End of the month, and no time to write anything... This seems to have become more than a passing trend, and whilst time ticks along at the usual pace,
I seem to be doing less and less in absolutely every area of life - except work.
I have to find a way out of this particular set-up and state of affairs.
But in the meantime....
Since the rabbit has taken residence at home, I have been making time to go to the garden centre each Sunday to stock up on bunny-adapted supplies. Well, that's my official excuse to look at the array of plants and animals there.
I saw these beautiful cabbage leaves - sold as floral decoration - a few months ago, and kept them in my mind's eye.
Even the humblest of vegetable can be a source of aesthetic wonder!
Even if the more obvious forms initially catch our attention, each has its own beauty.
Little did I know that the blue skies at the beginning of February would give no indication to how the weather would change over the weeks. Snow came and went, cloaking everything in a fleeting layer of calm, momentarily muffling the usual humdrum sounds of city life, yet leading to chaos on the roads, rails and runways. With a little imagination, you could almost imagine yourself to be somewhere else, in some other time…
This reminded me of a beautiful card that I have kept over the years – Riders and Dogs in Snow – by the British watercolourist, Leslie Worth (1923-2009). The simplicity of this peaceful scene offsets the precision of the details so that you can feel the cold, with all the associated sensations in the tranquility of the landscape. The ruffled feathers of the blackbird, puffed-up against this harsh environment, stand out against the simple, stark bramble branches. The static gaze of the riders towards us, is contrasted by the excitement of the dogs, whose energy you can feel in their eager tails as they wait for the masters’ command.
This, in turn, reminded me of the painting Hunters in the Snow (1565) by Pieter Bruegel the Elder. Strange how animal traits change little over the centuries, and how well artists capture these, when their portrayals of key human features often fail, or remain caught in a specific moment of time, that are poorly 'translated' in the present...
It seems that much of Leslie Worth’s art captures a similar mood, centred around the changing English weather– hazy views over landscape transformed by rain, mist, sunlight and storm. Although his early work was largely carried out in oil, after having submitted two watercolours to the Royal Academy summer exhibition in 1951, he then turned towards this lighter medium. He had not studied the use of watercolour, but his technique and choice of scenery seemed to be instinctive. Born in North Devon on Derby Day, Worth would say the winning horse ‘Papyrus’ was surely a sign of things to come. Indeed, much of his life was spent around Epsom and paper was his material of predilection, and the base of the watercolours for which he was mostly, yet not exclusively, acclaimed.
Here we are at the end of the month – again with radiant skies that belie the minus 10° outside…
On this beautifully sunny (and cold) tail-end of a Sunday afternoon, I came across these two surveyors near the cathedral. Another work by the street artist Levalet. I do hope he carries on lightening up the walls around the city! Still bright skies after 5pm here...
Set on the old horse market, near the Jardin des Plantes in the 13th arrondissement in Paris is the Institut de Paléontologie Humaine (L’IPH).
I came across it by chance last year and was amazed by the beautiful sculpted friezes along the façades of the building. Unfortunately, all the photos disappeared when my computer broke...
Nevertheless, I was able to time another visit with the Les Journées du Patrimoine in September and therefore managed to enter the establishment – a stroke of luck as it is not open to the general public.
To ensure entrance, I had to reserve my visit in advance, and on the big day, I duly queued up before entering to listen to the talk given in the amphitheatre.
I did feel quite a fake, as my main interest was admittedly the architecture and decoration of the institute itself rather than the traces of the our ancestors from prehistorical times.
Although the assorted parts of the anatomy on display of Neanderthals and Cro-Magnons were interesting to look at, I did not feel any particular connection with these as such.
I loved visiting the collection rooms with their vast wooden display units bearing rows upon row of skulls; shelves with countless drawers, endless glass cabinets and expanses of parquet floors.
This reminded me of my favourite old museums before they were overtaken by digital, interactive gimmickry that always seems to distract you from the main object of your visit…
However my mind could not get any real grasp of the time perspective since this was a question of tens of thousands of years.
I could not imagine any common link between these ancient beings and their distant descendants – us.
Nevertheless, in one of the main rooms was a collection of artifacts that cut across that vast stretch of time like a lightning bolt.
Carved onto large pebbles and smooth stones were the unmistakable images of animals, whilst other display cabinets contained effigies of the female body.
The skill that had been employed to create these is breathtaking, and the ability to reproduce the bestial essence of the creatures with such accuracy - bear, bison, horse – seems to accentuate the human in their creators.
I found this incredibly moving, just as I did the Chauvet cave paintings from Werner Herzog's documentary, The Cave of Forgotten Dreams (2010). Alongside that, of course, I was very pleased to be exploring what is indeed a ‘temple dedicated to the prehistoric’ as this also happens to be a magnificent example of art nouveau!
