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).

The Collection

So, dear reader, as you no doubt guessed from the Big Gay Bathroom, interior decoration is not necessarily my forte. Despite my best efforts, Rhino75 Towers remains an "eclectic" head-on collision of 1980s student and 1960s grandad, with the odd cat statue (thanks Mum) and Mexican doll thrown into the mix. But help is at hand!! Because Mrs. LOG is "looking after" a rather wonderful shop, The Collection, which packs a double-whammy of being just round the corner AND showcasing the work of some young British designers in France. Just look at the fabby wallpaper in the pic. I'd buy a roll or two, apart from the fact that my apartment already looks like that, but with a lower ceiling and more cat hair (see below). Anaglypta it ain't. ANYWAY, guess what? They're having an open evening on Thursday starting at 7 p.m. and I'm hoping that this shameless plug for the event will guarantee I get at least half a dozen glasses of wine when I get there. Did someone say cheap? I shall probably be lurking near the light fittings.

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.

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!!

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).