"Wallace Berman: Visual Music" by Sophie Dannenmüller (Frank Elbaz Gallery)

For those who are interested, you can obtain the catalog to my dad's (Wallace Berman) show at the Galerie Frank Elbaz website. It's a limited edition with a beautiful essay by Sophie Dannenmüller who also curated the exhibition.  Get it here:

https://www.galeriefrankelbaz.com/469/galerie-frank-elbaz-wallace-berman-visual-music

September 23, 2018 / Tosh's Diary (Paris/Los Angeles)

September 23, 2018

The flight was somewhere between 10 and 11 hours long, and it was boring as hell. The service on the airline Air France was outstanding.  But there were delays at the airport, and the plane took off about an hour late. The Charles DeGaulle airport is enormous of course, but one of the interesting aspects of its architecture is the wooden ceilings.  At LAX Bradley terminal I feel we are in a series of confined spaces, but the vastness of the boarding gate in Paris is immense, and it actually becomes a vanishing point when you look in the front of you.   

As one gets to their seat, you are confronted by a lack of space, but I’m mentally prepared for that. I brought two books with me for the reading.  The main book is Alexander Trocchi’s “Cain’s Book” which I purchased in a bookstore in Paris called the Red Wheelbarrow.   Across from the Lexingburg Gardens.  As far as I know, or at least on this trip, I came upon four English language bookstores. All were good.  Any John Calder publication is a good book.  It’s the British version of Grove Press or the sister or brother of that excellent publishing house.  Calder had an extraordinary vision as a publisher.  I still haven’t finished the book, and every time I feel sleepy, I try to close my eyes to drift off to sleep.

Nevertheless, sleep is impossible for me on a plane.  My sense of travel is being at a location. I don’t actually like the physical aspect of traveling.  I hate luggage.  I really don’t like airports. I loathe going through security.  And I generally don’t enjoy the ride to or from the airport.  I love being at my destination.  But the compromise to get to that direction of the destination is a horror show for me.  I envy fictional characters like James Bond, or Tom Cruise in “Mission Impossible,” where there is a subtitle that says “Berlin,” and therefore you know the main character is there in that city.  I too want to travel in such a manner where a subtitle shows up under my body, and I’m immediately at that location.  You never see Bond buying a plane ticket or waiting at the airport. Nor is he busy making sure he has a European wall plug for his laptop computer.  The one groovy thing I do have is that I rent a portable wi-fi set.  I discovered this when I went to Japan, and in that country, there is not that many ‘hot spots’ for internet use.   Carrying this small pocket-sized wi-fi is a dream.  The battery lasts for six hours, so one should turn it off when not in use. Other then that, it’s perfect. 

We got back home around 10 PM, and I drank a few glasses of wine, checked my e-mail, and tried to feel like I was back home in Los Angeles.  My brain was here, but my body thought it was still walking on Germain-des-Prés. I have a hard time with jet-lag.  Forcing the body and mind to be in one place is a problem for me.  I heard one should just drink water on the jet, but of course, I drank wine.  It’s free on international flights!  Still, I don’t think I can ever beat this feeling of being displaced in time and space.  I got up early and went to work at ARTBOOK (917 E 3RD Street, Los Angeles 90013) to take images for me to write about - and then I walked around Downtown Los Angeles.  It still feels like I was in Paris.  Even though I was walking down Spring Street, I felt the next corner will be rue Oberkampf in the 11th arrondissement.  Which by the way is named after Christophe-Philippe Oberkampf, an 18th-century German-born French industrialist. He invented the first machine for printing wallpaper.  

Lun*na and I went to the Tony Berlant opening at the Kohn Gallery (North Highland Avenue, Los Angeles 90038) and the dinner afterward at Michael and Caroline’s home for the artist.  The show is pretty great.  Tony’s work is basically collaged with images printed on metal, or tin, and put together by steel brads, which gives the art a multi-textural feel.  Some are flat pieces while others are sculptures.  Also, I really like the works that are horizontal when placed on the wall.   They stick out so one can see both sides of the artwork.  So, in a sense, they are sculptural, but flat as well.  Interesting combination. I made a note to myself to come back to the exhibition to spend more time with the art. 

 Tosh Berman

Chris Curtis and Board Games on Tosh Talks

Chris Curtis is a great friend of mine, and someone I admire, due to being a great human being, but also his taste which is very articulate and refined to a perfect point in his ability to express what he likes and why.  His current passion is board games, which is a subject I knew nothing about.  After watching this show the viewer will be fascinated with the board games history, and it's cultural importance in society.   We discuss my favorite childhood games that came from TV shows from the 60s and beyond, but Chris gets into the nitty-gritty of the gaming world.  - Tosh Berman, your host for Tosh Talks.

September 20/21, 2018 (Paris)

September 20/21, 2018

We just got back from Paris.  Yesterday we spent the day at Passage des Panoramas (11 Boulevard Montmartre).  This is the arcade that Walter Benjamin wrote about in his major (unfinished) book "Arcade Project."  What's interesting about this arcade is that it opened in 1800, and its the first role model or attempt to make an indoor shopping center in an urban area, in other words, a city.  Paris in 1800 was dirty streets that were not friendly to the retail space, due to the lack of electricity and their various plumbing problems, where citizens would throw their shit and piss on the streets.  The Passage des Panoramas is the oldest covered shopping area in Paris.   Going there was a moving experience for me.

I have great admiration for Walter Benjamin's writing, as well as his interest in culture and city-living.  He openly admired Charles Baudelaire not only for his poetry but also his appreciation for the aesthetic and nature of a city (Paris).   Passage des Panoramas was invented for the sole purpose of shopping, which one comes to think of it, a somewhat original 19th century thought.  But why is it fascinating now?

