Propping up the Bar

Design contre Design:catbar, originally uploaded by rhino75.

Wandering round the Grand Palais last night, clutching an empty champagne flute and in search of a bar, I came across this beauty. JUST the thing for Rhino75 Towers this Christmas, don'tcha think, dear reader? And Kitty would love it. There was also this rather saucy chair and a bed in the form of a uterus - you don't get many of those in the Ikea catalogue methinks. They're all part of a small exhibition called "Design Contre Design" which I wasn't expecting to see at all but was actually rather fun. I was there, naturally, for the big guns Courbet show. Have you noticed that no sooner do I mention that I love Courbet on this blog than the Grand Palais comes up with this exhibition - it's almost (my italics) spooky. I was familiar with many of the portraits but had never seen his landscapes before - a revelation, particularly the seascapes (check out La Vague) - or the hunting scenes. Such a wide range and yet you could see all the signs, particularly in the landscapes, of the Impressionists to come. Loved it. And I got to stand next to Bernard Tapie. While eating a bite-sized risotto. But I digress. Off to Brighton AGAIN this weekend to help sis celebrate her birthday and watch a bit more X-Factor. Hurrah!!

Special Offer

Look what I found outside BHV on my way to buy catfood yesterday, dear reader. And guess what? They were on special offer!! Naturally, I bought two. (Click on the pic for a close-up).

Pictures from an Exhibition

I don't know about you, dear reader, but after a few nights out on the razz, I often wake up with a craving for a little culture. An amuse-bouche (my italics) of art to refresh the mental palate for the daily digest of vodka and frozen ready-meals glamour and wit that is my Parisian life, a brisk rub-down with the (slightly rough) towel of aesthetics to get that grey matter tingling again. Plus, I had to get out of the house, even with a banging hangover, because the cleaning lady was coming. So I thought I'd pop down to the Pompidou Centre and see what was on. First up was "Airs de Paris" which aims "to explore the themes of cities and urban life, taking Paris as the starting point for a centrifugal energy which extends far beyond its origin," it says on the leaflet. This was helpful because, to the untrained eye, it looked like a real hotch-potch of any old stuff with a vague Paris connection. They virtually admit this themselves: "All of the artists presented in 'Airs de Paris' have either lived, worked or created specific projects in the city" but at the same time "Paris has been chosen as the context but it is an open context which brings together both the local and global." So if you've been to Paris and done something that could at a push be interpreted as vaguely urban, you're in!! That said, there was some stuff I liked: Alain Bublex's doctored photos of the Paris ringroad (scroll down the link to see them), Albanian artist Anri Sala's pictures of "dogs that run after Formula One cars," Thomas Hirschhorn's "Outgrowth" installation, featuring 131 printed globes. But the exhibition itself is pretty flabby and, IMHO, not particularly well curated. Sorry. MUCH more enjoyable is the Annette Messager exhibition, also at the Pompidou Centre. It's not necessarily that I understood it any better (I long ago gave up trying to grasp anything but the most obvious symbolism in contemporary art), but it's just more FUN!! The piece I liked best was a room filled with body parts made from fabric that inflated and deflated randomly - there was something rather mesmerising about it. However, one problem I noticed with making a lot of installation art from fabric is that it starts to smell a bit weird after a while. There was one piece ("Anatomie en balance") that was really a bit whiffy and could have done with a good hoovering. Which is almost where I came in, isn't it? Anyway, I'd go and see that one if you get the chance. Rhino75, keepin' it real.

Evening at the Petit Palais

As "my regulars" know, alcohol and art is one of my favourite cocktails. So when I received an invitation to a champagne-fuelled private view of the permanent collection at the Petit Palais, well, they didn't have to ask me twice. Plus, to be honest, it's a museum I've never visited before. I've popped in to its bigger brother the Grand Palais more times than I care to remember but never actually made it across the road. My mistake. It's FAB. And the excellent thing about this kind of evening is that everywhere you turn, they've put a bar, so I was able to watch the sun go down in the garden while sipping a glass of bubbly. It was great to see some of my favourite Courbet - did you know that he was actually one of the first artists to work with a knife rather than a brush? Just like on "Paint Along with Nancy" - and the wonderful, wonderful "Grimaces et misères" by Pelez (yes, yes, I like my art miserable, I know). And, of course, the Impressionists, for those who like that sort of thing - in fact, I like it well enough, but have just seen too much too many times. An exquisite evening, from which I emerged feeling elegant, sophisticated, and a little bit wobbly. (For the full-size versions of the photos, click here).

