The Louvre – Sherri Jean McCulloch

Originally, I had planned on visiting the Louvre every morning of my trip. I thought I would get up early and just go and be with the beautiful paintings. I imagined sitting and gazing and sketching. I did go to the Louvre my first day ever in Paris, with those intentions, but Louvre reality was not my vision.

The Louvre is huge. Huge even for a palace…I think…but I don’t really know palaces outside of the one at Disneyland. And it’s got layers to it. Wide titanium white passages, ups, downs, and sideways, and amazing light letting ceiling on the top floor. And in this huge space are huge masterpieces; huge and dark masterpieces. I had a really hard time believing that the crushing crowd I was part of was being trusted around so much priceless art. It made me dizzy, or maybe that was the jet lag.

I mentioned they were huge and dark, these masterpieces. I’ve long been enamoured with the idea that language is unique for each of us because we give each word a meaning that is constructed by our own experience. For me, I think I gave masterpiece a meaning something like….best of the best, beautiful, makes me feel wonder and awe in a lifting sense. My new meaning is a highly revered work painted by a man during dark times for women.

I didn’t enjoy them the way I’d anticipated, not even the Mona Lisa.

They were like looking into an abyss. They were all about religion, warring, and reclining naked women often being suckled by really ugly man faced babies. (I didn’t,t take pictures of those).

I guess I knew this is what was at the Louvre but seeing so many of these pieces together was startling. I thought a lot about what I was seeing in this collection and what it represented as a period in art history. I noted the absence of femal artists and I wondered what they would have painted. I recognized my personal love of light and colour were needs not being met. I became so grateful for living now, when I can compare art of different periods, turn on the lights, and be free to say, the work of the old masters doesn’t really appeal to me.

It’s getting closer!!!! My art residency in France has me planning despite the disruption of my father’s heart attack and bypasses. I just can’t believe that I’ve been invited to witness France in the spring! I feel so blessed! And the rainbows lately, has anyone else been noticing them?

So, I’ve booked a teeny tiny sixth floor walk up in Paris for my pre residency week. My plan is to spend every morning (after a steamy hot chocolate and french pastry) in the Louvre. Those paintings have been waiting for me to come see them my whole life…. The Mona Lisa….

Funny story, not really mine to tell and you can guess what decade it happened in…the wonderful teacher next door to me was introducing her young students to the works of Leonardo Da Vinci. She held up the Mona Lisa and asked her wide-eyed students if anyone knew who the lovely lady in the painting was. A little hand went up with I know! I know! and then it’s The Monica Lewinsky.

Ironic, isn’t it? The Mona Lisa, so famous for her little secret smile.

And seriously people, do we not all need to provide a huge apology to Monica and beg her forgiveness? She was so young, subservient, and publicly shamed and damned for something women now are seeking retribution for. I am so, so sorry for her pain. The

Mona Lisa’s smile, what did it really hide.

Da Vinci’s masterpiece is not all I’m looking forward to at the Louvre. My plan is to be surprised by what I love most once I’m there. I’ll weigh in on every wall and ask myself these questions:

Which painting catches my eye and draws me closer?

What is it about the painting that captured my attention?

Who painted it and when?

What does the painting make me feel?

I’ve always believed that the job of any artist is to communicate feeling effectively.

Last night I went and watched The Post. At first, I was a little bit bored, but the story drew me in. Meryl Steep and Tom Hanks; their angst, they drew me in. Tom Hanks, wife, the artist…the touchstone…the most honest character in the movie, her wisdom, her definition of courage will stick with me; and so will the faces of the young girls who turned to look at Meryl as she walked down those steps. Oscars for those three please. And if you haven’t seen the film, go. It’s an important movie.

When I left the theater I felt full. Full of thanks to Russia and Trump (keep reading) for waking up the voices of women who are saying ‘times up!’ It’s THE courage revolution that needed to happen in North America. And if you haven’t seen a news program on how Russia rigged the American election, it’s out there.

When I’m finished in the Louvre each morning, I’m planning to walk the city. I have an old school map and I just want to take pictures and discover and love every moment of my adventure in wonder and awe and gratitude. Before dark, I’ll find my way to some food and then head up to the sixth floor to rest my feet and sketch and journal. I feel confident that this is how I want the days before the residency to be. It will be like fuelling up on French culture. I want my body and mind and soul filled with the place. I want my cells oozing before I get to the Chateau.