Well, for one, I'm a consumer.  I can't help it. Without a doubt, it's an addiction of great importance to me, as a person, and writer.  I'm sure those who read my posts have a good indication that I love records and books.  But I also have a deep secretive (even to myself) love for other's childhood culture.  For instance, I'm fascinated with TinTin, yet though I have to admit I'm not French or Belgium (the home of TinTin).  There was a tote bag we saw through the window that seemed to me to be a perfect purchase, but alas, the store was closed.  I find the independent stores in Paris a mystery due to their hours. Some are open from 1 pm to 6 pm, and I get the impression that they don't want to change their lives too much due to the success of the tourist demand.  Still, I'm amazed at the beauty of a culture that's expressed in a retail shop.  People tend to not to look up to the retail place as something as important as a museum.   Often I think it is even more critical, because there are people who open shops that are devoted to the past, and they do so with great passion.  When I go into a good shop, I feel obsession, love, sensuality, and pleasure.  I feel this when I enter the Passage des Panoramas

September 18, 2018

September 18, 2018

A dream trip to Paris is more poignant when you develop back pain.  Le French Chair does not fit the needs of my body, and therefore there is some suffering involved on this trip.  Oddly enough I'm not complaining because I'm happy here in Paris.  Still, I plan to go to the bookshop at Pompidou Centre, which is less than a mile from my headquarters.  A beautiful walk, but now the stroll will add a certain amount of awkwardness and pain.

Yesterday in a higher state of pain I walked down Rue Vieille du Temple, which is the street for independent fashion boutiques, bistros/cafes, restaurants, and specialty shops of all sorts.  The stores around the Louvre are crap, but here on the road, it is nothing but refined chicness and beautiful fashion. 

One of the stores I admire greatly is Au Petit Bonheur la Chance (13 rue Saint-Paul 75004) which is an antique store, but focusing on 20th-century pop culture items and objects from one's youth.  This perfectly named store is jam-packed with sewing material, notebooks from another era/generation, and most movingly a whole section of photographs taken of family trips and get-togethers.  Why these photos are not in some family's collection is a tad depressing, but also has an emotional charge when you look through these images.  I found a box of 7" 45 rpm singles that included a Jacques Dutronc record, but alas, I have the same copy at home.  So its a shop full of French toys from the 1950s, old fabric, napkins, statuettes, old playing cards, games, and old retail signs plus postcards from another time and era.  The shop is very much a second-hand store, but beautifully curated with real soul and feeling.  A very charming way of going into the past, but alas, it is not my past, but the history of someone of my age, who is French.  

Their website is http://aupetitbonheurlachance.fr

As I struggled toward home (here in Paris), I went to Muji France to purchase two striped shirts - both cost under $40, and as anyone who knows me personally, I have a sizeable striped shirt collection.  The best high-quality shop for strip shirts and shoes is St. James, which is a traditional French clothing company and the ground zero for striped shirts and sweaters.  I suspect that me and perhaps hardcore TinTin (although not French technically) fans will see this spot as a shrine.  I do treat the store in such a manner, but alas, the clothing here is beyond my budget, which is basically between a few euros and entirely broke.  But to walk into this small shop and breath in the strip shirt inventory is as good as sex.  I would give you the address, but I don't want any outsiders coming here!  Although with the help of Google you will find it quickly enough. 

I was going to have dinner out, but instead, my wife went to the Pharmache de la Place Republique to get a can of cream for my aching back, and therefore we had Chinese food-to-go in our petite rented apartment.   All holidays have a sense of tragedy, and you need that to appreciate the good things that one experiences on a trip to another land. 

- Tosh Berman

"My Life in the Theatre de la Huchette" by Tosh Berman (Paris)

Not too many people know this, but besides being a publisher (TamTam Books) and writer ("Sparks-Tastic, "The Plum in Mr. Blum's Pudding," and the upcoming memoir "Tosh"), I'm also a movie actor.  I did a cameo in Anna Biller's "Viva," in which I had a line, or to be more exact just one word "precious," and the role of 'Boy' in Andy Warhol's "Tarzan and Jane Regained Sort Of..."   Also, I had starring roles in various films by Relah Eckstein.   Now, due to financial issues, I have decided to become an actor for the stage, and not just any stage, but The Théâtre de la Huchette in the Latin Quarter in Paris. 

The theater is located at 23 rue de la Huchette, and since 1957 they have been presenting a double-bill of "The Lesson" and "The Bad Soprano" by Eugène Ionesco.   The playwright has the knack to convey the absurdity of life in such a manner that articulates my view of the world.  Therefore I went to the Huchette theater and told them I'm willing to work for nothing if they give me a role in the production.  They asked if I can speak French, and I said "NO."  I told them it would be faithful to the playwright's concern if I were an actor that couldn't express myself in another language.  But the rub is that Ionesco such an exact type of writer, that language, of course, is essential. But the fact that I couldn't deliver his lines in such a manner means that the director has to up his game by presenting me in such a production.  Every night I have to learn m lines in French and to remind you, dear readers, it's two plays I'm doing every night.   I do all my lines in French of course, but it has a California accent attached to it, that caused my director to winch whenever he hears me recite the lines. 

It's interesting to note that Ionesco is Romanian, and French is his second language, which is the language he wrote his plays in.  So in that sense, I feel we have something in common. I told that to the director, and he agreed that I was on to something.  "The Bald Soprano" in my mind is about language and communication.  Therefore since Ionesco wrote it in a second language, and I don't speak proper French makes this production the essential version of the play. 

I often have dreams where I'm either in a public space or at a party with friends, and I'm naked.   Everyone else is dressed, but for some reason, I either lost my clothes or forgot to put them on before leaving home.  The thing is no one says anything about my nakedness. Acting in these two one-act plays, I have that feeling, but I'm awake and aware of what is in front of me.   Which are embarrassment and shame.   My role model for acting is Peter Sellers in the Pink Panther films directed by Blake Edwards.   If I speak fast enough with a strong fake French accent, I may get away with the performance.  Hopefully, the audience, and especially the theater critics will see it as an absurd performance in a highly ridiculous pair of plays. 