Face of Fashion

I'm back!! The wedding was superb fun, the bride was radiant and it was a great chance to catch up with some people - Parisians and others - I haven't seen in years - and meet some new ones! Surprisingly, given the amount of champagne + wine + armagnac (oooh!) consumed, I felt positively sprightly the next morning. Who'd have thought it? Now when I lived in London and dinosaurs roamed the earth Sunday was always exhibition day, which is how I found myself at the wonderful Face of Fashion photography show at the National Portrait Gallery. Looking at this mussed up Justin, courtesy of Steven Klein. Which I LOVE. It's only on until the end of this month so I'd urge you to get down there pronto - it's even free (my italics) for card-carrying members of the showbiz fraternity like myself. The Klein stuff was, IMHO, by far the best, though maybe that's because the images were less familiar than the Corinne Day or Mario Sorrenti shots. Either way, I'd forgotten how truly excellent the NPG is. A quick sprint round Waterstone's and before I knew it , it was time to wave goodbye and get back on da Star to come home. Plus, I've just realised that Thursday's a bank holiday - again!! My cup runneth over.

D.I.Y.

I'm hurt, dear reader. Really. I've got a big gash on my leg - from changing a lightbulb. Yes, I know, hard to believe isn't it? DON'T ASK ME WHY I chose to stand on a collapsible chair to do this relatively mundane task. Because, of course, that's just what it did, bringing me down with it. And pulling the doors off the sink unit in the process. Leaving me lying on the floor, surrounded by cat food, splintered wood and cupboard doors with one leg still trapped in the chair that was now firmly wedged between the two kitchen cupboards. I felt like I'd stepped into "Stalingrad" (though with slightly less snow and mud). For one - mad - moment, I thought I might have to try and amputate my trapped foot using my prized Japanese kitchen knife. Then I realised that if I wrenched the other door from its hinges, I would in fact be able to free the chair and thus save my foot. Phew. High drama indeed for a Sunday. I wouldn't be surprised if someone made a movie about it. And the day had gone so well up to that point. Dee-lish brunch + pancakes with Signor G. and then a wander round this fine, if small, exhibition at the Swedish Cultural Centre. The SCC is housed in a beautiful hôtel particulier a mere stone's throw from Rhino75 Towers and is - at the moment - home to this rather fine glass owl, too. If all goes to plan, I shall be spending a lot more time there (but more about that another time...) All in all, a fine afternoon for wandering round aimlessly in the Paris winter sunshine and sipping coffee on a terrace. Which is exactly what we did. Completely bonkers queue to look at the re-hung permanent collection at the Pompidou Centre today, BTW. Whatever.

Self-Portrait With Pug Dog

What a fantastic title for a pic, dontcha think? Why, I like it so much that I'm recreating this tableau as I write (my italics), with the lovely Miss Kitty standing in - grudgingly - as a fatter, more whiskery version of a pug dog. It is of course, dear reader, none other than William Hogarth (1697-1764) - you have to do that dates thing with important historical figures, I think. Who just happens to be the subject of a rather fine exhibition at the Louvre. Which I urge you to go and see. The exhilarating thing about Hogarth's work is the sheer heartiness and good cheer of it all. He's like a favourite uncle who always has a funny story to tell. Not all of the paintings are that great but they're BRIMMING OVER with life. And when you look at some of the series of engravings - I'm thinking particularly of "Industry and Idleness" and "Beer Street and Gin Lane" - there's so much humour in there, so much detail in the images. It's been a long time since I've seen people smile so much at an exhibition. Personally, I loved the portraits. The formal portrait is a medium that's always fascinated me and - and don't worry, I do know this is pretentious but it's also true - I would LOVE to sit for an artist myself someday. Weird, isn't it? I'm just really interested in the idea of someone else "interpreting" me, because it's one of those things that always differs slightly from person to person. Derr. Readers, to your brushes!! (and BTW I see myself as more of an oils man, rather than acrylics - DON'T EVEN THINK about watercolours). Anyway, Hogarth's portraits are super-accessible - none of that "the golden skull that you can barely see on top of the map on the table at the back signifies his deep-seated fear of travel and death" rubbish. You feel you know these - very English-looking - people just from their pictures. I thoroughly enjoyed it and it was a very fitting follow-up to "Vodka Alley" the night before, where I found myself dancing to the Eurythmics with a very cute, very drunk political aide. Talk about the dangers of drink magic of vodka.

