We returned to the Louvre on Wednesday. Because we got there after 3:00 am,the line was long. ( I'm fairly certain. With the ends of two lines fairly close together, some people were confused over which line was for the Hermitage.) but the day was nice, the company in comparable, and the line moved quickly enough.
NOTE: I COMPOSED AND ERASED A COMPLETELY SNOBBISH RANT THAT CROSSED SEVERAL COUNTIES BETWEEN HUMOR AND SARCASM BEFORE LANDING ON INTOLERANCE. THE BETTER COURSE OF WISDOM OR COWARDICE OR SOME SUCH CONVINCED ME TO START OVER AND TRY SOMETHING A TAD LESS EFFETE.
I think I understand the impulse to take a picture of a great work of art when on a trip, but in reality you can see a better picture in a book, or even on the Internet. The impulse I can't wrap my brain around is the one that says, "I'll fight my way to the front of this mob just to take a picture of me standing in front of the Mona Lisa." There they are with their backs to the thing that they figure is worth the effort to get a picture of. I guess to them, it's a trophy, like the trout they caught at Uncle Jimmy's Corn 'n' Catch when they were 9.
I shouldn't complain I suppose. At least they came to a museum. The jostling mobs do make it hard to just stand and look, but Na and I braved them and managed to get to the front to see M.L. for a few minutes. Not long enough, but the mystique start to reveal itself. The Venus de Milo was similar. At least with the statue I could stand back and marvel at how much humanity Milo got from that hunk of rock. That is, until people realized I was in the way of their picture taking.
There were too many pieces of art that distracted us and we never made it to the Vermeer. You try just walking past The Death of Marat; we couldn't do it. Such is Museum going. The Musee de l'Orangerie ( Rough translation: Museum of the Orange Underpants.) was a whole different kettle of art. Two large oval rooms, each containing 4 Monets, door to door. They were mesmerizing; it was like being inside his work, swallowed like an happy, aesthete Jonah. No photos allowed, either. Ahhhhh! It was the perfect prelude to a trip to Givenry.
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