We've had a lovely hint of spring in the last several weeks but Mother Nature continues to tease us with bouts of cold and rain. At the moment, we're basking in sunny skies and warming temperatures. Paris can be so beautiful at this time of year. On Saturday, I went for a walk on the Promenade Plantée, a lovely elevated walk planted in trees and flowers -- an old train trestle I believe. It starts just south of the Opera Bastille and goes for quite a distance. And yesterday, the Luxembourg Garden was awash in tulips and people, including an armada of small boats sailed by little boys on the great pond.
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Modigliani, Redhead with Pendant (1918)
Alicia Koplowitz Collection |
I recently visited a wonderful exhibition at one of my favorite museums, the Jacquemart-André. It is called "From Zurbaran to Rothko" but there is no single title that could capture the elegance of these pieces, drawn from the stunning collection of Alicia Koplowitz, a Spanish investment banker. Ms. Koplowitz decided to put together an art collection that reflects the best of each period of Western art, many of the pieces portraits or sculptures of women. She must have had incredible patience and excellent advice to find these glorious works of art, many of them small, but all representing their genres to perfection. I was particularly taken by an artist I had not encountered before, Kees van Dongen, who at the beginning of the twentieth century was exploring color in the way Matisse did (think Portrait of a Lady in a Red Hat).
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Kees van Dongen, Woman in a Large Hat (1906)
Alicia Koplowitz Collection |
I've hit another wall in French, or so it seems. My progress has more often been crowned with a sense of frustration than accomplishment, but this time, I feel so close... yet so far away. I love English as a language, its subtleties and rich vocabulary. French is exactly the same, but my French commands at best only one word for any one thing. In English I can talk about a scent or a whiff, a jump or a leap, a walk or a stroll. I can describe hair that is auburn or red; see a movie that is depressing or bleak; come upon a young woman who is elegant or chic. How I love to deploy this vocabulary to enrich my life and my ability to experience the world!
Many years ago, I read a book (I've
always read a book...), a memoir by Eva Hoffman titled
Lost in Translation. It describes her experience as a child migrating from Poland to Vancouver, B.C. As a 13-year-old, she mastered English much faster than her parents, but found it hard to understand the subtleties that make one 'belong'. What, for example, constitutes the language of flirting when one is a teenage girl? When does a word ostensibly mean one thing but also something else beneath the surface? No matter our stage in life, language always deals with such nuances and it is our capacity to master this aspect of language (what one might call language as culture) that in the end makes us a 'native' speaker. I suppose that as my French gets better, my frustration grows at not having enough time (or enough youth) to make this final leap. Yet I am deeply grateful for this time in a foreign land; my French, though far from perfect, is immeasurably better for it.
