A Day at the Pompidou
Working in Paris has been just about what I imagined it would be. I get up around 9, lolly around for an hour or so, have some coffee, maybe go for a run to the Arc du Triomphe or the Eiffel Tower, head out to do something cultural, come back to the flat in the late afternoon -- just as the East coast of the U.S. is getting to work -- do a few interviews, read the news, open a bottle of wine around 10 or so when the sun's going down, have dinner, maybe a bit of email or a DVD before bed. Refresh. Redo.

Sure, that's not everyday. On some days, I'll have lunch with a moral philosopher at Closerie des Lilas, a famous old Hemingway haunt by the Jardin du Luxembourg, and discuss the infamous Zidaine headbutt incident for a few hours (while mixing in a bit of Kantian ethics and computer science, for good measure). On other days, I'll have a morning call with a professor at Cambridge or a late night call with a researcher on the West coast. And sometimes, it's just so damn hot that there is nothing left to do but go to a movie. (And when we get there, the only thing playing is Poseidon.)

Having just about completed all my interviews for my paper -- I have one more scheduled on Monday -- H&I decided to hit the Centre Pompidou yesterday for a day of modern art. We spent most of the time in the special exhibits -- one on Los Angeles (circa 1960-1985ish), another on the work of the architectural firm Morphosis, and a few others. We were decidedly split on the LA effort. I don't think raw expression qualifies as art. No, actually, what I mean is that I don't think raw expression should be enough to gain entrance into a place like the Pompidou. Showing a white hand stroking a black scrotum on a black & white TV, or a guy covering his face in what appears to be shit, just doesn't do much for me -- even if it has been captured for eternity on film and invokes some larger sense of race or taboo. Heather might claim that I'm picking on the two most sensationalist pieces and using them to belittle the entire exhibit. That's probably true; but most of the rest of it was just kind of boring.

And yet, it was still a great day. Museums make you think, they allow you to try to get into the head of an artist, help you appreciate talent and ambition and alternative viewpoints and, if you're lucky, they inspire you. But all that can be pretty hard work. Every now and again, it's great to go to a museum full of whimsy and have a bit of fun. And that's what the Pompidou was about, at least to me. We smiled a lot. And afterward, we had a late lunch and completelyagreed about the quality of our sandwiches. C'est Bon!