Tonight is opening night, and as I walk from the 3rd arrondissement to the 5th I try not to think of the pain in my stomach, but also I realize that I forgot my lines.  My immediate reaction is to run away from the theater.  Still, as a professional, and as a representation of an American, with the 'go-for-it-spirit' I enter the backstage of the theater to face my fate. 

- Tosh Berman, Paris, September 17, 2018

September 15, 2018 (Paris)

September 15, 2018

People often asked me why I write when I'm on a trip, or especially in a city like Paris?   For me, my brain moves slowly, which causes my reactions to being slow as well.  I'm one of those fellows that morning means one thing, a few hours of reflection.  Without the meditation, my life is meaningless, and therefore I have a great need to write.  

Travel writing serves many purposes.  Recommendations to where to shop, to see, or eat, but what interests me the most is how aware I'm of my surroundings.   When I wake up, and I look out the window, I see the rooftops of various Paris buildings.  I have the urge to leap out of the window and hop from one rooftop after another, like my spiritual hero Fantômas.  Alas, I have a fear of heights, which stops me from doing such a practice.

Nevertheless, I do take the elevator down to the street level and leave the building in that sort of manner.   The lift itself is small.   Not that long ago we invited my Japanese relative to our place here in Paris, and even she commented that this is the smallest elevator ever, and that's a compliment of sorts for anyone who spent time in Japan.  There is Tokyo small, and then there's Paris tiny.   I often think of the substantial men walking around the city and how they can fit into a typical Parisian elevator. 

Today is Oscar Wilde day.  Lun*na and I decided to visit his tomb which is located in Père Lachaise Cemetery.  In the past, I have tried to locate his grave by using a tourist map or two, but consistently got lost, and never found the location.  This time, with the miracle of the smartphone, I can find the blasted tomb.   I'm not the type of guy who has heroes, but Oscar Wilde is a different breed of the icon for me.  Ever since I was a young teenager, I have been drawn to his life and writings.   I remember that I even had photographs of Wilde up in my bedroom wall.   The reason why I looked up to him in such a manner is mostly due to his 'outlaw' image and his sexuality.   He seemed to be a man born in the 19th century, but very much a 20th-century figure, or dare I say it, a 21st-century man.  When my memory was good, I used to quote his quotations to whoever would hang out with me. I was apparently an Oscar Wilde bore.

As one approaches Père Lachaise from the south, you are consistently waking uphill, and following my phone map to the Oscar destination is quite a hike.  Once I reached there, I'm surprised that the tomb is not more prominent.   My vision of the burial site is that it was a block-long, but alas, the nature of the tomb looks lonely and a worthy subject matter for a Smiths song.  Still, the monument by British sculptor Jacob Epstein is magnificent.  One's impression is that it's an art deco piece, but  I think that's simplifying the design.  Wilde died in 1900, and Epstein built the tomb in 1914.  It was commissioned by Wilde's literary executor Robert Ross and paid anonymously, but over time the donor was revealed to be Helen Carew.  Ironically there were some during that era that wished that the statue was homoerotica, but Epstein chose Wilde's poem "The Sphinx" as the inspiration for his work.  

Epstein did most of his work in England, and then transported the tomb to Paris, but had trouble going through customs.   On the French side, they refused to see it as a work of art, and customs charged an import duty of 120 pounds, due to its material, which was paid by Ross.   The sculpture had testicles but was covered by plaster by an unknown figure on the French side of the world.   As a compromise, Epstein made a bronze butterfly to cover up the testicles, but that too was altered or stolen by famed poet and occultist Aleister Crowley.   Weeks after discovering the removal of the butterfly, Epstein by chance meets up with Crowley at a Paris cafe, where the occultist had the bronze butterfly around his neck, wearing it like a necklace.  Crowley told Epstein that his work is now on display as he intended. 

Epstein had a successful and long career as an artist, and his eldest daughter, Kathleen, was married to the British painter Lucian Freud, who did numerous portraits of her.  Her nick-name is Kitty, and the painting "Portrait of Kitty" is a classic work by Freud. 

Looking at the tomb today I feel overwhelmed, almost starstruck seeing such a monument to such a great figure like Oscar Wilde.  What I like about the work is that it does reflect on Wilde, but not in an obvious manner.  I feel it has a life of its own.  It's interesting to note that they put a glass wall around the tomb because of the damage caused over the years by fans.  There are many lipstick lips on the grave which gives it an erotic edge.  

- Tosh Berman 

September 14, 2018 (Paris)

September 14, 2018

Although I'm working on a writing project in Paris, I feel weird staying inside my Airbnb apartment,  while there's Paris life outside my window.  I feel like a child who is forced to stay in their bedroom, and you can hear voices outside, and see people eating, but you have to remain in your space due that you are a naughty child.  The truth is I'm a terrible child.  I'm 64 years old, and still, mainly a 4-year old.   I'm so in-tuned to my childhood feelings, that being an adult makes me feel like a foreigner in my aging body.   I sit here typing away, yet I have one eye on the computer screen, and the other is looking outside my little window showing the roof-top view of the world. I sat here and finally wrote one sentence.  That, I feel was enough work for the day, and admittedly I need to go out and investigate the outside world. 

