Craigslist)

I went to school in New England for years, but it wasn't until I was living in New York that I decided to take a nostalgic trip back through New England and went to visit Walden Pond. While there I danced with the sculpture of Henry David Thoreau and thought, "no, it's not the life for me. I'll never leave the big city."

I left New York and made a temporary home between my native France, London, and Amsterdam. It was Amsterdam that first started to change my attitude towards the big city. Less cars, less pollution, and Amsterdam is simply a beautiful city full of charm.

Yes I live in Paris, and at the time I am writing this I am in my flat with car horns blaring and the hustle and bustle like ambient background noise. I still see what makes Paris a beautiful city, but I also felt myself longing for something else. A garden. Fresh air. Something was missing.

I took a peek on Craigslist Paris and spotted a little house. I didn't imagine it hadn't been rented yet, but I crossed my fingers and sure enough it was still available. Somehow I knew the moment I saw the trees and the garden and was told not to walk in the forest at night because there are wild boar (called sangliers in French). I had visited Fontainebleau before, as had La Chienne, who had a joyous day of running in the forest pestering chipmunks and sniffing everything, but this was different. I was actually thinking about taking a weekend place in the country.

The supermarket is 3 km away or in another town. There are buses to Fontainebleau's city center and trains to Paris, but it will be difficult without a car. I am resolved to not get a car just to do the grocery shopping on the weekends. I am out of shape, a 6km bicycle trek sounds like torture, but I will presumably only buy exactly what I need under these limitations. While candy bars and cookies remain rather light when walking from the store across the street, after biking 3 km maybe I will be less inclined to chuck those types of things into the grocery cart when I realise it's still another 3 km home. At least that's what I'm hoping.

I have a picture of me dancing with the statue of Thoreau and now I am preparing to move a part of my life to the woods. I will bring some furniture (nothing says I have to rough it like Thoreau did), half of the books (over 1,000), and my dreams.

What I really, really want to do with my life is write books for children. Amazing books full of adventure, similiar to the books that made me believe I had that spark of magic inside of me that you fan into a fire.

So in August I will take the keys to a little house on the edge of a dark and mysterious forest that once belonged to the kings and queens of France and if that's not a real life fairy tale, then nothing is.

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My favorite vintage shop in Paris?

In Paris there is a great possibility to find amazing vintage pieces - especially from French brands or designers like Chanel, Hermes, YSL, Azzedine Alaia, Herve Leger, Balmain, Givenchy, and Ungaro.

But the best vintage for the price is found at Vintage Clothing Paris located at 10, rue de Crussol in the 11eme.

It has odd hours (Thursday,Friday 12h - 18h30; Saturday 14h - 18h), and it won't help if you need a Monday (or Tuesday) fix - but definitely save your money until it opens because the owner has an amazing collection of affordable designer pret-a-porter and even a few pieces of couture. The owner is a former stall owner at "Les Puces" and brought her flea market sensibilities to a part of Paris that was desperately in need of high quality vintage with reasonable prices.

I've scored YSL suits here for less than 300,00 euros. A friend of mine bought a vintage Herve Leger dress from the 80's for less than 200,00 euros and almost bought an immaculate Azzedine Alaia skirt suit for 300,00.

What I like about this shop is the owner isn't trying to show off. It's not a "collection" where you get the feeling she's unwilling to sell. Instead you get the feeling she's got all this great stuff and she's just been waiting for you to pop round and buy it all up.

The only drawback I can think of is that the store isn't full of accessories, but for the real clothing nuts (those of us who buy clothes more often than accessories understand what I mean) it's a cave of wonders.

Don't forget about the weird hours and if you do score a major find at Vintage Clothing Paris, feel free to email photos of your scores and I'll post them up!

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