The New York Summer Winds Down with a Special Happy Memory

Caramoor's Italian Pavilion,
overlooking the Butterfly Garden

Yes, the Metropolitan Opera and the unions seem to have settled the labor dispute, and we've been told that we'll have opera in New York again this autumn. And there's the usual array (the only word for it) of up-coming non-operatic events: the New York City Ballet, fantastic theatre offerings - or so the advance publicity tells us - and lots more. I personally am looking forward so some of the great choral works to be presented, the programs of the Chamber Music Society and, of course, the New York Philharmonic. But there's so much more. It's really tough being a music-loving New Yorker.

Summer was easy. Plenty of offerings but, well, it seems to be easier to choose in the summer. So our gang focused on one event, and from my point of view, it outdid just about anything I've experienced in a long time.

I'm talking about the Caramoor Summer Music Festival, this year celebrating its 69th Season with all kinds of good stuff, and we were able to go with friends to the first (of what we hope will be many) Caramoor Opera "Week-Ends." It was the week-end of July 18-20, and it was special. Opera is often on the schedule at Caramoor, but this was the first time a "package" was offered, and it was a delightful experience.

Caramoor is a beautiful estate located near Bedford NY, about forty miles north of Manhattan (actually the town is Katonah NY, but I think of it as Bedford - don't know why - probably because friends live there).

Will Crutchfield, Caramoor's
Director of Opera

It was a full week-end, highlighted needless to say by the opera performances. The choices couldn't have been better, or better "teaching" operas for those of us who love the medium. Will Crutchfield (pictured left), who directs the opera program at Caramoor, had chosen two operas with Victor Hugo "connections," you might say. Donizetti's "Lucrezia Borgia" was performed on Friday and Verdi's "Rigoletto" on Saturday. They are both champion bel canto vehicles and Crutchfield brought together the champions to bring it off.

Led by the Met's Angela Meade, already at her young age an accomplished bel canto specialist (and favorite), the entire ensemble brought Donizetti's dangerously challenging music to great success. Indeed, Meade and the company even provided an special encore, following the opera with a re-insertion of the aria and chorus “Era desso il figlio mio,” an incredibly "explosion of vocal fireworks" (as New York Times critic Corinna da Fonseca-Wollheim described the encore in her review). Donizetti had cut the piece from the "Lucrezia Borgia" when he revised the opera seven years after the its premiere, which I have to guess had something to do with the demands on the performers. That did not stop the Caramoor folks, and - truth to tell - the piece was performed so spectacularly we were all left in a state of shock, disbelief, and, of course, sheer delight. This is what music is all about, isn't it?

And, yes, the next night was equally accomplished. We've all come to know and love "Rigoletto" so much that - for some opera goers - it is difficult to get excited about another performance of this grand old war horse (as some people describe "Rigoletto" - uninformed people, in my opinion). Yet with the combination of the right cast, the highest performance standards, and the right "mood" (to say nothing of the grand surroundings of a place like Caramoor), a performance like the one we heard can make it all come together with great success.

That's exactly what happened on Saturday night, and by using the complementary elements of both Victor Hugo's Lucrèce Borgia and his Le roi s'amuse, Crutchfield and crew were able to ring down the curtain on an amazing week-end of what can only be referred to as "high-end" bel canto music.

Spanish Courtyard of the Rosen House,
site of the lectures and recitals

And there was more. Saturday was chock full of pre-opera events, including a swell informative conversation between Crutchfield and his daughter Victoria (herself a recognized stage director of opera, theater, and - as she puts it - "everything in between"). The topic was "What Verdi Learned from Donizetti," and it was full of more of those "connections" I referred to earlier. Then there was a recital by Caramoor's Bel Canto Young Artists of various composers' setting of Hugo's poetry, followed by a staged reading of scenes from Hugo's Le roi s'amuse, and another recital, this one of trios for female voices by Caramoor's Bel Canto Artists and Apprentice Artists. Finally, before the "Rigoletto" performance, there was an "introduction" to the opera from Ken Benson, an artists manager with 25 years as Vice-President of Columbia Artists Management, following which we all trooped off to the splendid singing I described above.

What a week-end for us opera lovers! Good friends, good food, good music. What more could we ask?

