Artnotes: the Week in Paris

 Putti Planter  Laurie Fox Pessemier  Acrylic/linen  18 x 15"  46 x 38 cm

 Giverny September   Laurie Fox Pessemier   Acrylic/linen  13 x 18"  33 x 46

 Giverny Flower 2   Blair Pesssemier   Acrylic/panel  12 x 12  30 x 30cm

 Gladiola  Blair Pessemier   Acrylic/linen 16 x 10.5"  41 x 27cm

 Dahlia  Laurie Fox Pessemier   Acrylic/wood  9.5 x 7"  24 x 17 cm

 Path Bagatelle   Blair Pessemier   Acrylic/linen  14 x 10.5"  35 x 27cm

 Four Boats   Laurie Fox Pessemier   Acrylic/linen  12 x 12  30 x 30cm

 Through the trees   Laurie Fox Pessmeier   Acrylic/linen 10.5 x 16"  27 x 41cm

 House in the distance   Laurie Fox Pessemier   Acrylic/linen  13 x 16"  33 x 41 cm

 Folly in the Bagatelle   Blair Pessemier  Acrylic/linen  15 x 18   38 x 46cm

 Two chessmen paintings   Acrylic/linen  12 x 12" each 30 x 30 cm

 Boats in the Bois de Boulogne September   Blair Pessemier   Acrylic/linen12 x 20"  30 x 50cm

 Under the umbrella Tuileries  Laurie Fox Pessemier   Acrylic/wood6 x 13"  33 x 15cm

 Waiter with a straw hat  Laurie Fox Pessemier   Acrylic/linen  12 x 12  30 x 30 cm

 Mermaid at a table  Laurie Fox Pessemier   Acrylic/wood  6 x 13"  33 x 15cm

 Senat and balustrade  Blair Pessemier   Acrylic/linen  15 x 18"  38 x 46 cm

Carousel Luxembourg   Blair Pessemier  Acrylic/linen  16 x 16" 40 x 40cm

Artnotes:  the Week in Paris

This week, we painted along the Seine, in the Tuileries Gardens, in the Luxembourg Gardens, at the bois de Boulogne, the parc Bagatelle and at Giverny.  Not to mention we hung a new art show of our work at the Petit Lux (one of this week’s paintings graces the poster).

Workshop painters this week came from New Zealand, Chicago and North Carolina.  All were good painters, fully enjoying their time at the easel.  I am lucky to finally paint for a living, and kind of wish I had made the shift earlier in life.   Go to art school (or not), be an artist!!!  Follow your calling:   it will make your life most happy.  

I can set up my canvas virtually (there’s a word that’s changed meaning) anyplace, and make a painting.  There are certainly places I prefer over others:  a colorful scene rather than a neutral one, flowers over stones.   Blair and I love to paint.

We took our Giverny car a day early, to go out to the Bois de Boulogne, in comfort.  People are always impressed at the size and extent of the woods.  There were still roses blooming in the Bagatelle, some quite fragrant.  I sat on the grass and painted the house in the distance, after a morning near the boats.

The boat , our Monet Bateau-Atelier, is floating along. We have an American builder interested in it, and have some funding ideas.  We’d make an ideal advertisement for Marine Insurance or Marine paint.

Along the banks of the Seine, people stopped to talk to all of us.  Americans, mostly.  I gave out cards, and encouraged people to pull up an easel.  A  little French girl sat silently, watching one of our painters for nearly a half hour.  People on the street, in the parks, are thrilled to watch the magic of painting.

We have wonderful conversations with our fellow painters.   Rarely do they touch on politics or religion, (things we were told never to talk about, as the gentle woman in the back seat of the car points out) but  relate happy stories from our lives, or the foibles of travel.  Painters relax.

We lunched together somedays:  crepes on rue Servandoni, local food at the Café Assignat near the Seine (steak tartare!), and at the fancy restaurant in the Bois de Boulogne.  One woman talked about how she made swan sausage in New Zealand.   I had seen a recipe for swan in an old English cookbook, I never knew anyone who ate it.  ‘Black swans”, she told us.  

As we drove around the Arc de Triumph, the couple in the back of our car recounted a tale about how a cab dropped them off in the center of the roundabout, at the Arch itself.   They found themselves “stuck” there – cabs refusing to stop, and our friend couldn’t get down the stairs with her walker.  Finally, a policemen on duty blew his whistle, pulled over a cab. The driver stopped with a look of dread on his face.  The policeman then ordered him to ferry our friends home.   Ah, Paris!