I imagine this observation is fairly universal among the folks on this trip, but the most prevalent theme I have picked up on since the beginning of the Paris study abroad experience has been the antics of tourists. With that being said, I cannot ignore my actions of the past four days. Yes, I have chosen to take pictures in spaces densely populated with others foreign to Paris, France, and Europe, and I have done this shamelessly many times (See : ironic “selfies”). However, looking back to the few times in my life when I have taken vacations to or visited places which were new to me, I was definitely guilty of taking pictures of every possible thing instead of a first hand experience. I think this instance (one of many) where higher education has forced me to reconsider my initial inclination. I understand the importance of really looking at the space around me, instead of immediately forcing a camera in front of my face. Humans are driven by desire and memory, although at times those two contradict each other. We want to hold on to the moments which excite us, and the easiest way to do that is to take a picture. Upon reviewing these images (if you ever actually do), the better parts of the moment are lost. Of course, photographers have a greater ability to make images of these special moments and create a lasting impression. As a student of sculpture, I think about space constantly, and how my body and other bodies maneuver the objects or lack of objects in a space. It is difficult for me to conjure these memories in my chosen medium (maybe this is an appropriate challenge?)
I cannot deny it. The tourist culture in Paris is beyond anything I have ever seen. I have been to music festivals, concerts, spaces of high traffic, but there is absolutely nothing as claustrophobic and utterly disappointing as the palace at Versailles on a Sunday/national holiday. I’ve read about Versailles in many textbooks, and seen images in numerous slide presentations, and nothing really compares to being in the real, physical space. But on the other hand, nothing compares to physical interaction I had with the space on Sunday. Smashing in to bodies of all sizes, worried about pick-pocketers (See : crippling fear of crime and theft), and wanting to enjoy the luxury of such an estate, all at once. In retrospect, it is unfair to call the experience disappointing. If anything, this reaction is completely appropriate for such a spectacle. One thing I have become highly aware of in the past four days is the collision of spectacle and human reaction.
It is easy to compare the way people react to the spaces at Notre Dame, Versailles, and the Louvre. I attended the mass at Notre Dame in the time we were allotted, and I considered it an extremely rewarding experience as an individual who spent an hour each week in Catholic mass, and numerous other hours learning about the Bible among other aspects of Catholicism. I haven’t been to a mass in quite awhile (honestly, not complaining) so it was interesting to follow the mass in French, and observe as many differences and similarities that I could, and interact with others who were a part of the mass. At times, I felt that I was acting inappropriately, but in reality, I cannot ignore the intended use of a space, one for worship (and one for impressing all of the Catholics in the area, so they come to your church, but that’s beside the point). I didn’t want to follow the paths allotted for tourists, they felt very stale and in-genuine. I remember after the mass, when I decided to walk around the church in the path that all of the other visitors had, I saw a few individuals who seemed to be taking in the experience and really deep within it, likely due to their devout faith. I hope that those people took a while to attend the mass and really experience their faith in a more genuine way. Yes, seeing the spaces specified for prayer and worship were powerful, but I hope that those truly affected by their time in Notre Dame defied the boundaries to be a part of the space in way which could strengthen their faith even further. I remember being so enamored with the way they interacted with the space, and how I could read even just a small fraction of their experience in their facial expressions. I am often searching for a heightened sense of purpose, and am envious of individuals who have found their fit.
Taking communion that day, I waited in the line, nervous. I was trying to remember the appropriate way to accept communion, and I felt so self conscious. Maybe this feeling was due to a severely sacrilegious desire to simply experience culture, completely devoid of a current belief in God; I was riding on memories of a greater part of my life, and the things I learned in those times. This experience was absolutely valuable to me in a way I have felt continuously during this trip; I am such a small person.
Being in this city, outside of the United States for the first time, I have realized how tiny my one person is, and how many people are running around looking for the exact same (or wholly opposite) experiences and feelings that I am. Less than four days in to this trip, I am feeling an emotional and bodily experience that I knew would occur, but did not expect the full impact of. It’s amazing that attending a mass at Notre Dame would have a huge impact on me, possibly for all of the wrong reasons (in terms of faith). I remember registering for this course and trying to decide whether or not to assign myself to the Art History or Humanities credit. I had intended to focus on Art History, but my friend Zach convinced me otherwise (due to the likely potential for more stimulating Art History courses available that I would be interested in taking). But being here, I feel I am in search for the “humanities” experience, and will always be. I love unique experiences, I love telling and hearing stories, and while this may seem like a historian at heart, I thrive on human experience.