Art for Art's Sake

I wanted you to be the first to know, dear reader. This evening, over pancakes with syrup and New York-style cheesecake at our local American Diner, a new business plan was hatched that, I confidently predict, is going to ROCK this town. Or at least a part of it. We even drew diagrams on the (paper) tablecloth using Signor G's extensive collection of hotel pens (don't ask), just like in the movies. Talk about a winner but, of course, I can say no more for the time being (my italics). I know I can count on you to be discreet. Walls have ears etc. More importantly, I know you're wondering why on earth we were in a diner eating pancakes at 7 o'clock in the evening? Don't worry, it's nothing to do with putting the clocks back. We were just in need of some heavy carb-loading after an afternoon cruising the FIAC international contemporary art fair. The queue was round the block when we arrived but we decided to have a go at blagging our way in at the front, using our **showbiz** credentials. And, thank goodness, it worked. I had naturally packed a headscarf and a cushion in case we needed to resort to the "Clear the way, clear the way, lady with a baby coming through" Plan B, but I'm not sure I could have carried it off at close range (the beard, you see). Anyway it was FAB, MUCH better than either 5 Billion Years or ArtParis06. We even had ice creams and saw Stanislas Merhar again. If I didn't know better, I'd swear he was stalking me. I do like a bit of art on a Sunday afternoon. Other highspots of the weekend include a storming night out with Noodle on Friday, where we managed to "pull" the only straight couple in a gay bar. Though, to be fair, she worked in fashion and he owned a restaurant, so it was almost as if they were part of the community. Plaid and baggy - let these be your fashion watchwords for autumn/winter 2007, apparently. We made our excuses and keeled over left. And spent Saturday afternoon wandering round in an alcohol-cold sweat in the Japanese supermarket, stocking up on wasabi green peas, miso and other oriental goodies. As if you needed any further proof of how internationally fabulous we can be. I ask you. Livin' the dream....

Pants on Tour

Has the world gone completely mad?? At the same time I am, of course, horribly excited at the thought. This is, without a doubt, 2007's gay pilgrimage. This year, Barbra in Vegas (three weeks and counting), next year The Pants. I remember going to see a similar exhibition about Abba in Stockholm and there you could buy a t-shirt version of the famous cat dress. Which I did. Guess what I'll be buying in London. "I'm spinning around, get out of my way... I know you feel it because you like it like this (repeat until somebody shoots me)"