Dateline Vancouver: British Columbia's Museum of Anthropology

Thursday was our day to visit the splendid Museum of Anthropology and we had ourselves a wonderful visit. As anyone who has been to Vancouver knows, this is one of North America's most beautiful cities, and we are definitely enjoying the harbor area (where our hotel is located) and watching the great cruise ships come in and out. We had discovered the ease of moving about in that part of the city, so the idea of riding out to the campus of the University of British Columbia, where the museum is situated, was anticipated with pleasure.  

Museum of Anthropology
University of British Columbia

So off we went - with friends Dale and Debi Stanley - to visit the museum. Andrew and I knew nothing about it, and even less about the history and artifacts of the Pacific Northwest peoples. We had of course (being New Yorkers) seen the very fine exhibitions at the American Museum of Natural History but for some reason neither of us had ever paid much particular attention to what was on display there. That won't be the case in the future. We had no idea what to expect when we visited the Museum of Anthropology, and were we ever surprised! Both of us, and Dale and Debi too, were a little overwhelmed by the quality of the exhibitions and the stunningly beautiful setting at the Museum of Anthropology.

Another view, with house posts
and reconstructed houses

In my opinion - and I said so when I wrote to several friends from Vancouver - UBC's Museum of Anthropology has to be one of the best museums I've ever visited. For one thing, since I knew so little about the First Nations peoples of the Pacific Northwest First Nations, I came away with a wealth of new knowledge about this fantastic history, and I'm sure I'll be reading about this subject for a long time. And when I visited the MOA (we arrived in time to join a guided tour, with a very knowledgeable docent) I had my eyes opened to beautiful carved wooden structures that I don't think I ever knew existed (or at least paid much attention to). I learned about how the canoes are made, about the different meanings of so many of the carvings on the totem poles (and which were used as house posts, with several different purposes), the carved boxes from a single block of wood. All absolutely fascinating. 

As noted in the university's catalogues, the museum is affiliated with the UBC Department of Anthropology and it is world-renowned for its collections, research, teaching, public programs, and community connections. We were most impressed with the impressive First Nations of British Columbia collection, but that is not to say we weren't equally impressed with the many other artifacts on display - through a partnership between the museum and the Laboratory of Archaeology in the joint Canadian Foundation for Innovation (CFI).

Of special interest at the museum is a sort of "centerpiece" work, sculpture commissioned by the museum and displayed in a special glass-roofed rotunda (hence the not-so-good quality of the photograph). Bill Reid was an amazing Haida artist, and this work - The Raven and the First Men - is a fabulous depiction of the Haida myth of the Raven discovering mankind in a giant clamshell. Carved from a laminated block of yellow cedar, the spectacular wooden piece catches the viewer's attention and frankly, for me, I found I was having great difficulty pulling myself away. A large collection of other Bill Reid works are on display at MOA, including lovely studies and other versions of this splendid work. Truly amazing to see. 

At MOA, there is an amazing, vast collection of study materials on display - in glass cases, sliding drawers, and huge cabinets, and all accessible (at least in the public areas) to visitors in the MOA Centre for Cultural Research and the Multiversity Galleries, with more than 10,000 objects from around the world. And for those of us specially interested in knowledge development and knowledge sharing (and in this case in knowledge utilization as well, in the development and sharing of this content for teaching and scholarship), we found the MOACAT digital catalog system - available throughout the galleries - a splendid demonstration of the MOA's focus on combining the museum experience with current scholarship. Well done. 

Random photos (not yet captioned) of our visit to the Museum of Anthropology at the University of British Columbia can be seen here.

New York's Opera Season Ends (I)

Metropolitan Opera, Lincoln Center

We New Yorkers are fortunate to have opera year-round,
as some of the smaller opera companies - upon which we are going to depend more and more - perform during the June-September months.

For the most part, though, we tend to attach our opera "season" to the dates of our great Metropolitan Opera Association, usually from the last week of September through early May, and now that's over. Just three weeks ago I attended the final performance of the season, Bellini's grand old showcase "I Puritani" - a splendid performance bringing back very happy memories (more about that later).

I was impressed with Anthony Tommasini's comments on the season, published in The New York Times. On May 13, he wrote in A Look Back at the Year of Top Voices that - with all the worry about next season's performances - we've had a very good year, topped by the return of James Levine (for which we are all extremely grateful) and Peter Gelb's "fresh theatrical thinking" about presenting works for the Met's audience.