When I left the building, I didn't have a clue what direction to go, or if I was going anywhere specific.  By my animalistic instinct, I headed toward rue Vieille du Temple going south.   My dad's art dealer lives near the area, so I remember the neighborhood.  The Marais is an old Jewish district in Paris, and it's a mixture of boutiques, restaurants, art galleries, gay/lesbian culture, and a touch of middle-Eastern life as well.  One of my favorite neighborhoods in Paris, due to the mixture of tourist and citizen.  One of the fantastic things about Paris is that it's a place of immigrants of all sorts, and in a sense, it is still Paris, that is in one's imagination.  Café La Perle is famous to me, for the sole reason that a renowned French designer was kicked out of there for saying racist stuff to the fellow citizens of that bar/cafe.  I wasn't there when it happened, so I wouldn't know what is real or not true.  Although I suspect that the incident did happen as reported by the press and witnesses.  

I kept going down South and made sure I stayed on the street because I didn't want to get lost or lose my sense of direction.  At this point, I knew I wanted to go to the Left Bank and visit Saint Michel, a street that brings me a lot of good memories.  As I walked, I came upon La Chaumiere en I'lle (4 rue Jean du Bellay, 75004 Paris) and decided to go there to have lunch. I ordered a glass of red wine and a plate of penne with tomato sauce.  Not an exciting dish by any means, but something simple gave me great pleasure.  Bread came with the meal (of course, we're in Paris) and the joy I received from dipping my bread into the sauce also reminded me of my childhood.  As a kid, I loved dipping something into something.  Especially when you can eat it as well.   I sat there as I ate and I took out my notebook to write poetry.    The only thing that I came up with:  "Penne Red/Penne bad/Penne went insane."  Not Rimbaud, but still, a mediocre Tosh.   The meal put me in a bright mood, as I paid my bill and headed toward the Norte Dame.  

The one thing I enjoy about the structure that is the Norte Dame are the sculptures of demons looking down at you.   I feel that this is a demon within yours truly.  I know they are a spirit or a symbol to protect the building, but me being me, I take it personally.  I look up, and I feel this is my "Picture of Dorian Gray" moment.  My body is here, but my spirit is within those demons that look over Paris.   With that thought in mind, I headed toward Shakespeare and Company, an all-English bookstore that is located 37 rue de la Bûcherie, 75005 Paris.   I've been here many times in the last 30 years or so, and it is always a special place within my heart.   The question is "why?"  For one, it's a great bookstore within a fantastic architectural space.  One feels like they are going into a cave.  The other thing I like about the store is that in their rare book annex they are displaying in the window a copy of "Narcotica," a book of poems by "Beat"/Surrealist poet Phillip Lamantia, and perhaps his translation of Artaud's writings as well.  The cover of the book is designed/photographed by my father, Wallace Berman.   I haven't seen a copy of this book since I was a child.   They were charging 400 Euros for "Narcotica."  I went inside the bookstore and asked them if their rare book annex was open or what their hours are.  They told me that the person who runs the space is on vacation and will not be back until next week.

On the other hand, since I last been here, Shakespeare & Company opened up a cafe.   While I was there, I notice that a lot of British and American tourists were in the store, as well as a student wanting to sell her books - which she had both French and English titles. Other then that, I couldn't find anything I wanted at the store.  I was slightly disappointed that they didn't have any of my Boris Vian titles (TamTam Books) in stock at the time I was there.  Nor any books by Tosh Berman.   Still, it was nice that my dad was represented in their store (sort of). 

I have heard of Crocodisc records, but never been there, until now. I found it on my phone map and went directly there from Shakespeare and Company.  Crocodisc (40/42 Rue des Écoles, 75005 Paris) is a fantastic used vinyl record store that is tightly packed with goodies.  What is it about French record stores and having their albums so packed so tightly?  Nevertheless, I found vinyl copies of recordings that I have been looking for a while now.  They are two albums by Jean-Claude Vannier, and an obscure record by Gérard Manset called "Le Train du Soir."  There's a song here on this album that is a French-rock-pop masterpiece "Les Loops."  You can find it on YouTube.   The gentlemen who work here are very helpful.   When I asked if they have any albums by Jean-Claude Vannier, he thought I said "John Coltrane."  Which shows you how horrible my pronunciation of French words.   A great record store!

I walked on Rue des Ecoles to Saint Michel, and I (again) by instinct walked into Gilbert Joseph (26 Boulevard Saint-Michel, 75006 Paris), which is a bookstore as well as a music store.  I found a vinyl copy of Jacques Dutronc's "Gentleman Cambrioleur," a recent reissue, but originally came out in 1975.  Here on this album, he worked with Serge Gainsbourg.  I have been searching for this album as well.   For today's shopping a perfect score of 100%.  

As I headed back to our apartment, I went shopping for laundry soap and two bananas.   As soon as I dropped my packages, I took Lun*na out to a sushi restaurant nearby our Paris home.   

- Tosh Berman

September 13, 2018 (Paris)

September 13, 2018 (Paris)

Today in Paris, it's raining.  Which puts me in the mood of "Tosh: 5 to 7."  That, and waiting for news back home in Los Angeles about a project that I'm working on.  In other words, it's very Michel Legrand type of day.  Yesterday, Lun*na went to the Louvre to see some Dutch paintings, and we walked from where we are now to the museum.  That was a mistake. On the map, I thought it would be a simple walk, but it was a long stroll in the harsh sunlight of Paris.    We arrived on Rue Saint-Antoine, where Lun*na and I came upon music and DVD shop called O'CD (12 Rue Saint-Antonine, 75004 Paris).  There were new and used vinyl here, but most of the merchandise is CDs as well as DVDs.   I immediately went to their soundtrack section, and found a copy of François de Roubaix's score for Jean-Pierre Melville's "Le Samourai."   I heard that they released this music on vinyl early this year, but had trouble finding it back in Los Angeles.  Happiness came upon me just as hard as the sun hitting my face.  