Autumn Days, White Nights

I love autumn. Don't get me wrong, I like spring and summer well enough and am even rather fond of winter but, when it comes to seasons, I'll take autumn every time. The rich browns, ochres and oranges, the cold nip in the air that makes you catch your breath, the smoky night-time smell of chestnuts being roasted on Marais street-corners. Every bar and café looks that little bit more welcoming on a chilly autumn night, with pools of golden light spilling out from their windows and doors to warm the pavement. Crikey, I hear you cry, Rhino75's gone all weird and started channeling Keats. But fear not, dear reader! (Note suitably olde-worlde poet tone - at no extra cost). It's just that this weekend, I realised my fave season is almost upon us. In no time at all, I'll be lighting candles, mulling wine, whipping up a treacle sponge and making boar-sausage toad-in-the-hole. How good does that sound? Yummm. How likely does that sound? Humm. Anyway, enough anticipation. Saturday was spent window-shopping, drinking beers by the Canal St. Martin, tucking into sticky cakes and mint tea at the Great Mosque of Paris (a little spiritual moment there) and a lot of walking - and laughing - inbetween. And that night was La Nuit Blanche, an annual event in Paris since 2002, when museums, galleries, churches not only keep their doors open until dawn but also display some great art. We ended up sticking pretty close to home but saw some nice stuff - my favourite was the exhibit above (in the church of Notre Dame des Blancs-Manteaux), consisting of candles modelled on famous buildings which gradually melted as the night went on. Maybe it was the churchy smell, maybe it was the candlelight, but when I stood in front of it, I felt like a kid at Christmas. Click on the pic to see some more photos! Today, a late leisurely brunch, more shopping and an evening sprawled on the sofa. Is it really nearly Monday? :(

Knock on wood

You might not immediately spot it, dear reader, but you've got a piece of contemporary art right under your nose. No, not the blog, silly, the photo. Marvellous, isn't it? Of course, to the uninitiated it just looks like a kid with an ASBO. But the cognoscenti (my italics) will, of course, instantly recognize it as a model of a child in a hoodie that bangs its head frantically against the wall every 30 seconds or so. And which is currently on display as part of the 5 Billion Years exhibit at the Palais de Tokyo. That's right, last night we had a "family" outing (Mr. and Mrs. LOG, Aimes, Miss FVE, Colin and yours truly) to the opening. Monet it ain't. There is some really cool stuff (this kid, photos of the skies in specific locations the day before major acts of destruction e.g. New York, Sept. 10, 2001, and a mushroom cloud that looks like it's made of straw.) But, overall, I wasn't that impressed. The crowd, though, was fabulous. Any hotter and they would have spontaneously combusted. And as always, the best bit was hanging out with friends, drinking wine, chatting, catching up and being silly. Even in the rain. Ahhhh.

When is a museum not a museum?

Answer: When it serves FABULOUS food. Then it's a restroseum. This weekend, dear reader, Signor G. and I decided to take our lives in our hands two metros and a bus out to the Parisian suburb of Vitry-sur-Seine to check out the MAC/VAL, a new contemporary art museum that opened at the beginning of the year. After an epic trek, involving fights with dragons, pastry terrorists* and other magical creatures, we arrived, dust-spattered and parched, at our destination. Leaving our guide and bearers at reception, I crawled over to the desk and croaked (in my best French) :"Errm, do you have a restaurant?" Little did we suspect what a garden of earthly delights awaited us. A 12-month old Comté cheese that took the roof of your mouth, spicy Spanish chorizo, buffalo mozzarella, an oriental seaweed salad, a tasty purée of courgettes and rosemary, all served outside on a beautifully sunny afternoon atop primary-coloured tables. Faultless. And the best was yet to come. Signor G. chose a chocolate mousse that was quite possibly the most delicious thing I've ever tasted. Sex on a spoon. In fact, I managed to scoff quite a lot of it myself when he wasn't looking, as well as my own sticky choccy cake. Before we knew it, two and a half hours had flown past, and we still hadn't seen any art. After lunch, the collection could have proved disappointing, but NO, not a bit of it. From the spaghetti forest to the old children's elephant costume, the whole thing was gorgeous, accessible and - above all - FUN!! Fantabulous. For a taster of what's on offer, click on the pics. As if that wasn't enough epicurean activity for one day, in the evening I went with a group of friends to celebrate Cath's birthday here. My protestations that I wasn't "really hungry, I had a massive lunch" were exposed as a blatant lie as I polished off my curried salmon in banana leaves in record time, and STILL found room for green tea and coconut ice-cream. And to round off the evening, pink champagne in St. Germain-des-Pres. Needless to say - apart from some chocolate fingers chez les LOGs Sunday afternoon - I'm now back on my tried 'n' tested (my italics) NSTC** diet.
*Two young men, carrying two ominous-looking buckets and what looked like a jerrycan of petrol got on the bus. Signor G. and I exchanged nervous glances and even the driver tried to stop them boarding. Then I noticed that one of them was carrying a large fruit crumble - an unlikely terrorist accessory, I think you'll agree - and then that the buckets, in fact, contained butter and the "petrol" was peanut oil. Hence, pastry terrorists. Stay safe.
**No Solids Till Christmas