And in this essay Mr. Tommasini's focus on the season was on the singing, a point of view with which I couldn't be more in agreement: "...one takeaway from the season is that, as always, singing comes first in this art form."

So I'm thinking about what we experienced with our Monday series (and some specifically chosen additions). Coming with our pleasures at the opera house were several HDLive performances (which I note the Met has now started to refer to "movie theater transmissions" - sort of a silly description - it seems to me - but I guess their marketing people know what they're doing). By some people's standards, I suppose that's a pretty full plate of opera but since this is one of the major reasons - well, for some of us - for living in New York we're happy to have it, good singing and all.

And there used to be more. The season began with the sad news that our beloved New York City Opera was entering into bankruptcy and would close, after 70 years for performances. Mayor LaGuardia's famous "people's opera" succumbed to a lot of problems but from what most of us have figured out, it was simply bad management over the past ten or twelve years. We were so disappointed to have this news (at our house we had subscribed to NYCO as well) but the company simply couldn't be saved. I hope someone someday will write a full history of this wonderful company. It meant so much to so many of us. [And until then, we have Fred Cohn's very fair description of the sad story, "The Ballad of NYCO" published in Opera News in January 2012 and two months later Alex Ross's brief commentary remarking on NYCO and the dispiriting New York opera scene in The New Yorker, March 12, 2012.]

And we did have the opportunity for a wonderful send-off, right at New York City Center, where the New York City Opera had first performed. Put on by the musician's union (one of the very unions leading - as Tommasini describes with respect to the Met - "critical labor negotiations that have turned acrimonious"), it was a night to remember. Lots of good singers, wonderful orchestral playing, and a sweet ending when during the curtain calls Plácido Domingo - who started at New York City Opera - kissed his hand and leaned down to plant his kiss on the floor of the stage. A bittersweet evening indeed.

That's enough for now. More about this season's opera experiences below.

New York's Opera Season Ends (II)

Back to the Met: I'll let Mr. Tommasini describe the singing (splendid - no disagreement there!). I'll share my thoughts about several wonderful highlights, including Nico Muhly's "Two Boys," a fresh and very modern spooky story set to a lovely score. Muhly writes in a wide-variety of "styles" and I'm especially taken with his choral music. Very important work (coming to New York - with slight revisions - from a 2011 premiere at the English National Opera) and I'm pleased we had it here.

We had three Strauss jewels, and since I'm a major Straussian I was very happy. I had missed my Strauss when his works were excluded to make room for the 200th-anniversary Verdi and Wagner performances (and truth to tell, the new Wagner "Ring" in the 2011 and 2012 seasons sort of got the lion's share of the attention - 'way too much for what we had in the cycle itself). But we made up for it this year, with the splendid and almost overwhelmingly beautiful "Die Frau Ohne Schatten" in the autumn. This has to be one of the most beautiful operas ever written, and this thirteen-year-old Herbert Wernicke production - not seen for ten years - must be one of the loveliest to look at of all the productions done for this opera. So well performed, and if the season had had a single highlight, this would have been it.

And we also had the last performances of "Der Rosenkavalier" - the beautiful but, yes, worn-out Robert O'Hearn production of 1969. A great, great lavishly visual production, but it was time to go and - quite coincidentally - we were there for the last performance. Of course I loved every minute of it, and since it was the first of many productions of this great opera I ever saw, I will miss it, but I will do without this production. And it will be great fun to see what the new production - when it comes - looks like. I'm wondering if any other production at the Met has lasted 45 seasons and still looked this good.

Our final Strauss was the gorgeous "Arabella," sung so well at the house just last month. Another well-done and long-lasting production (by Otto Schenk in 1983), the show looks good. I felt the cast was very good, although there were some commenting on these performance who would not rank the singing with Tommasini's singing highlights of the season. I didn't feel that way, and I thoroughly enjoyed the evening.

What else? Two very special new productions, in addition to "Two Boys," made us sit up and take notice. Like the Las Vegas rat-pack "Rigoletto" of last season, the new "Falstaff" blew us away. Replacing Franco Zeffirelli's 1964 production (yes, even older than that "Der Rosenkavalier" I referred to above!), this was set in post-WWII England and - as much as we resisted - it worked, with splendid singing and, well, just an overall fun and musically satisfying evening. The new "Werther" also pleased, and once again all of us were impressed with the overall ensemble work done at the Met.