We finally reached the Louvre Museum, which is located on Rue de Rivoli 75058 Paris.  Lun*na and I agreed that I would not enter the museum.  It's a well-known fact about me that I fear museum spaces with great intensity.   It has to do with the size of the building, how the floor patterns are either marble or concrete, as well as the size of the artwork on the walls.  If the ceiling is tall, it's impossible for me to enter such a room.  The other thing that bothers me about museums is that they are very much a maze-like floorplan.  Once you enter, it's impossible to find an exit.  Lun*na wanted to avoid the Mona Lisa and instead wanted to focus on Dutch paintings from the 17th-century.  Off she went, and I went to have wine and pizza at a nearby cafe called Chez Alexandre (16 rue du Louvre).  I started to feel bad because I made Lun*na walk at least two miles to get there, and now she's stuck in the Louvre and probably can't sit down anywhere.   My only appreciation of this fact is to drink more wine.  I ordered a small pizza, which was simple - cheese and tomato sauce.  The core food of this cafe is Greek food, but their pizza was delicious and with glasses of white wine, enjoyable experience, beyond my guilt feelings regarding Lun*na at the Louvre.  

In the area, not far off to walk, is a record vinyl store  'Monster Mélodies (9 rue des Déchargeurs).  I approached the store with great expectations.  I wasn't disappointed.  This is the first record store where it is so crammed full of vinyl that one can't remove the record from the shelf.   My first impression is that they specialized in European prog artists, with a side interest in Punk, rock n' roll, and a jazz section.  For one, it's impossible to be there when another customer is looking around as well.  The size is not the issue, but how the merchandise is displayed in the store.  For one, there are at least a zillion (I count that high) albums in the store.  There are also boxes of 45 rpm singles, but they are scattered around the floor, and quite dangerous to pick up because there is a good chance that the cardboard boxes will break.  When I was in the store, there were two other customers, plus the owner.  To pass the other customer, it took great skill in the ability to stretch my body at a certain angle.  If I was on the floor looking at the singles, it is logical that I should craw between the customer's legs to get on the other side. 

The inventory seems terrific, but I can't be sure, due that the records are jammed together, and one needs a tremendous tool to pull the releases out of the tight space.  For instance, I can see on the wall shelf that they have various recordings by Jacno, but with all my might and finger skills, I couldn't get ahold of any of the recordings.  I asked the owner if he could help me.  He just shrugged his shoulders and told me to try to hold on to one of the records.  By my fingertips, I held the album, but couldn't pull it loose.  He then grabbed my waist, and he pulled me as I tried to pull the record out.  This too was unsuccessful.  So we both gave up the idea of me obtaining an album by Jacno. 

I left 'Monster Mélodies' feeling a tad down, but still, very impressed with the nature of this store.   Vinyl records are an obsession, and that's the proper medium for one's passion for an object.  Those who laugh or don't understand such an interest in life, shouldn't bother or take space in my world.  I picked Lun*na up at the museum entrance, and she told me that the Dutch Painting section was closed today - only today!  We went to a local cafe to get some beer at a cafe called Les Fontaines (196 Rue Saint-Honoré, 75001 Paris).  Lun*na gave me a blow-by-blow of her visit to the museum, and I thank god I wasn't with her.  She had trouble finding things in the Louvre due to its size, and the mix-up of how one counts each floor.  In France, there is the main entrance floor, and then if you go upstairs, that becomes the first floor, and so forth.  Totally confusing to a Japanese and American citizen!

We met Frank and Vanessa at the Clown Bar (114 Rue Amelot, 75011 Paris).  It is right around where we are staying in Paris, and this bar is a Clown hang-out because there is a circus building next door.  It is not unusual to see clowns here late at night having a drink after their performance next door.   Lun*na and I had Monk Fish, which was delicious.    We discussed art business and the difference between Los Angeles and Paris.  When I'm outside of my city of birth (Los Angeles), I realized how unique my town is. It's hard to describe the city's characteristics to an outsider because it doesn't make logical sense whatsoever.  Then I realize that I'm an outsider.  Therefore it makes perfect sense that I live in Los Angeles. 

- Tosh Berman

September 12, 2018 (Paris)

September 12, 2018 (Paris)

The jet-lag is better, but not completely gone.  Still, it's a considerable effort to wake up in the morning, where it's morning.  Everything in my body tells me to stay in bed, but then I get nagging anger at myself for allowing more bedtime when I should be out and about to enjoy the magnificent city that is Paris.   For me, the pure enjoyment of this city is due to walks.  We arranged to see our friend Dennis at the used bookstore/cafe "Merci" on bd Beaumarchais.  For one, the cafe is just around the corner from our residence, and therefore no excuse to be late for such a meeting.  We did get there on time, which was 2 PM.   Dennis had bread that is called bouche, and its served with butter and jam.  I had a cappuccino and Lun*na had a cold drink of some sort.   

Dennis is a friend from Los Angeles, and I have known him for years.  A brilliant writer, he's now making films and for the past ten years doing theater pieces as well.   For me, he's the classic example of the American who goes to Paris and everything becomes great for him and his art.  I have to presume that the road to this greatness is a bumpy one, but he wears it well, and he's genuinely one of the few people that I much admire.  In other words, he's everything that I'm not.  For instance, I'm sluggish, and I'm trying to tell the difference between my waking and dream life.  Since I  have been in Paris, I have been having these odd dreams of being at work (which is weird enough, because I don't go to work) nude.  Everyone is dressed, but I try to act normal like it's OK for me to be at my occupation and space and to be in the nude.   I feel in the dream that I know this is wrong, but if I act like it is not wrong, then the problem or feelings will go away.   I then wake-up in the middle of the night, thinking "why do I have dreams like that?"   This, of course, keeps me up for numerous hours and then depressing comes over me, because I fear it will ruin the rest of the day, and my day is here in Paris.

