Art is not God Unique in France. It is but one god in the panoply of Olympians, along with children, food, wine, great shoes and scarves, élan, and the ability to make sex elegant wherever.

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I will avoid here the demons of politics, taxes, unemployment, price of apartments, immigration, and other pesky things that perturb the sangfroid public (national cool). They exist, mais oui, but I have seen more outrageously wonderful clothes than ever before here. Even the tourists have upped their style quotient. They got the memo.

Oh, I forgot the dogs. The French love dogs, but you already knew that. They love dogs of all sizes, but most dogs are small so they fit inside small apartments. So far I’ve only seen one large dog. In from the suburbs?

Back to art.

Now, October 24-27, is FIAC, the annual international fair where the major galleries handling contemporary works come from the great art centers—Paris, New York, Zurich, and Berlin mainly—to exhibit across the heart of Paris, indoors and out.

Yesterday, I walked from the apartment in the 6th arrondissement to the Louvre and then the length of gardens to the Tuileries (literally through statues) to the Grand Palais where I wandered, stunned. The “selfie” of me in front of the mirrored insect cage tells all.

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Three hours later I emerged, having passed on going to the balconies that contained the second half of the exposition. Walking back along the Seine, through a drizzle under a leopard-patterned umbrella, I was dazed. Everything always is a possibility for exploration, for breaking through to freedom, to playing one’s lute strings, for dancing with the panoply of gods.

Enjoy this small taste of the art and people inside the Grand Palais:


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