Muguet de Paris

There is something about an exhibition that always makes me think of T.S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock: “In the room the women come and go, talking of Michelangelo.”

The champagne-tea given Saturday night by Tajan in Paris attracted a large crowd, slightly more anglophone than usual, that included a charming young French actress, a former ballerina who had danced with Balanchine, and a woman who writes for the Huffington Post, proudly showing off pictures of her new grandson.

This diverse crowd was drawn by the opportunity to view a selection of post-War and contemporary art  while  partaking of palatable amuse-bouches from Dalloyau accompanied by freely-flowing champagne and, perhaps, to chat for a moment with the guest of honor, an American  matinee idol from the 50′s, five of whose paintings are to be auctioned on Tuesday.

I love going to Tajan. Depending on what is being shown, sometimes the art is secondary, because I so love the space. It is housed in a wonderful early-20th Century building, formerly a bank,  not far from the Gare Saint-Lazare. An enormous skylight in tones of mauve crowns the exhibition space, and a handsome Art Déco staircase in wrought iron leads to the second floor. I am in decorative arts heaven. One enters through an enclosed courtyard, and Saturday night was warm enough that the buffet table was set up outside.

It is often the case in Paris that the best part is watching people. The prize for Saturday night’s most interesting goes to a perky little octogenarian. I complimented her on her hat, a violet felt fedora encircled by a fuchsia band. She assured me that everyone loved it. She told me she believed — and I can think of no reason to dispute it – that her beauty came from within, from the life she had lived, which showed on her face. Furthermore, she told me that, despite what she seemed to regard as the minor inconvenience of an occasional touch of incontinence, she did as she pleased.

A close second, if only for the audacity of her outfit, was a lady only slightly younger, wearing a gold leather blazer over a purple sequined t-shirt, and black lace pants. It may sound a little bizarre, but she managed to carry it off with aplomb. I coveted her purse, a remarkable little purple number. I confess I didn’t recognize the mark, which leads me to believe it is either so new it hasn’t hit the stores or it is vintage.  In any case, it was lovely, as was she.

Suddenly, a murmur in the crowd announced the arrival of the man. People began to move in on him, circling, kiss-kiss to the accompaniment of flashbulbs. I’m not sure what I had expected, but I saw a fragile-looking man, dressed from head to toe in black,  in a wheelchair. It was Tony Curtis, looking much older than his 83 years, but still the showman, smiling and waving, looking as if he loved every minute of it.

Later in the evening, I found myself standing next to a statuesque blonde with a pretty smile. She is Jill Vandenberg, the sixth wife of Tony Curtis, 43 years younger than he. We exchanged a few words, and she asked if I would like to meet her husband. Why not?

We shook hands and he held onto my hand as he wheeled himself into the room where his paintings were hung. His voice is still strong, a little further removed  from the Bronx than in his heyday. To say he is articulate would be an understatement, particularly when he speaks of his painting. One gets the feeling this is an inexhaustible subject. He cited the influence of Matisse, which is evident, and of Picasso and Dali, saying he felt that they spoke to him as he painted.

He speaks lovingly of each of his paintings and of the process. He tells me he prefers to paint inanimate objects, because he can make them anything he wants. A young Muhammad Ali in acrylic and collage has incongruously blue eyes. And yet, somehow, the longer one looks, the more it is apparent that it could be no other way. He lit up when someone remarked on a serigraph of Marilyn Monroe, saying, “You should have seen the original.” I wondered for a minute if he meant the original of the series or the flesh-and-blood Marilyn.

After about 10 minutes, I took my leave. For the first time, he faltered. “Did we talk?” “Yes,” I said, “we had a very nice conversation.” And we did have.

The sale takes place on Tuesday, 29 April 2008, at l’Espace Tajan in Paris.

(All artwork by Tony Curtis, courtesy of Tajan)

 Jane del Monte, blogging from the rue du Cherche-Midi, Paris, France

© 2008 Jane del Monte

~ by Jane del Monte on April 28, 2008.

Posted in Exhibitions, Salons, Museums, L'Art de Vivre, Potpourri