Today was spent at the Louvre.
Both my brain and my feet hurt.
It's off-season, and a weekday, so the larger crowds were actually schoolkids. I got there early so I could get an early, unobstructed view of the Mona Lisa.
Because so many lunatics and fame-seekers have attacked the Mona Lisa, you can no longer get close. Instead it is behind glass, and a barrier keeps you a good 3 meters away:
Going early turned out to be a good idea, because later in the day the room got quite crowded.
I found myself drawn to the paintings in the gallery next to the Mona Lisa, Italian
paintings predominantly from the 16th century. I decided I am attracted to art in transitional eras. My very favorite era are the impressionists, whereartists really began to play with light and perception and representation, and I'll go to Musee D'Orsay on Saturday. But the Renaissance is another time when artists really began to use perspective and light and there was an explosion of inventiveness. I'm also attracted to the slightly whimsical and allegorical character to many of the paintings of that time, with themes such as the Tower of Babel
and the "Cortege of Thetis."
Here's a woman who appears (to me, anyway) to be selling "John the Baptist" t-shirts at the cruxifiction.
18th and early 19th century paintings are less intriguing to me. Oh, there is beautiful work, too many to mention, but it is more refinement of technique rather than the invention of technique. Here is Gericault's masterful "The Raft of the Medusa."
The Louvre is so huge and luxurious it's intimidating. Just the sheer volume of art is overwhelming. And many of the halls in which the art is hung are themselves works of art.
The Louvre not only has European art, but also a tremendous collection of artifacts from Rome, Greece, and the near East, including Egypt and Babylonia. (In essence, French looters, er, art collectors took from cultures they saw as flowing into modern European culture--so European philosophy grew out of Greece and Rome, which in turn were influenced by Egypt, Babylonia, and so on. Only in 2000 did they start displaying artifacts from sub-Saharan Africa, the Americas, and the south Pacific, and they don't seem to have anything from Asia at all.)
The Venus di Milo is one of the most famous pieces. As I'm currently writing a story called "Aphrodite Shrugged," it seemed an apt sculpture.
It is a very moving sculpture, although at times I wonder: who gets to decide what art is iconic and what is not? Is there a committee? The Mona Lisa is a fabulous painting, but at times it feels like a celebrity--most famous for being famous.
Another famous sculpture is Michelangelo's Slaves. I'm always astounded by Michelangelo's ability to imbue stone with the illusion of motion.
One of my favorite pieces is the famous Code of Hammurabi, the world first known usage of Fortran. (Or at least that is how students imagine Fortran, when they first come to me after being brainwashed by the computer science department.)
Towards the end of my visit, I wandered into the sumptuous apartments of Napoleon III.
I was reminded of Hyacinth Bucket (prononced "boo-kay") of the BBC comedy series Keeping Up Appearances, and played by Patricia Routledge. It is Hyacinth's long ambition to set a dining table so glamorous it causes a guest to stagger back in admiration.
Hyacinth never succeeded, but Napolean III certainly did:
