February 16, 2024
Again, a short visit, but I did have a great time in the company of my daughter Sofia. Yesterday we went for a long walk that took us to Montmartre. There, at the Maison Rose we sat to have a drink (in her case non-alcoholic) and I discovered L’Entropie, a French gin. An intense flavor of juniper unadulterated by other botanicals. I took a picture of the bottle because I plan to buy a couple on my way back to Bangkok. Although my consumption of the spirit has been reduced, I still plan to enjoy some; the doctor never told me to stop drinking.
On our way back we bought some groceries and had dinner while watching an old rom com; When Harry met Sally with Meg Ryan and Billy Christal. First time for her, second for me, it should be considered one of the classics. By 10pm I was in bed and I slept non-stop until 7:40am !
Coffee, e-mails, a shower and by 9:30 we were on our way to the LV foundation. We had tickets bought on-line for the 10:00am watch, but so did some hundred other people. The wait was worth it though. I have never seen some many Rotkhos in one place; a true retrospective from his beginnings as a painter of human nature, to his last years as a painter of minimalist forms and structures. Sofia wasn’t convinced she would enjoy the latter; she thinks paintings should tell a story, or at least let the observer come up with one. Yet, she was moved, and we agreed that a story wasn’t always needed for a piece of art to have an impact on our lives.
The chronological distribution of the paintings in 11 galleries was perfect to appreciate the dramatic transition in Rothkos’ artistic expression and his quest for simplification and order. Not only in the themes of the paintings (eventually each one was only identified by a number) and forms, but also their colors. The last paintings, before he took his life, are made of two rectangles, one black and one gray. They are still distinguishable, unique, like our fingerprints. An anemic sculpture by Giacometti lies in between them (the painter and the sculptor were friends), as if to confirm that his life was coming to an end. He must have seen that the next tableau would simply be a black hole and that it could only be painted if dead.
I am writing this at the airport. After the expo we went to the Marais for a walk and had Sushi for lunch in a small, unknown, restaurant at the Halles. From there we rushed back to Sofia’s mother’s place to pick up my carry-on and handbag and go to the airport. I thought I was running late but my plane is delayed. It was supposed to depart at 17:00 and is now scheduled to depart at midnight; four hours from now. They are changing both the aircraft and the crew….
Sailing to the Pacific 