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 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