Cycling in the Bois de Boulogne Laurie Fox Pessemier Acrylic/wood 7 x 13" 18 x 33 cm
Under the Big Tree Blair Pessemier Acrylic/panel 13 x 18" 33 x 46cm
Pedaling to work in Paris Acrylic/linen 9.5 x 14" 24 x 35 cm
A Passing Breeze
One afternoon last week, Harika and I hobbled along the hot
burning pavement to sit in the Market Area on Boulevard Raspail. We go around the block, rue d’Assas, a little
stretch of Cherche-Midi (Harika runs), then find our bench beneath the trees at the Raspail
market (in business Tuesday, Friday and Sunday mornings). It was 90+degrees at 4 in the afternoon.
The armatures and awnings for the market stands are shared between the markets at
Raspail and Edgar Quinet, near Montparnasse.
A flat bed truck, commandeered by four very large black Africans and a
Arab driver, ferry the equipment the eight blocks between the two (they have
other gigs, as well). They set the
uprights, add the connector bars and finally put the awnings, rolled up, into
place. They must be very strong men,
because all the bars are made of steel, and very heavy.
This day, they discovered the large upright water spigot for
the market: one man fashioned a tool,
and the next thing you knew water burst forth from the aperture where there is
usually a faucet. Wildness ensued: these men, wearing surprisingly heavy jackets
(maybe to protect themselves from the hot metal), stuck their heads into the stream, creating a
spreading effect of the water. They
scrubbed their heads, washed out their mouths; some took off their jackets and
doused their shirts. It was pandemonium
and pure joy, culminating in each filling his cap with water, clapping it onto
his head, and sadly, shutting off the tap.
Harika and I both went and stood, bare footed, in the remaining
water.
Yes, it’s been city hot here. We rented a car and drove out to the country
one day, to work on a “bid” for twenty workshop painters at Giverny next
October. We stopped along the way,
looking for place to launch Monet’s painting boat (that’s heating up,
too). Harika and I dunked into the Seine
at Vernon (she up to her chest, me just to my knees – I worry about getting
that water inside of me). It is hard
to find “natural” swimming around Paris – there are umpteen pools, but who
wants to swim in water fish can’t live in?
On Friday, we spent the afternoon beneath our favorite tree
in the bois de Boulogne, counting the insects and the breezes that passed.
