THE GALLERY AT 102 rue de Cherche Midi 75006
Colorful Clothes Laurie Fox Pessemier Acrylic/linen 16 x 11.5 inches
Selling Daffodils Laurie Fox Pessemier Acrylic/linen 12 x 24 inches
Waiting for the Bus Laurie Fox Pessemier Acrylic/linen 11.5 x 16 inches
Lady next door Blair Pessemier Pencil/paper 8.5 x 11
Neighborhood Blair Pessemier Pencil/paper 8.5 x 11
Artnotes: Observer
Spring has tumbled down like a ton of bricks here in
Paris. Suddenly, people are back on the
street: flower sellers, babies in
carriages, lovers hand-in-hand. We are
eating outside whenever possible. It is
predicted to be 20C/68F degrees today.
There is a steady stream of “flaneurs” passing by our gallery
at 102, rue de Cherche-Midi. Many come
in to buy: the picture from the poster,
Blair’s boat builders, his boats, my oranges…ten paintings have been sold in
the first three days. It is so encouraging
to know people like our work. “You are
selling it too cheap,” a friend scolds.
But I am happy to be selling my paintings in these economic times.
Blair has been in the gallery most of the time. I shuttle back and forth, the kilometer
between the two, bringing new pictures, carrying lunch, walking Harika (she’s
not so good at the gallery, her welcoming bark is a bit off-putting).
I love this new neighborhood, full of restaurants and small
stores. Young and old people frequent
all the establishments, from the hardware store to the “salon de the” next
door.
On my walks, I see the gypsies are back in Paris. I know most people don’t like gypsies but I
love them for their look, and for their difference. Amidst the dull back plumage of the Paris girl
(constantly preening), the gypsy sports pattern and color. Big skirts, shiny black hair in a bun,
scarves, high cheekbones – thrown together in a most interesting array. Their patterns have a way of blending into
the urban scene, providing fodder for my paintbrush.
One can’t make any eye contact, or the mystique is
finished: the demand for money
ensues. I have to be careful as I paint
the girl on the corner. I am backed into
a table at one of the cafes, pretending to paint the building across the street. Ten minutes into the picture, the lovely
girl’s crabby husband uproots her -- he looks like a mean dog. I finish up, using my memory. I wanted to give her a little something, but
not her husband.
I give all my favorite fixtures on the street a small coin,
welcoming them back. They protect the
neighborhood from more serious menaces.
It is one of the advantages of a busy street: there are many observers.