After the coffee break, I take Dennis over to the Frank Elbaz Gallery to see my dad, Wallace Berman's artwork.   Frank was there, and he showed me a work by Wallace which I haven't seen in years.   It's a strange phenomenon to see a work by your father that you have no connection with, yet, it's very much part of one's DNA.  The narration is that artworks get sold, and they go out into the world.  The collector or buyer may have it for a few years or forever, but mostly they did get re-sold and moved somewhere else in the world.   So, to locate artworks is sometimes a detective story.   The thing is, as a member of the family, I have no control over how these pieces move from one owner to another.  It's an odd feeling to be associated with a work, just due to family, and come upon something that is almost new to one.  It is a rock sculpture by my dad, with Hebrew writing and it's one of the rock pieces that has a metal chain attached to the rock.   A beautiful piece.  I remember seeing it as a kid.  Beyond that, I don't know what happened after my dad originally sold the piece. 

We walked Dennis to the metro.  Then we decided to go to a supermarket, Carrefour Market (88 Rue Amelot 75011 Paris), and buy food for lunch.  I purchased a cheese sandwich which was tasty and straightforward, and Lun*na purchased a vegetable wrap.  For me, to go to a neighborhood food market is a delight. Especially a foreign (to me) food place.  I'm easily amused to wander around the potato chip section of the store.  We got back home with our lunch, and after we ate it, we had to figure out how to use the laundry machine, that is also a dryer.   A rocket scientist could figure this out, but sadly I failed every science class in Junior and High School, and therefore I wasn't much help.  But we did find a YouTube post regarding how to use this type of washing machine.   If nothing else, YouTube is great for instructional videos.

It's now around 6:30 PM, and usually, this would be our happy hour at home (Los Angeles), but we decided to go out and walk around Paris.  We strolled down Bd des Filles du Calvaire to Bd Beaumarchais.   On this Bouvard is a series of motorcycle shops.   When I look at these machines, I think of them as being fetish objects.  Every type of machinery in France or in Paris looks like a highly aesthetic object. The same goes for the buildings or architecture.  I'm not used to being in a city that has such high visual standards.    We eventually reached Place de la Bastille.  I get goosebumps by going to this location because Marquis de Sade was in prison here.  Of course, the prison structure doesn't exist anymore due to its destruction during the French Revolution.  Still, to think such a great man as Sade being in the same location as I.  I shudder in delight.   

Lun*na and I then went onwards to Bd Henry IV where we ended up at Pont Sully.  We looked over the Seine River and wondered what it would be like to jump into the waters.  It's odd that we think of suicidal thoughts on a holiday, but there you go!  The highlight of this street is a statue of Arthur Rimbaud, the great poet.  It's a new statue, meaning something made this century.  The bronze statue is located on the Place du Père-Teilhard-de-Chardin, on the right of boulevard Henri IV, and is the work of Jean-Robert Ipoustéguy (1920-2006).  The work is called L'homme aux semelles devant (à Rimbaud) (Man with soles in front, to Rimbaud).   

Walking down a street and to come upon the memories of Rimbaud and Sade, can only happen in Paris.  - Tosh Berman

September 11, 2018 (Paris)

September 11, 2018 (Paris)

The jet-lag is starting to be a bore.   I spent the entire day in a daze, and I wasn't clear where I was most of the time.  There has been a series of meals that went from one place to another, usually a combination of great walking and metro riding.  I have been here for five days, and today is the first time I've used the metro.   Getting around is not that difficult, but one thing that I find hard to do is the procedure of getting a ticket or even opening a door.   Most gates and doors all have codes, so you have to push a series of buttons to get into a private residence.  If you want to leave that space, then you have to find a button that will open the door for you.  The same for getting a metro ticket.  You have to select what you want, push, and then you think this is the time to put your credit card in, but alas, you have to push another button to give one that option of payment.  It's consistently pushing, wait, push again, etc. 

We spent the day with our nephew from Tokyo, who will be moving to Europe with his finance soon, and I wanted to go back to this vegetarian restaurant Le Potager du Marais ( 24 Rue Rambuteau, 75003 Paris).  The food there is delicious. I had spinach lasagna, Lun*na had a plate of steamed vegetables with brown rice, with soy sauce on the side, and my nephew and his soon-to-be-bride had buckwheat crape with carrots and other vegetables.   One can have wine, but I decided on just having water, due that my brain wasn't working fully.  They had very elaborate plates, such as my lasagna, which was a considerable portion, and mostly covered by the spinach.  I can see the pasta through the jungle, and taste it quickly enough, and I finished the plate with satisfaction. 

We went back to the Frank Elbaz gallery (66 rue de Turenne, 75003 Paris. Open from Tuesday to Saturday, 11:00 A.M. To 7 P.M.) when no one was around to take photographs of my family in the court.  Lun*na had the code to get in through the gates.   The gallery was at one time a place for horses, and you can still see the design/architecture of such a place.   The main gate from the street is from that period, a few centuries ago, and basically what the gallery did was put in walls, but there are huge windows in place as well.  So one can easily see the exhibition from the courtyard.  After we took the photos, we went for a long walk, and then hopped onto the metro to go to Epicure 108 (108 Rue Cardinet, 75017 Paris).

Epicure is a traditional restaurant, but the chef and owner are a couple from Japan.  They had this restaurant for numerous years, and will by the end of this month retire from the business.  It's small, unpretentiously elegant, and the food is incredible.   I had a three-course meal.  The starter was a shrimp avocado dish that two large shrimps on a small layer of Salmon with a soft potato substance that was avocado, shrimp, and sauce.   The main dish was a risotto with squid.   Both dishes were perfect with bread because I enjoyed dipping the bread into the sauces, which was a total delight due to its taste.   We drank wine kif, as well as a glass of white wine and left the restaurant happy.  