And the happiest opera experiences, it seems, came at the end of the season. We had a great time with "La Cenerentola" and even though it wasn't a happy-ending opera like "Cenerentola," the last night performance for the season was "I Puritani," another one of the greats. And clever scheduling, on the part of the Met (although I'm joking - I'm sure it was only coincidental) the last day of performances was "standing-ovation" day at the opera house.

The afternoon performance was "La Cenerentola" and it proved - from the first performance in April - to be the popular hit of the season. We were at the first performance, with Javier Camarena singing the prince for an ailing Juan Diego Florez. Camarena was spectacular, and the ovation went on so long we thought we would have an encore (that happened in future performances). For the last matinee, Florez had come back to the performances, so that afternoon seemed to generate some excitement that carried over into the evening.

As I said, the last performance of the season was "I Puritani" and this time the spectacular tenor was Lawrence Brownlee in a performance that had us all on the edge of our seats with excitement. No encore this time, but his singing definitely ranked with that of Camarena and Florez in "La Cenerentola," giving lots of talk in New York about a new version of "the three tenors." Silliness aside, they were all just terrific as we ended the season. I think Mr. Guy gives a little bit of edge to Brownlee.

And what memories that old 1976 production brought back. Starring Joan Sutherland, Luciano Pavarotti, Sherrill Milnes, and James Morris, it was one of the highlights of my opera-going younger days. And when brought back ten years later to celebrate Joan's 25th anniversary at the Met, it was still a delicious experience to hear. No matter that the production is not one of the Met's best productions, it works (and it worked then) and whenever I hear this splendid opera I can't help but remember the glorious singing of Dame Joan. Ah, she is missed.

So we move on. I love to hear older opera lovers talk about the "golden age" of opera (it's always the time when they were nearing middle age and were hearing that generation's best singers), and I love to think about how what we hear is different for all of us. I'm not threatened by the Met's sharing house performances with audiences in "movie theater transmissions," and, yes, for me and most of my generation, we prefer the opera house. But whatever the situation is, for viewing and hearing the opera, I think we're pretty lucky, as this past season proved. And for those of us living in New York, I continue to be amazed - and appreciate - what is done for us at our great opera house here in New York. We're very lucky.

Spring Visit: Canterbury Windows in New York

View from The Cloisters
across the Hudson River

Up in Fort Tryon Park, in northern Manhattan, we have a very special place that appeals to so many of us New Yorkers. It's The Cloisters museum and gardens and it has just completed the celebration of its 75th anniversary.

And it's been a splendid celebration, complete with a beautifully written and produced issue of The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin devoted exclusively to the history of the Cloisters. "Creating The Cloisters" by Timothy B. Hubbard provides a wonderfully detailed description of this branch of The Metropolitan Museum of Art specially devoted to the art and architecture of medieval Europe. The collection was assembled from architectural elements, both domestic and religious, largely dating from the twelfth through the fifteenth centuries.

Not surprisingly, the collection is full of many artifacts that each evoke a particular response from visitors (and it doesn't matter whether you are a believer or not - this is great stuff to look at and think about). I have a couple of favorites, but I'm not a scholar. So I've never taken the time to study the official guidebook or delve deeply to find out more about them (should do that one day). I just like them.

Wise old people

The first is what I like to think of as a group of kings or prophets or something like that, but who knows? Perhaps they are just wise old people (I started to write "wise old men" but I don't think the figure second from the right would be very happy about that!). I'm specially taken with the last figure on the right, as he seems to be pondering some special problem that is going to be very important to everyone who knows him once he solves it (and don't you sometimes sit with your cheek against your right fist while you trying to solve a problem?).

Two ladies

Then there are the two ladies topping off a column and providing substance to its capital. Just what is the lady who in not front-and-center thinking about? Could it be something along the lines of "Just who does she think she is, getting out front and getting all the attention when I'm the one people should be looking at?" I love that stone carvers in olden times could incorporate their own sense of humor in their work.

Now, with the 75th Anniversary celebrations ended and life for visitors to The Cloisters back to normal, we've just had another special treat. [And when I say "back to normal" I'm simply referring to life as "normal" as it can be for visitors - New Yorkers and out-of-towners alike - who thrive on learning all they can about New York's history and how it attached to special interests like those of John D. Rockefeller Jr. - who built The Cloisters - and George Grey Barnard, the person who brought together the original items that became the first collection at The Cloisters.]

