“Mme. Curie, the discoverer of radium, owns a beautiful cat”
Paris, rewound
September – October 2019
14th October:
Six white swans on the river. Morning sun in my eyes. A still-warm croissant. A man playing ball with his small dog. The art materials store opens at 10. We give the last of our euros to a man and his rabbit sat before the oldest church in Paris, Église de Saint Germain des Prés.
15th October:
I enjoyed the reds of autumn. I enjoyed not being able to understand all the conversations happening around me on the bus and the space it afforded. I enjoyed the sharpness of the senses. Au revoir, Paris.
“All that is important is this one moment in movement. Make the moment important, vital, and worth living. Do not let it slip away unnoticed and unused.”
— Martha Graham
16th October:
Ever on the lookout for a Brancusi for Dad (@peterhaby), here, from Atelier Brancusi galore to the Pompidou by way of the Musée des Arts Décoratifs (@madparis), and finding dogs in cabinets and the appearance of a Burmese cat’s face in a bag as messages from Lottie’s own holiday ping-ping-land on the phone. (Thank-you Janice for taking such wonderful care of Lottie, and for the updates you sent us, two of which shared here.)
”When you see a fish you don’t think of its scales, do you? You think of its speed, its floating, flashing body seen through the water. Well, I’ve tried to express just that. If I made fins and eyes and scales, I would arrest its movement, give a pattern or shape of reality. I want just the flash of its spirits.”
— Constantin Brancusi
* * *
While away from home, updates from The Cat Motel (@thecatmotel), upon whose feed featured Lenni and Arthur. (Thank-you X)
“Paris is a paradise for cats. Nowhere in the world are they more beloved and petted, and nowhere are cats more beautiful. It is a curious fact that about every French woman or Frenchman of creative genius is a cat lover. Writers, composers, artists, sculptors and dramatists own cats. And their cats are always beautiful creatures, almost humanly wise and intelligent, and show marked charm of nature seeming to understand fully the love that is lavished upon them and to feel that they must respond to it with all their grace and warmth of affection. It is certainly interesting to watch these cats and their famous owners.
Mme. Curie, the discoverer of radium, owns a beautiful cat, to which she is devoted. The cat was equally loved by her late husband, Prof. Curie, who used to play with him for hours, and the cat would cut up all sorts of capers for his master. The cat’s name is Radium and he is a gray Angora, with a swan white tip on his tail. When Mme. Curie is at home Radium is always close beside her. He sits on her study table. Over which he walks very carefully and gingerly, that he may not disturb anything, and when she goes out he waits patiently and rather sadly till she returns, when he goes into ecstasies of delight. He sleeps on Mme. Curie’s bed and sits at the table with her at meals in a chair of his own, lapping his milk from a saucer in the daintiest way.
....
Pierre Loti is a great lover of cats. He spends hours caressing and fondling them and talking to them just as if they understood all that he said. He declares that they do understand him and that they are far wiser than people think. He has owned many cats and there are many graves of his cherished pets in the cat cemetery of Paris. Like Theophile Gautier, he cannot write unless his cats are all about him; in fact he prefers to have them all over him, sitting in his lap, on his shoulders or on his knees.”
‘Paris: A Cats’ Paradise’, The Sun (USA), 20th March, 1910
17th October:
Sat upon, cuddled up to, shadowed, licked, nuzzled, and meowed at has been our welcome home. Talkative Misha was delighted to see us when we returned home, and Lenni, Olive, and Arthur, too, once we collected them from the Cat Motel. Now that the team is all back together, Lottie too, we’ve all kept very close, with Olive bringing in toy-mouse offerings every couple of hours.
Last night, dozing on the couch, Lenni-Plushie was congested and sneezing so we took him to the local vet this morning. His chest sounded clear and his temperature was good, however his breathing was laboured and he was still sneezing (in between vocalising his displeasure at being anywhere but home). He was prescribed some antibiotics, which he is responding well to, and we’ve kept him warm today, and he is already sounding much improved. And as we were getting ready for Lenni’s vet trip, Arthur ate a strip of plastic backing-tape from an envelope. He gulped it down faster than we could retrieve it, and so the vet also prescribed, for Arthur, a course of laxatives and an easy-to-digest, high-in-protein wet food to help things pass quickly. Luckily, he is still his usual bright and happy self and showing no signs of discomfort. He’s not passed anything yet, so we’re closely monitoring him.
18th October:
Woke up in the Pantheon-cum-Louvre and wondered what everyone would think of me in my pajamas as I tried to ensure Lenni stayed on the statue-bed and didn’t wander off and get lost. In the dark of early morning, I can’t recall if I am in Paris or home. Everything around me looks like the grand old places I have seen as my eyes adjust, and I am in no hurry for this sensation to pass. From the gold tractor tyres at Palais Garnier, ‘Les Saturnales’ by Claude Lévêque (a commission celebrating the Opéra de Paris' 350th anniversary located on the grand staircase), to the red umbrellas being submerged in the Bassin Octognal as part of an installation for the then forthcoming International Art Fair, by way of colour lithographs by street artist Meyso, seen in process at Atelier Clot, we’ve been wondering what it must be like to make work in a place loaded with history upon history, for the modern to rub shoulders with the ancient. What would we make? Would we make? And would it tap into a different source?
* * *
Home. To the daily activities. And greyhound sightings.
20th October:
Visiting the sea, with Lottie, and, pausing for a moment between the dashes and capitalized words, noting the difference from one Saturday to the next.
I started Early – Took my Dog –
And visited the Sea –
The Mermaids in the Basement
Came out to look at me –
(‘I started Early—took my Dog’ from The Poems of Emily Dickinson, edited by R.W. Franklin (Harvard University Press, 1999))
* * *
A book of replanting begins.
“We now know that, alongside keeping fossil fuels in the ground, natural climate solutions — using the mass restoration of nature to draw down carbon from the air — offer perhaps the last remaining chance to prevent more than 1.5C, or even 2C, of global heating. Saving the remaining rainforests and other rich ecosystems, while restoring those we have lost, is not just a nice idea: our lives may depend on it.”
(George Monbiot, ‘Rewilding will make Britain a rainforest nation again’, The Guardian, 25/09/2019)
23rd October:
A short distance away.
Today and yesterday.
Morning and late afternoon.
30th October:
The season of walks from A to B determined by amount of shade on offer (and potential cat sightings, always).
Image credit: Edouard Boubat (1923–1999), Paris, 1950 (detail), gelatin silver print, printed 1990s, titled, dated and inscribed ‘Pour Peter cordialement Edouard’ in ink (on the verso)
