No Rhyme or Reason

And when it rains...

I'm going to start with all the good stuff. I'm running into parallels everywhere. In a lecture last week we talked about Ashkènage Jews and Sépharade Jews (I don't know if those are the same titles in English)...Sépharade Jews moved to North Africa and some into the Middle East in the same year that Columbus sailed the ocean blue (1492) when they were expelled from Spain due to the inquisition. Then Sunday's NY Times had a story about Spain finally recognizing and attempting to uncover their Jewish history (not to mention their huge Arabe history which contributes to some of the most beautiful architecture in Spain today). Last weekend I went to the Musée de Quai Branly, the brand-new museum here dedicated to the art (or are they artifacts?) of Africa, Asia, Oceania, et the Americas. I was so excited to go...and even more thrilled that it was for a class in which I had driving questions to ponder while walking around. Well, it turns out I was hugely disappointed, even disturbed, by the removal of items utilitarian and spiritual, that were displayed in glass boxes, ceremonial masks mounted on black rods against stark black backgrounds, like prizes of domination, especially knowing that nearly all of these items were brought to France throughout its conquests of foreign "barbarous" lands during the years of colonialism. Really, there were only a few items from places NOT once occupied by the French. The lighting was really dark and the setting ultra-modern, the building, beautifully landscaped outside, had plant mirages on the metal windows which blocked the natural light and instead just made a mockery of the natural elements by which each item was initially inspired and used within. Additionally, everything was so close in proximity that you could never get a good view of an item without catching your own or somebody else's reflexion in the glass case; I was constantly squinting and trying to look past my face to appreciate what was being "protected" inside of the box. No benches, no place for sitting and reflecting. But, I wasn't sure to what extent my scathing reaction (and subsequent essay) was justified until (I'm coming back to parallels) I met this French Canadian last week sitting in Starbucks. He's working on his doctorate in paleanthology at Tulane and happened to be in Paris doing research at the Musée de l'homme (Museum of man). I asked him if he could take me through the museum so I'd be able to fully appreciate it, so last Saturday we went. Before we even entered, however, he started talking about how Jacques Chirac "stole" the entire second floor to put in his own museum. The Musée de Quai Branly. Vance (the paleanthologist) was livid talking about how, from an anthropological perspective, this was a complete injustice to every piece, since they weren't designed to be art for the sake of art. Yes they are beautiful and intricate and creative, but they weren't created to be gazed upon the way "art" is created. The removal from context-setting....because at the Musée de l'homme each piece was grouped, not just geographically but functionally, with explanations and historical information on their purpose within each society from which they were derived (to put it nicely). Just interesting that I'd run into this expert when I was pondering these very thoughts. Another parallel: I happened to see a poster in the metro yesterday about a month-long consortium involving Toni Morrison at the Louvre. Turns out that she's only involved in 3 or 4 lectures, one of which was 3 nights ago, but the second of which was last night. I walked 10 minutes to the Louvre and bought a ticket for 1 euro 50 centimes and got to sit for 2 hours and listen to one of my most long-term favorite authors contribute to a discussion of making a foreign land your home. I couldn't stop smiling (and taking notes....some of which I'll share later) AND it turns out that next Saturday the lecture she's doing is with about 5 other authors, all from former French colonies. And it turns out that one author, an Algerian woman named Assia Djebar, is somebody I've been reading and studying (and loving!) in my Francophone literature class.

But on the flipside of all that's been amazing, I have a good friend here who just lost her younger brother. His death was completely unexpected and violent, and it has affected the entire "café community". Thankfully we've all had each other, as we all knew him and spent time with him (though he lived in London, he came to Paris regularily)...and so last week we all met up at the café nearly every night, mainly because nobody wanted to be alone. His funeral was here in Paris on Tuesday, and things are returning to a slightly more normal state now. But crisis certainly does bring people together, and I guess the blessing is that we've all grown closer in making sure Stephanie has the support she needs.