Jared (left) and Phalec (right)

The special treat I'm referring to is this: In a special arrangement with Canterbury Cathedral, we've just had a wonderful opportunity to view six Romanesque-period stained glass windows that have never been away from the cathedral grounds since they were created in the 1178-1180 period. At Canterbury, the stonework surrounding the windows is being restored, and while the restoration work is being done, the windows have been on loan to us.

The exhibition was called Radiant Light: Stained Glass from Canterbury Cathedral at The Cloisters and there's this from a nice published description at the museum site:

Thara

"The windows are from the clerestory of the cathedral's choir, east transepts, and Trinity Chapel. The six figures—Jared, Lamech, Thara, Abraham, Noah, and Phalec—were part of an original cycle of eighty-six ancestors of Christ, the most comprehensive stained-glass cycle known in art history. One complete window (Thara and Abraham), rising nearly twelve feet high, is shown with its associated rich foliate border."

I'm not an expert in cathedral windows, but I did enjoy the exhibition (sorry I couldn't write about it before it was over) and I was delighted to learn about a book on the larger subject of the saints depicted here: The Ancestors of Christ Windows at Canterbury Cathedral, by Jeffrey Weaver and Madeline H. Caviness describes some eighty-six near-life-size figures of the male ancestors of Christ that once could be seen in the choir and eastern extension of the medieval cathedral and priory church of Canterbury.

With the windows here with us in New York, I recently took a day go to The Cloisters, to visit the windows to delight not only in the windows themselves but just to have another visit to The Cloisters, one of the highlights on any list of unique New York experiences. The visit also gave me the opportunity to have a delightful trip down memory lane, for earlier in my career I had been introduced to a delightful lady - now gone, sadly - who was something of an expert on Canterbury's windows. She came to America frequently to lecture to museum friends groups, civic associations, church and literary historical societies, and the like (not surprising that the list should be so long, since Canterbury Cathedral's history is so long and so connected to all Christendom).

On one of her lecture tours, I got to know her and of course, just by some sort of osmosis process I suppose, found myself interested in cathedral stained glass windows, cathedrals themselves, and - considering my profession then - cathedral libraries. I was extremely lucky, for just a few years after meeting Mrs. Brooks I was granted a sabbatical from my then employer to go to England and study English cathedral libraries with the goal (according to my book agent) of producing the definitive book on English cathedral libraries, a large coffee-table type book to be filled with splendid illustrations of artifacts held in the cathedral libraries. As it turned out I was in England for 18 months, living at Mrs. Brooks's house in Canterbury (although I was of necessity required to travel all over England and visit all the cathedral cities as I pursued my research). An ambitious project, and one I was delighted to undertake.

That 18 months was a spectacular time for me, living in Canterbury, traveling all over the country, spending enormous blocks of time at the British Library and even, when required, at the London Library - which I learned to love as a sort of "library home away from home." I even took digs in London for a brief spell, since I was so captivated by being in London and have available to me all that - as for many Americans - London "life" represents. Whether real or fantasy, that environment charms many of us, so to have the opportunity to enjoy London as a real person and not as a tourist was a special treat. I've never forgotten that time in my life, and for me London and Canterbury (and yes, to a certain extent other places I visited in England as well) are a big part of my adult "memory book".

And they were fun times. I made many friends - some of whom I keep up with and who will be reading this post - and I experienced so many good stories that I can't begin to tell them all. I will, though, close this post with a typical story, connecting the visit to the Canterbury windows in New York with Guy's life in Canterbury nearly thirty years ago, a very happy time indeed. And some of my friends will recognize this story, for I used to tell it often.

Kathleen Brooks was a delightful and always cheerful good friend. Whether she was one of the "typical" English eccentrics or not is beside the point, but she definitely had her ways. And often, with a total lack of self-consciousness, she would describe a situation that - for some - might be considered self-deprecating. Didn't matter. Whatever the story was, she described the situation and, with her listeners, laughed heartily.

One day, at the cathedral, she had been called to guide a group of visiting businessmen, all from Northern Europe. Protesting that she did not know any Scandinavian languages, she tried to decline but was told that the men all spoke perfect English, so she agreed to do the tour.