The IPH was the first research centre in the world set up for the unique study of Fossil Man in order to present the findings from a naturalist and ethnographical viewpoint, incorporating each stage of study, from the excavations, analysis and finally the publication of scientific results.
It was created in in 1910, on the demand of Prince Albert I of Monaco (1848-1922), who had a keen interest in natural science, especially oceanography and human paleontology.
He felt that the progress in science would improve society and recognized that there was a need for permanent means of research and full academic recognition in this area of science.
The prince was advised on this project by l’abbé Henri Breuil and de Marcellin Boule, professor of paleontology in the Muséum National d’Histoire Naturelle, following a visit to the grottos of the Pyrénées Cantabriques in 1909.
The prince also financed this ambitious cause. It was the third oldest French scientific foundation, after the l'Institut Pasteur and l'Institut Océanographique.
Three main missions are carried out by the IPH ; field (archaeological excations) and laboratory research ; the conservation of all artifacts found ; the issue of research findings via meetings, conferences, exhibitions and publications. It works in collaboration with Asia, Turkey, India, China and South Korea to trace the first prehistoric settlements.
The architect Emmanuel Pontremoli, awarded the prix de Rome in 1890 and director of the l’École Nationale Supérieure des Beaux-arts, was commissioned to carry out the work for the creation of the institute.
He took on the craftsmen who had already worked under him for his realisation of the coastal ancient Greek Villa Kerylos (Beaulieu-sur-Mer, in the south of France). Finally finished in 1914, the institute was both a temple to the past, yet in its architectural structure very much anchored in the present.
It used the array of materials that had started to be brought together for the construction of buildings in the art nouveau period and for their rich eclectic decoration – with frescos, iron-and wood work, mosaics and glass. The institute has a particular imposing elegance– set on a slope – and the wealth of detail on the double façade draws you in closer.
It is built of Euville limestone, with brick insets and above the main entrance are set the coat of arms of the Prince of Monacco. It is set out over four levels, each of which respect the initial scientific requirements of the IPH for research, collection and display.
On passing through the beautiful glass-and-metal entrance, you encounter the beautiful, rounded structural forms of the hall, with its intricate mosaics underfoot, which leads onto various rooms – such as the conference hall where the present director Mr Henry de Lumley gave his talk. His total devotion to archeology, geology and the prehistoric, expertise, yet warmth and total lack of pretention created a unique atmosphere, whilst the room itself, with its art nouveau detail, was incredible.
As you go up the impressive staircase, you feel a strange mixture of sobriety and calm, alongside the odd impression that such ancient relics of the past can give – the traces of the dawn of civilisation in Man. On the first floor is the library which is the central feature from which the other rooms radiate.
You just want to get locked in overnight to expore – hence my disappointment on my second trip to the institute when I was told that visits were only for professionals, and my excitement when I realised that a third trip would gain me access thanks to the Journées du Patrimoine.
What caught my attention when I first sighted the IPH last summer was the stunning sculpted bas-relief frieze that runs around the three façades of the building. These too create a strange impression of proximity, yet imposing distance – featuring civilisations far removed from our own, yet still clearly human. Part of this is due to the decision of the sculptor, Constant Roux, to draw on scenes of the daily existence of primitive peoples which serve as a distant echo to that of prehistoric man.
In this way, it relies on comparative ethnography to convey the image of the familar, yet ‘wild’. We see depictions of acitivities of the traditional hunter-gatherer peoples, killing beasts, fishing, gathering around each other through portraits of aborigenes of Australia and the Fuegians of South America.
Actual images of prehistoric man are not presented directly, other than those of Cro-Magnons, shown painting cave walls, at the entrance of the IPH.
I found this approach to be very effective, firstly for the incredible evocation of emotion and vitality shown on the whole body of these sculpted individuals, but also from my recollections of the study of the ancient Fuegian people and the Inuit.
The official inauguration of the IPH took place at the end of 1920, just two years after the end of the Great War, during which civilized man displayed massive, unprecedented acts of savagery on a global scale. I found that quite a humbling thought too….
What is also strange is that passers-by just amble along, without even noticing the incredible decoration of this building, but I suppose that’s the lot of modern-day man. We’re all too caught up in our daily occupations and fleeting preoccupations, eyes rivetted onto some screen or another to lift our gaze up and beyond.
What did catch the general public’s attention a few years ago was the arrival in the IPH of a certain illustrious beast, of some 15,000 years old. Priscillia the fossilized woolly rhinoceros was installed in the heart of the institute library in December 2011, to commemorate the centenary of the establishment, and apparently named after the daughter of her donator.
She is one the last representatives of the species Coelondonta antiquitatis. Unfortunately, she had to be relieved of her amazing horn, for fear of it being stolen, so what we see now it a golden replica.
Although it might not be that easy to go inside the IPH, the exterior of the building itself is well worth a visit - just remember to look up!