Beaux-Arts, fromage, guillotines, and other French concepts

I started learning French about ten months ago. It was an idea that I toyed with for the ridiculously large span of one to thirteen years prior (when it was offered in middle school and my dearest mother thought Spanish would prove more useful in my future and made me study it instead – I will neither agree or disagree with that point all of these years later). Initially this venture, ten months ago, started out of spite – I was surrounded by French speakers and could never get a word in edgewise because I never knew what the hell they were talking about. I planned to learn it the best I could, without telling them of course, and then shock everyone when I was well-versed enough to call them out on their merde.


I relate to this look all too well.
Balthus (Balthazar Klossowski), Thérèse, 1938.
Oil on cardboard mounted on wood, 100.3 x 81.3 cm.
The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

Needless to say that never happened as one cannot learn a language in ten months without actually eating, sleeping, and breathing it (I have a life, after all). I do listen harder and repeat phrases in my head. I bother French speakers with inane grammatical and pronunciation questions. Sometimes immature young men will teach me a phrase or two and send me off to repeat it to another immature guy and they’ll all have a giggle at my expense, leaving me supremely embarrassed, but equally proud of my ability to mimic.


My namesake was French!
Claude Gellee (Le Lorrain), Coast View with Apollo and the Cumaean Sibyl, 1645-1649.
Oil on canvas, 99.5 x 127 сm.
Collection of Sir Robert Walpole, The State Heritage Museum, St Petersburg.

For the longest time I never had a single nice thing to say about anything French – except maybe Amélie, but that doesn’t really count considering its international notoriety. I don’t care for frog’s legs, snail, or duck confit; I don’t really enjoy Impressionism, mostly because endlessly repeated titles make fact-checking a nightmare; call me Guy de Maupassant when it comes to the Eiffel Tower (fun fact: Maupassant ate at the Tower’s base daily because he hated it so and that was the only place in the city that he was unable to see it); do not get me started on roquefort, maroilles, or epoisses (ugh, ick, bleh).

 


Hippolyte Flandrin, Young Man Sitting by the Sea, figure study, 1836.
Oil on canvas, 98 x 124 cm.
Musée du Louvre, Paris.

Thankfully now, I could probably rustle up a few nice things to say – the politeness of gentlemen, Realist and Romantic paintings, the frankness of women, the invention of the guillotine, etc. I am most especially in awe of the vast collection of art housed in France and could probably spend one week in the Musée du Louvre and neither see enough or tire of it.

Since most of us don’t have the time, money, language skills, or (if you’re like me) patience to endure France, visit the National Gallery of Art, Washington to see Color, Line, Light: French Drawings, Watercolors, and Pastels from Delacroix to Signac from 27 January to 26 May. It promises a beautiful array of French art. Don’t want to travel too far from home? Check out French Painting by Victoria Charles for all of the artistic glamour without the offensive cheeses.

-Le Lorrain Andrews

Masters of Disorder: the Shamans or the French?

MASTERS OF DISORDER, the forces at work in the world around us (especially my bedroom), unseen and unheard by all except those few who can divine their want and will. These are the ‘shamans’, or other spiritual leaders, who mediate between the real and spirit worlds, trying to make sense of the ‘disorder’ around us, mystically communicating with the ethereal and “negotiating with the forces of chaos”. The musée du quai Branly has put on an impressive multisensory display of these religious men from a number of tribes around the world that are still in existence today, with many anthropological ‘finds’ (or plunders) accompanied with work by current artists.

It is a welcome opportunity to celebrate what remains of these cultures’ diverse religious and spiritual beliefs, although it is a shame to see that there doesn’t seem to be any acknowledgement of France’s historical involvement in their previous colonisation of these societies. These ‘colonisation deniers’ would like to forget about France’s centuries-long ‘civilising mission’, notably in Africa, whereby “Africans who adopted French culture, including fluent use of the French language and conversion to Christianity,” were rewarded for their efforts with French citizenship and suffrage. Whilst this carrot-not-stick method was preferable to torture, slavery, murder and atrocities, it was still a dark chapter in the history of France, which still overshadows the country and its international relations today.



I’m not asking for an exhibition dedicated to the exploitation of Africa, I just believe that it is hypocritical for a country to celebrate the longevity of belief systems that it was initially instrumental in disrupting, without acknowledgement or apology for the fact.

If I were to choose a subheading to compliment the exhibition title ‘Masters of Disorder’, ‘France’s direct rule in Africa’ would be a good contender.

Leave your Western ideas of spirituality to one side and explore the world of shamanism at the Musée du Quai Branly’s exhibition Les Maîtres du désordre, from 11 April to 29 July 2012, or read about pre‑colonial African Art with this beautifully illustrated ebook.