As was her usual habit, she walked the group (a pretty large one - about thirty people) about the cathedral, telling all the stories and of course, with her specialty, focusing on the stories illustrated in the magnificent stain glass windows.

Also as was her habit, she always tried to have her listeners stop from time to time for a few moments, just to take in the enormous space of the cathedral and all that it represented to society and to history. And to have a bit of a rest.

After the men were all seated, Kathleen herself decided to take a rest, so she sat down in the pew just behind the last few of the visitors. They were deep in conversation, and did not notice that she had sat down behind them. As it happened, she was so close that she could not help but hear their conversation, which was all about the tour and all that the visitors were seeing, and especially about her enthusiasm as a guide.

And then one of the men turned to the others and, without missing a beat, said, "And did you ever meet a lady with so much useless information?"

She told the story often, always roaring with laughter, and seeing the Canterbury windows in New York made me realize just how much she would have loved seeing them here.

End of day -time to head
back to mid-town Manhattan

So it was a special day at The Cloisters. Here's an end-of-the-visit photo. You can see it's still a winter's day - not quite the springtime warmth we would like to have had for an April visit to The Cloisters but, yes, down in the shadows is a crocus or two trying hard.

And a very nice day anyway, a day for re-visiting Canterbury Cathedral windows, a day of re-living special Guy-in-England memories, and a day for about thinking about a very special lady, a wonderful influence in my life. She taught me much, and gave substance to my love of English cathedrals.

Oh, and all that research about English cathedral libraries? I ended up following in Kathleen's footsteps and giving lots of lectures and telling lots of stories and having a few articles published. The proposed book that sent me on my journey? Didn't happen. Now generally referred to as "Guy's famous unpublished book on cathedral libraries." It was a grand idea, had lots of support from people I knew in America, including a very hard-working agent, and support from folks in the Anglican church (some, not all). My agent really tried had to sell the project to the art publishers but it wasn't to be. When my research work in England was finished with no publication in sight, it was time to move on.

Ah, Paris: Pierre Cardin's Art Nouveau Museum at Maxim's

In a recent post, I commented that I would be writing about subjects that are of particular interest to me (well of course, Guy - isn't that what a personal blog is all about?). I noted that among these special interests was l'art nouveau, the great design style that began in the so-called belle epoch and quickly spread throughout most of the western world.

Ever since I first learned about art nouveau, I've loved all the sinuous botanical lines, the curved wood, the often-overly elaborate fabric designs and draperies for clothing styles, and, well, just about anything that evoked that period when - despite all the bad things that happened in the world - there was (among those who had money, as in all periods of history) a great deal of beauty. L'art nouveau was often embraced to express that beauty.

I once did a little study of my own, just to learn what I could about art nouveau. I had come to love the idea that one design "type" (we might say) had so caught the attention of society that it showed up in just about everything. Not just furniture and objets d'art as I noted above, but in architecture, interior design, commercial designs, printing and book design, construction elements (especially Métro entrances and apartment-house balcony railings and other building ornamentation in Paris and, of course, in many other cities as well), and just about everything else. It was, it seems to me, a great attempt to make just about everything look beautiful.

One of our great goals, with our recent visit to Paris, was to dive in and, once again, immerse ourselves (well, immerse Mr. Guy) in the Paris version of l'art nouveau. It's always a great adventure in Paris, and while I've had quite a few opportunities to explore this lovely style in that splendid city, this trip was particularly planned for seeing as much art nouveau as possible. And we did see a lot, and, yes, I'll probably write about some of the other art nouveau things I saw in later posts. For now, let's just focus on one special treat. It was a visit to Pierre Cardin's Art Nouveau Museum, and it came as a complete surprise.

Our visit came about in a sweet coincidence. When I mentioned my interest in art nouveau to the one of the staff I befriended at our hotel, she immediately asked if I knew about the museum (it happens to be just around the corner from the hotel where we were staying). I did not, so she gave us all kinds of information and we were able to make an appointment for a private visit (well, private only in the sense that we were in Paris in late November, with few tourists, so no one else had signed up for the visit - I presume anyone can call and reserve to visit).

As it turns out, I know little about Pierre Cardin and his personal life. Or his tastes. But apparently he has been fascinated with art nouveau, as I have been, since he was a young man. He began collecting a long time ago (I don't collect, except for a few scattered items that I either inherited or for one reason or another were made available to me).