My nephew and his bride had a friend to meet, and we agree to meet up at our residence because we are holding their luggage for them.  They are going to Italy tonight, but they have to spend time at the airport because their flight is early in the morning.  We are planning to visit an old friend who is here just for a few days.  We agreed to meet at a cafe near the Norte Dame.  By my google map, it says a 50-minute walk, but of course, it became a longer stroll due that we were taking photographs every few minutes or so.  I have never been to this part of Paris before, and of course, even with a google map, I got lost here and there.  About halfway through our walk, we realized we needed to take a metro, or we would be late in meeting our friend.  That was an ordeal as well because we had to figure where to get off, to get on to another line to reach St. Michel station.   Once we arrived at the Left Bank, it was a 15-minute walk to the cafe.   John, our friend, was waiting for us, and I felt terrible for being late for our arranged meeting time. 

At the cafe, Lun*na had two glasses of beer, I had three glasses of wine, and John had orange juice and two glasses of wine.  I first met John in London when I was eleven years old, and we haven't spoken to each other since then.  We only made contact through Facebook for the last few years.  John was someone I want to connect with because it was part of my youth that is slowly disappearing.    Also, I remember liking him a lot as a kid.  Now that I'm much older he is still the same as I remember him.  John makes his recipe with a combination of different type of tobacco as well as putting a filter in the zigzag paper.   Sitting by him, the smoke is mild and not as irritating as a commercial brand of cigarette.  We talked about what happened today, as well as touch on politics, and my dad's exhibition.  It was an excellent connection to visit Wallace's (Berman) show and having John there.   Karin, a woman we met at the opening of the show, came by the cafe and had tea.   She has lived in Paris for 15 years and is from England.  She is from the same town as John, but they are many years apart.   She met John at the opening as did we, and now we are back together again.   

John got an uber to go back to where he's staying, and Karin offered to walk us back to our place so we can get my nephew and his soon-to-be-bride their luggage so they can leave for the airport.   On the way there, we went to a convenient food market to purchase salad and bread for our late snack that night.    Every step to our residence became an effort for me to stay awake.  The jet-lag was hitting me at this time, and I have no clear memory of what I said, but we did make it to the apartment in time to see my nephew there waiting for us to pick up his luggage.  I often think of time as an edited movie, but in truth, there are the little things that make time so important.  

- Tosh Berman

September 8, 2018 (Paris) by Tosh Berman

September 8, 2018

The early part of the day was very much into the subject matter of sleep.  I woke up around 10 and did some writing.   The apartment we are staying in is on the top floor.  As you look out the two windows in the main room, the view is rooftops.  Not far from us is the Circus building, and their roof is a vast dome.   I would like to think it was a university or a Government building, but no, it’s a circus.  Since we are on the top floor, the ceiling is shaped like the rooftops.  There are peeks, and then there are lows.  As of my last count, I banged my head at least three times.  We have wooden beams going across the room. If I wish to hang myself, that would be no problem. The beam is probably 8 ft high, so if I get a chair and a nice rope, the job is done. 

At the moment (even although I’m writing) I’m getting dressed to go out tonight to be part of my dad’s opening here in Paris.  After the talk I will give with Sophie, then we will have dinner at Frank and Vanessa ’s house which is in the neighborhood.  To clear my head, I take a walk around the Marais, which is the oldest part of Paris.  As I stroll down the streets without bothering the thought of direction or address, I think of the 17th-century structures, and imagine myself in the future, which in fact, I’m apparently in the present, which of course, is the future.  

I found a Vegan Burger place in the Marais called “Hank’s Burger,” (55 rue des Archives, 75003 Paris) which looks fantastic.  I gave up on eating meat, yet I still desire to eat a hamburger.  For me, it’s not the meat that necessary in a burger but the accessory what is around the beef.  The bun, lettuce, mustard, onions and so forth is what makes me hungry.   It’s more of a textural feeling than anything else.  Since it was a Saturday, there was a huge line to get in.  I stood in line for a bit and decided I needed to get some fast food because I had to go to the gallery for my dad’s opening at the gallery Frank Elbaz.  I’m scheduled to give a talk or chat with Sophie at the gallery, and I didn’t want to be late.  

I found a small chain food market, which had Amazon lockers for people to pick up their purchases.   In their food-to-go department, I found a vegetable wrap, that cost around 3 euros.  I sat at the counter to look out at the people walking on rue de Turenne.  My favorite two cities to watch people is Tokyo and Paris.  But sitting here, I’m thinking that maybe Paris is more colorful or eccentric.  There are at least a 100 narratives taking place within 20 minutes of me eating my vegetable wrap.  Which, by the way, is rather good for an inexpensive, quick bite. 

Lun*na and I met my nephew and his soon to be the bride at the corner of our street where we are staying, and we then headed out toward the gallery.   We walked by a large store “Merci” (111 Boulevard Beaumarchais, 75003 Paris) and decided we had an extra 30 minutes, so we decided to go in and look around.  It’s a very exquisite shop that sells clothing to cooking gear, and everything in-between.  It’s a shop that is curated with a specific taste.  It’s large with a men’s section as well as women’s - and there’s a cafe attached to the store that is lined with bookshelves full of used books.  One can buy a book here as well as having a meal. 

As we left to approach the gallery, I was getting nervous about my presentation.  I should be if one is sane because I didn’t prepare for any talk.  I never do!  I often have dreams where I’m in social and open places, and I’m not wearing any pants.  This is a dream of anxiety, and this is how I feel whenever I appear in front of the public.  The good news is Sophie is excellent with a crowd, and I just follow her train of thought, and bingo the evening was a success.   I’m delighted with Wallace’s (my dad) show at the gallery.  The show will be up until October 11, and the address is 66 rue de Turenne, 75003 Paris.  Open from Tuesday to Saturday, 11:00 A.M. To 7 P.M. 