In terms of my time at Versailles and the Louvre, I could measure the perceived “value” of space. At Notre Dame, the visitors treated the space with incredible respect, taking pictures and moving through the building as silently as possible, concentrating on the power of religious experience and the relics of this human undertaking. There was a perceivable hummmm that moved throughout the space. This sound was notable, one of thousands of people quietly moving thorough a space; there are truly few places where one can experience this. Tourists treated this place with respect.
This was absolutely not the case in Versailles. Versailles is a symbol of wealth and extravagance, and as one attempts to seem as much as possible of Versailles, envy is inevitable. On the grounds of the garden, there were many moments of silence and contemplation, but upon moving in to the major palace, these moments of contemplation were shattered with the first shove. I wanted so badly to see the main palace and appreciate it’s architecture, but with such an overwhelming crowd, my experience was one of stress and anger towards absolutely everyone inhabiting Versailles. I was but one person in a non-stop, aggressive stream of people.
I think “time” was the theme of wealth that I could perceived the strongest. The time it took for one to see the entirety of the grounds, the skewed time-space relationship when viewing the garden from the palace, and undeniably the leisure time associated with living at Versailles (as a King!). I could not stop thinking about the time spent building such an environment. Every moment of the park was so considered and intricate. Time is money, as they say.
The Louvre was an interesting middle ground. While there were the same (seriously, absolutely the same) people at the Louvre, there was a respect for others that was not present in Versailles. This was likely due to the available space, but I felt that in the space of art, people tend to act respectfully, similar to the way tourists moved through Notre Dame. It must be universally culturally accepted to respect religion and the arts, and resist monarchy and incredible wealth (gee, I wonder why).
Tourism is absolutely strange. Today, a woman used my head as a pedestal with which to take a picture of Titian painting. Desires are so strong (and for what reason, might I ask?) in spaces heavily populated with tourists. I feel apart for this, ignorantly. I am part of the spectacle, but I am disgusted by it, and I react in a satirical way, but my money went to the same place that the rampant tourist’s money did. I realize that these first few days of the trip cover these tourist-y spots to set a ground work, and the entirety of the trip will not have such highly concentrated frustration, but I think this is a great place to start. This understanding will set a groundwork for the rest of the trip that begs for reflection and consideration.
Jeez, I said experience so many times.
The works I chose to spend extra time with in the Louvre were “Pygmalion et Galatée” by Anne-Louis Girodet de Roussy-Trioson, located in the hall of French painters, and a sculpture by Proxitéle titled “Aphrodite du type de la Venus d’Arles dite Venus Cesi.” The works deal with the tradition of the female nude in marble. The Pygmalion painting is a depiction of a sculptor who falls in love with his sculpture and the goddess Venus brings the sculpture to life and Pygmalion marries her. Proxitéle’s female nude is a depiction of Venus, and is one of the first female nudes in sculpture.
Scale wise, Pygmalion's scale is comparable to the human, but Proxitele's sculpture is slightly larger than life. In both the image and the sculpture, the female figure is placed on a pedestal, accentuating the figures relation to the viewer. In the case of Proxitele's figure, the woman seems to tower over. She becomes the dominant figure.
The approach to Proxitéle’s marble is framed by hoards of museum go-ers grouped around the Venus de Milo, pushing closer, taking pictures. Surprisingly, very few people seemed to be interested in Proxitéle’s Venus, even though it’s significance is nearly equivalent. At this point I became very aware of the ways that museums control the works that garner a lot of attention. The Venus de Milo was featured in the museum map, influencing visitors to see the work. Proxitéle’s Venus was given it’s own room with her back turned to the Venus de Milo. The curious viewer would naturally pass the busy room of Venus de Milo and find Proxitéle’s Venus, alone.
The Pygmalion painting was plagued in a similar fashion, in proximity to the Mona Lisa, located in the french painting hallway. The time spent in front of the painting was spent waiting for tour groups to move out of the way of my viewing area. The painting itself is one of the more noticeable paintings on that particular wall due to the brightness of the colors used in contrast to the Pompeii red of the walls and dark colors present surrounding works.
Studying the gaze was extremely important when comparing these two works. In the painting, the male figure looks up to the female figure in admiration, as she stands on a traditional sculpture pedestal. In the sculpture, the viewer is put in the place of the male, and looks up at the monumental figure. The female figures, on the other hand, are looking down and to the left, but not to any specific person or point.
The hands in the Pygmalion painting are accentuated by light, but none are ever touching each other, implying a separation between figures. In the case of the sculpture, the viewer is not allowed to touch the marble sculpture, for obvious reasons, however if a line was drawn between the hands, a compositional fifth line is created.
Journal Pages :
I was struggling with drawing diagrams because I write in a journal regularly and never draw, so it was difficult to get the hang of drawing what I was seeing and still being able to process my thoughts in a fluid manner. But I think I'm finally getting the hang of it!
- Amy Trompeter
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