I'd like a side of art with that art

Everywhere you look in Paris, there's art. Maybe it's "kitsch," the kind of art you can buy on the quai (pronouced "kee") where street vendors line the edges of the Seine River selling predictable sketches of the Champs-Elysees or phony oil paintings of the Eiffel Tower. But more than likely, it's the real thing. The real Renoir. The real Monet. The real Picasso.

Today my husband Bill and I went in search of the real Picasso, following the map to the Musee Picasso in Le Marais district--not an easy place to find. Paris streets tend to turn into other streets or run out altogether, so it was a jog right, a jog left and a few windy streets before we found the museum. Much to our dismay, it was closed for renovation, with a sign that said "We hope this doesn't spoil your trip to Paris." Well, for a moment it almost did... but then we stopped and had lunch in a local park, a lunch of turkey and goat cheese on a baguette which Bill had made before we left for our excursion, and we regrouped. Modern art--that's what Bill wanted to see. So after downing our sandwiches we headed for the Centre Georges Pompidou.

If Parisians hated the Eiffel Tower upon its debut, imagine the natives' disdain for this crazy-looking structure, built in 1977 "from the inside out," all pipes and scaffolding and see-through walkways. The view from the 5th level is spectacular--you can see all of Paris. And then, as if that view isn't enough, there's the art. We did, indeed, see Picassos and more. I learned about cubism and the Fauvre movement from my artist husband, who told me that "Fauvre" means "wild beast" because that's what people thought these artists were when they began using wild colors. We saw interactive art, light art, feminist art and furniture art. We saw sculptures, video and pulsing slide shows. Even the coasters in the gift shop looked like art. Thanks to Bill's fine arts education, I learned some new things about modern art and came away with my head stuffed full of new images and ideas.

I admit, my idea of art is more traditional, more... romantic. What appeals to me is the art that's all around us. Everything from the lamp posts' iron work to the faces and sculptures carved into the buildings and the bridges seem designed to please the eye. Everywhere you turn there's something new to see and admire. And the churches--oh, the churches! Built for the glory of God, each one is a museum in itself, filled with paintings, sculptures of the Madonna and Child and frescoes depicting the life of Christ, carvings that told the story because most people couldn't read.



Modern art, Gothic art, street art--perhaps all of it pales next to Flea Market art. Le Marche aux Puces St-Ouen is the weekly flea market (or, as we said in Phoenix, "swap meet") held on the outskirts of Paris each weekend. I couldn't wait to share this with my Bill--after all, we spent most of our brief courtship and our subsequent 32 years of marriage roaming flea markets, swap meets, antique stores and (let's call a spade a spade) junk shops. I'd read about this flea market in an issue of Vogue years ago and had dreams of visiting it again. Sadly, the prices that were once a bargain are no longer to be found. Bill found just what he was looking for--some prints--and I bought a sparkly Paris pin, but only after some bargaining with the vendor. And isn't negotiating the finest art of all?