PWM

...Which, of course, stands for "Pretty Woman Moment" - you remember that scene when Julia Roberts goes to the opera with Richard Gere and it's her first time and she's completely entranced and overwhelmed? (You know you do - she even does Julia Roberts Face No. 2 - the one where she doesn't show all her teeth). Well, although it's very far from being my first time at the opera, dear reader, last night I found myself having just such a moment (minus the diamonds). I was at the Opera Bastille (with my friend Signor G) watching Donizetti's "L'Elisir d'Amore" and in the the third act, the main character, Nemorino, sings an aria called "Una furtiva lagrima". It marks the moment when he's finally sure that Adina, who has always spurned his advances, really loves him because he saw her shed a single tear. It's a beautiful tune, a tenor standard, and one I know by heart, as my singing teacher used to make me plough through it every week. But in this (wonderful) production, just as the intro started, suddenly all these stars descended from the ceiling, taking me completely by surprise. And I was a goner. Lump in the throat, tear in the eye. Naked rhino75 emotion. You couldn't bottle it, lemme tell ya. And talking of emotion, I spent the afternoon at the inauguration of the new Musée du Quai Branly, designed by Jean Nouvel. Kofi Annan was there too, tho' I don't think that, strictly speaking, he qualifies as *showbiz* - must have slipped in through the back door. My opinion: fantastic building, wonderful space, but the exhibits appeared to have been lit by someone who had cataracts and the curating was breathakingly pretentious. Hopefully, given how much the thing cost, they'll be able to fix that part, as architecturally it's a stunning piece of work. P.S. By the way, it's now official, I have a NEW job!!! Thanks for all those good vibes at the start of the month. Mwah!!

Eternal Flame

"Is this burning (burning) an eternal flame?" the Bangles sang. A question I'm sure many of us have asked ourselves at one time or another, and it's usually nothing a course of antibiotics can't fix. But, lest we forget, dear reader, the eternal flame is also the symbol of the Olympic Games. And it is this sporting connection rhino75 has in mind, because this weekend Paris, city of light, hosted its third international gay games tournament. Now I can't quite work out where this stands in relation to your common-or-garden gay games event, as the French Gay & Lesbian Sports Federation doesn't give out much on its website. I suspect it's a rather, shall we say bijou event - the only publicity I saw around the Paris gay village was for a night at some club once the whole thing was over where, presumably, you could meet 'n' mingle and (no doubt) get up to all manner of mischief with gay athletes. However, I AM able to give you an EXCLUSIVE(-ish) peek into what goes on behind the scenes at these international sporting events. The two gentlemen in the middle of the photo above were actually competing in the 400-meter swimming relay today. No mean feat in itself but even more impressive when you take into account they were still drinking cocktails with Signor G. and myself at 3 a.m. - now THAT'S what I call training!! I may well take up gay sport myself, as it appears I've been doing the necessary "cocktail" workout for years. Who knew? It's certainly more likely than me taking up acrobatics in a green knitted hoodie while attached to a large piece of white sticky tape. That's what we were watching at the start of the evening, courtesy of the lovely Mrs. LOG and her (now surely) famous "happening" Magenta Ephémères. Very challenging, but it looked like hard work, if you ask me. Triffic.