With his success in his career, Cardin was able to branch out in a number of different areas, and it's no surprise that when Maxim's - the great (and much beloved) Paris restaurant - was for sale, Cardin bought it. That was in 1981, and in the years since, he has continued Maxim's great tradition as the place to go for an evening's entertainment.

It didn't start out as much. The story goes that the business was launched in May 1893 as a sort of meeting house (probably along the lines the coffee houses in different parts of Europe that had been around since the late-17th century or so and, later, in North America). The owner was a former waiter named Maxime Gaillard, who was given to encouraging beautiful ladies to sit in the place to add to its charm. A little later, Eugene Cornuché - the next owner - brought in the art nouveau decorations, all the rage at the time (as can still be seen all over Paris) and encouraged even more beautiful women to come in and "decorate" his establishment. So the stage was set, and Maxim's became the splendid place to be and be seen with the beautiful women of the day.

Cardin did more. When he purchased Maxim's, of course the famous restaurant continued - and does today - but he also used the building to house his collection of art nouveau artifacts, furniture, and design, combining the art nouveau items with other materials of particular and personal interest, including a considerable number of pieces relating to Colette and her writings and life. It's a fascinating place, and we highly recommend it for a visit, if l'art nouveau is of interest.

We were charmed. It's hard to describe all the beautiful things to see in the collection. There are several rooms - on several different floors - and the idea seems to be to arrange the rooms as they looked when one of the famous courtesans of those Paris days lived there (think Dumas' La Dame aux camélias or even Verdi's La Traviata). The grandeur is there, and some of the pieces on display are as good as any seen in any museum anywhere.

Part of the charm, for us, was our luck in our guide for the visit. She was Véronique Fourcaud-Hélène, an actress and singer and - I gather from the similarity of the names - connected in some way with the Art Nouveau Museum Director and art historian Pierre-André Hélène. While we're sorry we didn't have a chance to meet Pierre-André (I've viewed his introductory film which is very good - you can see it here), we were delighted to spend time with Véronique, and she went out of her way to make us welcome and to provide us with so much information about the collection and about the overall Maxim's environment. A distant cousin of painter Toulouse-Lautrec, Véronique performs at Maxim's, both in an original play by Pierre-André, connecting with Cardin's interest in Colette, I gather, and in musical evenings presented at Maxim's. Indeed, in one section of earlier promotion film clips at the Maxim's site, Véronique is referred to as "The Lady of Maxim's" and her musical performance ("The 1900 Spectacle") looks like a delight. I'm just sorry we could not attend a performance while we were in Paris.

I'm happy to share some of our photographs (Véronique graciously allowed us to take photographs, "as many as you like"), and you can see them here. You can also access the Maxim's site itself, especially for the beautiful photographs of the museum and its collections. We did not take photographs of the restaurant as it was not open when we were there and it was too dark (too late in the day) to photograph. Nevertheless, we had a lovely tour of the restaurant rooms, and it provided a very fine conclusion to our tour and our visit with Véronique).

So. Mr. Guy's advice for anyone going to Paris: Reserve some time for Pierre Cardin's Art Nouveau Museum. It's very special.

Kenya: Guy and The Old-Lady Elephant

It wasn't an empty threat.

Most of my friends know that I fell in love with the elephant when I lived in Kenya several years ago, and I've been promising to tell elephant stories since our return from the big safari last summer.

While we went to do other things, I'm not shy about admitting that my focus was on the elephant. My friend Jerry is a serious bird watcher, and Kenya is reputed to be the best country in all of Africa for bird-watching, so Jerry was a happy man. Andrew is known among his Africa friends as Bwana Punda milia, since the zebra is his favorite African animal (Charles is Bwana Simba, for the same reason). And, as reported here some months ago, I'm called Bwana Tembo, after a barely - but sweetly - mentioned character in Isak Denison's Out of Africa.

So it goes. And as you can imagine, there are lots of elephant (bird) (zebra) (lion) stories, and I would be writing too much if I tried to tell them all. And others on the safari all have their own stories - and favorite animals - so while there will probably be more elephant stories, I'm happy to start with this one.

Among our more exciting adventures was our safari into Tsavo East, one of the largest of the national parks in Kenya and one of two or three most hospitable for the elephant. As a result, Tsavo East is managed by Kenya's National Wildlife Service to ensure that visitors get to spend as much time as they like with the animals, and especially with elephants (spend time, that is, from a distance - these are animals in the wild).

