Art in Paris

As in Vienna, I felt rushed through the Louvre and the Musée d'Orsay because there's so much to do that even with three weeks in France, time is limited. But also as with the Kunsthistorisches Museum, I found many pleasant surprises throughout the museums, such as the Louvre's Psyche revived by Cupid's kiss above (Antonio Canova), which may have just become one of my favorites, next to Jean-Baptiste Carpeaux's Ugolino and his sons in d'Orsay. I don't know too much of the story, even though Dante's Divine Comedy was assigned reading, except that he was punished for treason and his sons tried to sacrifice themselves for him. This sculpture is probably more fitting to the dark context, but I prefer the white marble version at the Met.

Why do I prefer it? Why do I like so much the paintings and sculptures that I do? I don't understand much of the art I see, and much of my limited knowledge is based an a required art class that I hated. In some cases I see and appreciate the composition (La belle jardinière, Raphael, Louvre) ...


... the lighting and control over the time of day (Sérénité, Henri Martin, d'Orsay) ...

the vanishing point (Rue Montorgueil in Paris. Celebration of June 30, 1878, Monet, d'Orsay) ...

... the movement (Chaumes de Cordeville à Auvers-sur-Oise, Van Gogh, d'Orsay).

But mostly the opinion comes from a basic but deep-seated emotional reaction. The art smiles, it calms, it inspires and stabs, it hurts, it depresses, it lifts. and I'm irritated that I can't explain it and amazed that static images can do so much.

It's a fantasy.

(Le chevalier aux fleurs, The knight of the flowers, Rochegrosse, d'Orsay).