TransBellevilleExpress

As you've probably realised by now, dear reader, nothing cheers rhino75 up quite as much as an exhibition. After a month of "art cold turkey" I was positively chomping at the bit when Mrs. LOG suggested we pop along to Belleville and check out the open day being held by local artists there. This four-day event was organised by the Belleville Artists' Workshop Association. It's all a bit grungy and more urban than a lot of things we get to go to - and all the better for it. For example, at the workshops of the Il est 5 heures collective, there was no champagne BUT there were homemade cakes and t-shirts screenprinted while-u-wait - how cool is that? And as you can see from the pics, there was tons of interesting art. One of the highlights for me was the film "Waterproof", a ballet performed mostly underwater. Fantastic images, and choreographer Daniel Larrieu told us they're planning to recreate it this year - 20 years after the original film - in a swimming pool at St. Ouen, using the same cast. I won't be auditioning though, as it looked rather hard work and I don't think my ability to make a float out of a pair of pyjama bottoms will come in very handy. Ah well...

Cows Week

As every self-respecting Tatler reader knows, Cowes Week is one of the highlights of "the season," a motley group of social events traditionally attended by the British upper-middles, toffs and grandees. Sadly - *sigh* - as with so many lovely things (Glyndebourne, Ascot, cream teas), it's all been hijacked by the corporate hospitality barons in recent years, and has, therefore, lost much, if not all, of its cachet. Imagine my delight therefore, dear reader, to discover an ALTERNATIVE (my italics) Cow(e)s-related (geddit?) event on this side of the channel. Yup, after New York, London, Sydney, Tokyo, Moscow, LA, Prague, Manchester and Stockholm (whew!!), the CowParade has made it to Paris. Only we have to call it Vach'Art (for the francophones among you). I've spotted a couple dotted around the Marais (notably near the Trésor, just off rue Vieille du Temple), but if you click here, you can see all the different "models" and vote for your favourite. There's also a prize draw where you can win your own cow-shaped trophy, or a set of 11 miniature cows in a special presentation case (nice!). I seem to remember that Václav Havel did one for Prague (goodness knows where he found the time). Nothing quite in that statesman-like league for Paris, but there is a Lacroix one and lingerie designer Chantal Thomass has had a go too. Fabulous. I shall rush out and buy a hat.

Rhino's Grand Tour

In the 18th century, dear reader, it was considered "de rigueur" for every wealthy young British gentleman to complete his education with a "grand tour" of Europe's main cultural centres. In reality, of course, the whole thing was just an excuse for the idle rich to party their way round the continent out of the public eye, buying the odd souvenir en route. A kind of inter-railing with servants, trunks and wigs, if you like. In homage to this tradition, rhino75 is preparing a trip, taking in the sights of Brighton, London and Berlin. Yes, yes, I know that's obviously more limited in scope, time and budget, but it's the concept that counts. Anyway, it should be excellent fun, particularly Berlin as it will be my first ever (my italics) visit. It does mean, though, that most of this week - apart from work - is going to be spent getting ready for that, sorting out tickets, people to meet, places to stay, things to do etc. To simplify things, I shan't be taking any servants or wigs. Still, it'll be hard to top last week's cultural agenda. The weekend started in a very civilised fashion, meeting up with a friend for a cosmo or two and a quiet chat. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of not having dinner and before I knew it I was necking champagne out of the bottle, speaking German, and dancing with a Fashion/Eurotrash crowd, plus one Mexican, until it all went black (ahem! That's the version I'm sticking to anyway). To redeem myself, I went along to a private view Saturday evening of a new photo and video exhibition called "Seeland" by Marylène Negro (click on the pic to go to her site). It's a small show - just nine pieces - but I particularly liked a series entitled "Baleines"/"Whales". You'll no doubt be reading more about her here as she's working on a project with Mrs. LOG at the moment. Bon courage to us all!

