The French are known for funneling public money into the arts, championing the education of art history, music, ballet, etc. And why wouldn’t they? Throughout history, the French have touched each of those artistic mediums in a profound way – shaping the fundamentals and setting the standards.

The Musée de Louvre is perhaps the most glorious testament to the French love of the arts (and the arts’ love for the French). It began as a fortress under Philip II in the late 12th century then – after multiple renovations, expansions and renovations again – became a museum for the masses during the Revolution in the late 18th century. The Louvre is known for its world-class collections, due to the resident King Franci I who began collecting art for the Royal palace in the 1500′s. And not just the art of the French – the works of the ancient Roman empire and the Italian Renaissance too.

Art was grand enough to appeal to the aristocratic senses, and  powerful enough to cross the political divides that existed between the European entities. The most renowned of all the Louvre’s acquisitions, the Mona Lisa, represents all that the Louvre is and was. Lisa del Giocondo is a woman, not of noble descent, not of distinguished royalty, who was eternalized in portrait by Leonardo de Vinci. Francis I  wanted badly to own a piece painted by the great Italian artist de Vinci, and he found what he was looking for in the Mona Lisa. Art for non-political purpose. Art for the love of art. Art for art’s sake. Très cool, if you ask me.

The day didn’t exactly start with the Louvre. For Boojie and Dad, tennis takes no vacation, so they walked to the Palais de Luxembourg for some court time. Meanwhile, on the other side of the sixième, Nick snoozed away his allergy and I ate du yaourt et des fraises with Mumsie. The Bulle brand is the best. Like little scoops of heaven.

Trekking toward the Louvre, I felt much obliged to a second petit déjeuner. Tasting Paris is just as important as seeing it. Un café crème et un macaron en vanille pour emporté, s’il vous plaît. Although, if given the choice, one should not take their coffee at Paul’s emporté, to go.  The rustic wooden tables, the leather-upholstered chairs, the smell of freshly baked pastries… ingredients for the ultimate lazy afternoon.

Marc Jacobs said that in New York, free time feels like failure. In Paris, free time feels like success. I know what he means.

But it may be that the grass is always greener somewhere else. Just as some Americans dream of Paris, Parisians dream of the US. They heart NY, a lot. The Vespas say so.

In my opinion, American bigger might be better in regards to toilets, sidewalks and washing machines, but les petits poulets rôti, the small rotisserie chickens slow-roasting en plein air, filling the street with the aroma of crackling butter and the unique French mélange d’herbes, prove that big gifts come in small packages.

The Louvre is the ultimate style contradiction. It’s old meeting new, private meeting public, minimalism meeting baroque. All of it makes for a striking spectacle.

Of all the Salon-esque, Académie des Beaux-Arts-type works, these four pieces were my favorite.

1. The statue of Athena Nike, landing atop a sailing vessel. 1,000 years old. Seriously.

2. The column capitals in the Roman/Etruscan art sculpture garden, previously a hunting and horse stable. Each column had its own thematic animal carved atop it. Rawr.

3. Delacroix’s Liberty Leading the People. Recognize the pose of the Madame Liberté and the little boy? Our very own Statue of Liberty, a gift from the French, perhaps? Coincidence? I think not.

4. Decamps’ La Défaite des Cimbres. That landscape. Oh my whoa.

And because I had too…. here is Mona and her tourists, velvet rope, bullet-proof glass and all. Featuring none other than… Dad.

À bientôt,

N