Wednesday, August 26, 2009
its no picnic
Im wizzing around on my bicycle in the Bois.I have been back in Paris for 2 days and I just had to see, feel and yes ,smell my own personal garden, some call the Bois de Boulogne, I call it heaven..Its still there thank god in all its dry sun scorched glory. I took my usual route, up past the racetrack and left into the woods ,where I was confronted by a totally naked old man (more about him later...maybe) This place never ceases to amaze me.I have written about it before. But one thing that strikes every time, is the way the French pose themselves in a park. By this I mean the way they sit and ponder, the way they play with a ball, the way they ..well ...just sit. Its as if someone is painting them, or as if a photographer is taking a photo on a large format camera (say fromage). Its not just one group its the whole park.I almost wanted to burst out laughing its so posed. Or mess them all up a little, like I do when I see the pillows in my sisters perfect house, sitting perfectly on her perfect couch (maybe she is half French) IThe park is all very quaint and all very .......French, Parisian French that is.The usual suspects are there, breast feeding there babies, one woman looked old enough to be the babies grandmother (a wet nurse maybe).The hookers were busy trying to put food on the table while there knees were firmly plated on the ground (a figure of speech you understand) The muscle men were busy trying to discover new muscles, the hot ,half naked woman jog, while there breasts were heading east and west in a beautiful rhythmic fashion as if to say (at least to me) life is beautiful and so are woman and so is this park and so is...o.k. I get a little dizzy when I see this constant display) The fair has come to town (note to self: must finish 'fair comes to town' little movie from last year) Its not set up yet, King Kong is still on the back of a huge flatbed truck, looking very sad and very not King Kong. I cycle past the beautiful little cafe's that have been in the park over a hundred years.I want to stop and drink a beer but think maybe I will hold out, for a martini when I get home.(Im home now and Im drinking my martini...I toast you) I listen to Joni Mitchel singing in my ears as I wizz past little families with there long 7.30 pm shadows trailing behind them.'Everytime I think of you swallowed by the dark' it sounds corny as I write this, but surrounded by nature it means everything to me, it makes me blissfully sad .Thank you Joni. I cycle on and on trying to get lost in a park I know very well..........I climb up the last little slope in bottom gear, the sun is flickering on the tips of the trees and I know its time to say goodnight. I head towards the racetrack and turn right.The naked man is still there, basking in the last splatters of golden rays that nature can squeeze out. Maybe I should update my idea about the perfect French pose in the park.This man is a lucian Freud kind of still life. Maybe its title should be 'Meat and potatoes in the Bois'...Kay Sera Sera or rather Kay Seurat Seurat.(with apologies )
Goodnight one and all.................