‘And if these pictures have anything important to say to future generations, it’s this: I was here. I existed. I was young, I was happy, and someone cared enough about me in this world to take my picture.‘ Sy Parrish, One Hour Photo
People that go to football games to fight aren’t football fans. People that bet on the Grand National aren’t horse racing fans. People that go to The Louvre have zero interest in art. I’m sure at some point during Musée du Louvre’s long running history it was a place to witness some of the world’s finest culture, sadly now it’s no more than a flower bed for budding narcissists, each jockeying for a position to have their picture in the same pixelated frame as The Mona Lisa or Venus De Milo.
Anyone wanting to spend longer than 20 seconds in front of the Mona Lisa and ruminate in a moment of reflective silence, is better off applying for a job there. In a way La Louvre is symptomatic of everything about Paris. Poorly organised, disconnected, beautiful, ugly, overrun.
House the Mona Lisa in a separate room with controlled group viewings at $50 per head, 15 minutes at a time. It works for The Last Supper Fresco in Milan. But wait a minute Pete, shouldn’t art be for everyone? Are we now going to create a class based society where only the rich are entitled to …. Zzzzz. If you think that then you probably have a picture of yourself in front of the Winged Victory of Samothrace, a scar on your knuckle from a ruck with a rival firm and zero interest in the 2.20 at Redcar.
The Michelangelo’s unfinished Dying Slave sculptures are more accessible and less populated. As are the Napoleon III apartments and the European art on the upper floors. There is a dusting of Monet’s from a private collection and the Hermaphrodite Endormi is quite stunning. The detail of the mattress alone and the female form married with idolised male genitalia make it quite a conversation piece. The twisty nipple pic also illuminates a moment of humour.