The opening was extra special because an old friend of my dad and mom’s showed up at the opening.  John is his name, and he came from London to visit his friend in Paris, but also for the opening as well.  After the gallery closed for the evening, we all went on a stroll to Frank and Vanessa’s home that was nearby the gallery.  As I walked by, I saw this poster of Johnny Halliday, and I was intrigued to know that there is an exhibition devoted to his memory and career.   In my life, French rock n’ roll makes more sense to me than American rock n’ roll. 

When we arrived at the home, which was initially built in the 17th century, it was breathtakingly beautiful.  There were a lot of people there, and I immediately felt comfortable to be in their presence.  In many ways, Paris is a theatrical setting, and I’m just one of the actors who roam around the area, getting ready for a performance. 

- Tosh Berman, Paris, September 8, 2018

September 7, 2018

Jet-lag.  In Paris. I’m happy.   The flight on Air France was nice but very long.  10 hours in a small seat.  Due to Lun*na’s need to sit on the aisle, I have to sit in the middle.  When eating, I’m always concerned about keeping my arms away from my neighbors - whoever has the window seat, and of course Lun*na.  Also, the fact that I’m left-handed makes the eating in that particular seat even more difficult for me.  I wanted to read more, but my politeness won’t allow me the pleasure because I feel putting a light on; also it’s facing my direction is too bright for the person next to me who is trying to sleep.  Which brings up another issue is that I can never fall asleep on a plane. It’s impossible.  So basically I’m in this weird meditative state, and I’m just trying to focus on ‘nothing.’

The trip went smoothly.  I met Anna who works with Frank in the gallery (Galerie Frank Elbaz, 66 rue de Turenne, 75003 Paris), and she took care of the little details for us.  The place we’re staying at is in an ancient building, and on the 5th floor.  There is an elevator, but it’s small.  Lun*na and I can barely fit together, and she’s tiny.   As the elevator goes up, one can see the staircase, which is creepy looking, and the building itself doesn’t seem that great in shape.  The place itself is small, with a bedroom, a living room with a kitchen attached to that room, and a tiny bathroom with a shower.  

As you can gather Lun*na is already sound asleep at 3:17, and I sort of doubt she will wake up in a couple of hours. Meanwhile, I will go back to the gallery to see Sophie, oh and I did walk with Anna back to the gallery.  The Wallace show looks excellent.  Frank walked me back to our place, and here I’m working on my journal. 

It’s interesting to note that the apartment has books both French and in English.  What’s particular is that they every novel by Bret Easton Ellis.  Not sure if its the taste of the owner, or some renter left it here for guests.  There is also a large volume of Genet’s works as well.  You can tell the owner’s personality by his or her book collection.   Which I may want to secure the lock before going to sleep tonight!

Around the corner from us is the Paris Circus.  They have a building where they do nightly shows, and on top of that, there is a Clown Bar, which is where the clowns hang out.  I need to go there as soon as possible.   I have to imagine that the clowns go there as soon as their performance is over.  They probably keep some of their make-up on or at the very least their red ball noises.  

Later that afternoon, where I desperately tried to stay awake, we went back to the gallery to meet up with the wonderful gallery crew, as well as Sophie who curated the Wallace show.   With Sophie and gang, we went over the pieces and prepared for tomorrow night's talk and issues regarding the exhibition.  As we walked back, we both discovered that we wanted dinner.  

A few years ago I had lunch with Frank at an Italian restaurant Fulvio, (4, rue de Poitou, 75003 Paris) which was excellent. I found the place by hunger instinct, and it's not far where we are staying.  When we came in around 7PM they were still setting up for the evening.  They officially open at 7:30, but they weren't too fussy about us getting their early.  Most Parisians have dinner around 8:30 and up, so being an early diner is a good excuse to get a table almost anywhere.  As a starter, we had artichoke salad which was unusual for us.  The artichoke itself was the heart and not the leaves, and it had a firm texture.  The dressing was simple and served with loose lettuce leaves that soaked up the sauce as well as adding an exciting context with the firm artichoke.  I ordered Salmon penne, with vodka sauce, something I had many times, but what was unusual for me, is that the salmon was prepared and cooked differently in the plate.  It's a combination of creamy and robust, and it was delicious.  Also, the portions are enormous.   I think two people with a reasonable hunger can share both the starter and main dish easily. 

As we ate a Japanese couple sat next to us, and we started to have a chat, which is something I never do in a restaurant at home or anywhere else.  He's an artist who is having his first show in Paris, and he often paints his wife (his partner-in-crime, and his date for dinner), and he showed some of his work on his phone.  His name is Madsaki.  What he told us is that his current paintings in the exhibition were all aerosol paint on canvas as well as acrylic. For this show, his work is based on classic French iconic images or figures.  Jacques Tati, Godard imagery, Cléo from 5 to 7,"  Delacroix, and so forth.  For me, he and his work hit my cultural interest in one setting.  A Japanese contemporary artist, whose current paintings, is focusing on French pop culture and art.  The paintings were intriguing, and I'm for sure going to check out his show at Perrotin Gallery (76 rue de Turenne 75003 Paris).  The show is up until September 22. 

As we got back from dinner, we went shopping for soap, shampoo, and of course wine.  The first thing I did when I came into this apartment was to make sure that the premise has a proper wine opener.   I also forgot that most hotels and apartment buildings are utterly dark after the sun goes down.  To save electricity one has to turn the lights on as they wander through the hallways.  The tricky thing is to find the light switch in the hall in complete darknes

Special guest from LA! ☀️
Tosh Berman will be joining us at the gallery for a Q&A session about his father's exhibition "Wallace Berman - Visual Music".
This will also be the occasion to talk about his new book "Growing Up in Wallace Berman’s World", which will be out in January 2019. Edited by City Lights Booksellers & Publishers
When: Saturday, September 8, at 4:30 pm
Where: galerie frank elbaz, 66 rue de Turenne, 75003 Paris.

#WallaceBerman #VisualMusic #galeriefrankelbaz
#OpeningReception #ArtExhibition