"Failing is one of the greatest arts in the world"

From Failure to Flaneur

Admitting Defeat...but Trying Again
Zut Alors! Why does this blog thing always seem so difficult for me!! I begin strong but then I get so inspired that I have too many ideas and not enough time nor space to post. So I end up spending weeks trying to decide which post should be my next and never actually posting anything, even though 5 drafts are begging for an editor. MAJOR FAIL! But at the insistence of 2 friends I am persevering through my shame at this moment, the shame which comes only to those who fail in the cyber-world, and will again attempt to entertain and share my thoughts with you lovely readers.

It's Just Dandy
As a dear friend and I were taking a nostalgic morning espresso at Le Procope (the very first cafe), we began to reminiscence about our time, thus far, in Paris and attempt to express our insurmountable adoration for this City of Light. Somewhere between our scheming to stay in Paris forever and our mutual recognition that the waiter was quite good looking--always important for the atmosphere of any good Parisian cafe (heehee)--she asked me a question which was simultaneously one of the most difficult and simple questions to answer.

"Which painting," she posed, "do you think most reflects your experience in Paris and why?"

As an Art History major, my multiple--and possibly excessive--visits to the Louvre, Musee D'Orsay, Musee de L'Orangerie, Centre Pompidou etc, etc, etc. flashed before my eyes, and I simultaneously attempted to catalog --in a beautiful book with color photographs, themed chapters, and some prestigious foreword, like a good little art historian would imagine-- the hundreds upon hundreds of paintings I have seen and admired while here in Paris. And to my surprise the one which I must say most accurately expresses my experience is one which I have not yet seen, but have had the wonderful pleasure of studying here in class.
In this painting not only is my voyage to Paris as an independent woman expressed, but also my love for the beauty of this 19th-century Paris with it's grand boulevards and magnificent buildings. But probably most important is my fascination and identification with Caillebotte's Flaneur.

Baudelaire describes the Flaneur as being the "'I' with an insatiable appetite for the 'non-I'" and one who has "no other calling but to cultivate the idea of beauty in their persons, to satisfy their passions, to feel and to think." It is said that the Flaneur is one who feels most at home walking the streets of Paris. With all of this I must concur.

Therefore, although the 19th century characterized the Flaneur as solely male, I must insist that the 21st century has created at least one female Flaneur in Paris--a Flaneuse, if you will.