Black Panther Party

Now that's what I call a private view! At the invitation of the lovely Miss FVE, last night rhino75 went along to this rather "groovy" (note choice of 1970s vocabulary) photo exhibit dedicated to the Black Panther civil rights movement (click here for a potted history). Completely fascinating, not least an entire room full of U.S. intelligence reports on members or suspected members of the movement. Most of you are probably familiar with the very striking photo of Huey P. Newton (left), one of the founders of the group, but the other images were equally powerful, with that "news agency" vibe of snatched moments of history. Which they were. Growing up in Europe, my memories of the Black Panther movement are largely confined to hazy recollections of the names and the celebs associated with the party, such as Jane Fonda and Marlon Brando. So it was like, AMAZING, that they actually had two of the Black Panthers there, at the private view. I liked the whole thing so much, I went back with another friend later in the evening. As usual, tried to get myself "in shot" for as many of the various TV cameras as poss. - *showbiz* oblige - and managed to squeeze in a chat with an American film producer. Excellent. If you're in Paris, get down to the B.A.N.K. gallery in the 3ème arrondissement, where the show is on until May 27.

artparis06

You may remember, dear reader, that back in January I talked about moves by the French government to promote contemporary artists on the international scene, and raved about the "Notre Histoire" exhibition at the Palais de Tokyo (if you don't - tsk - click here for a refresher :)) So ever since I stole received my invite to the preview of the artparis06 fair, I've been all of a fluster with expectations of fabulousness. What a let-down! Gone was the freshness and innovation that characterized the Palais de Tokyo exhibition, only to be replaced by the usual gallery fodder we're so familiar with. "But rhino75," I hear you cry, "The whole point is that it's an art fair, and, therefore, by definition a much more commercial enterprise!" So yes, I suppose it's inevitable that the work is a little more mainstream. And it was by no means all bad. We found ourselves transfixed by a DVD of a (hot) man's face that changes almost without you noticing into several other (hot) men's faces. And a Tracey Emin blanket. And some of the sculpture around the edge of the exhibition stand space was interesting. But overall we were disappointed. Plus, most of the people there seemed to be 103 years old. Funnily enough, Mrs. LOG and Miss FVE also went that night and came to the same conclusion. The final indignity was that you had to buy your own champagne - how sucky is that? I don't steal receive invites to glam functions and then expect to pay for my own drinks. Cheap, I call it (them rather than me, in case you weren't sure :-)).
Anyway, it may be psychosomatic, but ever since I've been laid up with the mother of all colds. Honestly, my throat hurts so much I'm trying not to swallow. That's what disappointing art does for you (p.s. am SO sensitive to these things).

Young, Arty and French

One of rhino75's pet peeves is the fact that, despite Paris being a major European capital, there is little or no sign of a vibrant contemporary art scene, at least to the untrained eye. All the exciting stuff seems to come out of London or Berlin, while we're trapped with our chocolate-boxy Impressionists and the Picasso museum (don't get me wrong, I love Picasso, and even some of the Impressionists but it's all a bit familiar, innit?) So when Mrs. LOG and the lovely Miss FVE (whose name is even longer than Mrs. LOG's) told me about an exhibition designed to promote young(ish) artists, I was more than happy to tag along. According to Miss FVE, who knows a thing or two about such matters, it's all part of a government-sponsored push to get contemporary French art back "out there". The state has recently introduced tax breaks for companies who buy art for public display in their offices, and apparently, another big event/exhibition is planned at the Grand Palais around April. We were lucky enough to be given a guided tour by Nicolas Bourriaud, co-director of the Palais de Tokyo. Even he acknowledges that French contemporary artists are "largely invisible" on the international scene and told us that the two main targets of this push are the French general public and international art dealers and galleries. They've certainly pulled out all the stops, with children's workshops, djs, and this evening a very heavily made-up nurse who gave rhino75 a strange-looking pill and a glass of cola (WhatEVA). An inside source told us they've called in all staff who've ever worked at the Palais de Tokyo to help out, which doesn't surprise me. But it works. It's a good mix of the spectacular (the "Habibi" skeleton), pop culture (Matthieu Laurette, who appeared on French TV and in the UK newspapers with his tips for "living for free"), and the quirky (Wang Du's room full of old newspapers, above). There were only a couple of installations that I found frankly inaccessible, one of which involved miniature doors. It's definitely the Palais de Tokyo's freshest, most interesting collection for a while (in my opinion), so if you get the chance, you should definitely pop along. Ooh, and it's free!!
("Notre Histoire" @ the Palais de Tokyo, avenue du Président Wilson, 75116 Paris, until May 7, 2006.)