As it was not too long after the birthing season when we were at Tsavo East, there were plenty of large elephant families wandering about, both in the forest and along the open fields.

Our lodge, the Voi Safari Lodge, was beautifully positioned high on a hill, and we could look down on the savannah and see the elephants. We were amazed at the spectacle, both from our room in the lodge and from the dining room. On arrival in our room, about noon, I stepped out on the balcony and looked down and couldn't believe the number of elephants. The savannah was huge, with forest very far away (several miles across from us), and elephants were everywhere. Just for fun, I started counting and quit when I got to 140! Amazing!

Being on such a high spot, overlooking so much space, the developers of the lodge had created a path (pretty steep, but with secure railings) and guests can walk down toward the elephant water hole. About half-way down, there's a sign posted, urging - in several languages - silence, as the wild animals would be frightened from too much human noise. Next to the sign you enter through a gate in a concrete wall and proceed down a solid stairwell, well carpeted (again for the quiet). You enter a bunker, standing below ground with openings for viewing the animals, exactly at the level of the elephants' water hole.

From within the bunker, we could observe the elephants more closely than I ever could have imagined possible. We could sense how they were communicating with one other - or with the group. Sometimes one of them would roughly push this one or that one out of the way, and once in a while there would be a typical "elephant" call, as the animals vied with one another for attention or had this or that message to communicate. Or simply wanted to get closer to the edge of the water hole (and sometimes stepping down into it, not at all reluctant to do so).

There was also a considerable amount of very gentle touching and a sort of soft nudging and rubbing between some of the elephants, of all ages and sizes, and among groups of them. Oftentimes it would be clear that there was a big bull or a matriarch in charge, but most of the time all the interactions between the animals was very soft and sweet, and they clearly respect one another.

After we had watched a while, about an hour, we sensed that some of the elephants were moving away from the water hole, not surprising since it was getting late, nearing sunset, and we kind of suspected that the elephants would move off after dark. We were very quiet in the bunker, and while we could see out very well, we had no idea of how well the elephants could see inside the dark bunker (it wasn't lit, and elephants aren't known to have very good eyesight). On the other hand, every once in a while one of the elephants would walk along in front of us, and we thought we noticed a glance or two in our direction but we were pretty sure they could not see us.

Or could they? As it began to get later, we noticed a great huge dark grey lady elephant come along, around the water hole, waddling over toward our side of the water hole, where we were in the bunker.

Oh, she was huge. And she was old. We could tell because of the way she moved, the way she had no tusks (I had been told that sometimes really old elephants lose their tusks, just like old humans sometimes lose their teeth), the way her breasts hung down loosely. We figured she must be really old, possibly as old as 70 or 75 years of age.

And this was what was so amazing. The old-lady elephant ambled on around the water hole, coming over to our side (the bunker side) from our left. Andrew was snapping photos like crazy. I was leaning on the frame of the opening, resting my chin on my hands, my elbows on the frame. As she moved forward - I'm not making this up - she walked right up in our direction. She got closer, looked through the opening right at me, right into my eyes, and she slowed down. She was less than ten feet away, and she stopped walking altogether. And then she leaned over a little, resting against the big "scratching rock" just outside the opening where we were standing.

And she would not stop looking at me. After a minute or two, she raised her trunk and rested it on the rock and continued looking at me. And continued looking. I looked back, not moving a muscle, not saying anything. Just looking into her eyes as she was looking into mine. We were obviously caught up in some sort of communication with each other, some sort of bonding. I found it hard to believe what I was experiencing.

And so did Andrew, who was so moved by watching her and me that he had to move away, over to the other side of the bunker. And when he came back and stood beside me, the incredible bonding continued, for what we later estimated was another 25 minutes or so.

But we had to go. Darkness had started to fall, and despite the fact that she continued to look at me, I knew I had to start back up to the lodge.

So I said something innocuous to her, speaking very quietly. I thanked her for coming to find me, said a few more soft phrases, and then I started toward the stairs. I turned around to look, for one last look, and she was still there, watching through the opening, watching something, feeling something.

An experience I'll never forget.

[The photos (with captions) of our time with the elephants at Tsavo East can be seen at Tsavo East National Park (AB) - the parenthetical initials simply mean that these were taken by Andrew, as I was too busy communing with the elephants.]