Natasha: Part 1: The Whistler
Roaming the boulevards and back streets of St. Germaine amidst the neon reds and yellow glow of restaurants, cafes, boutiques and Art galleries, the street coals that fuel this City of Lights (...that would be PARIS)
Me, in my leather & Stevie-Ray (Minnetonka) and Natasha, wearing her YETI fuzz cone hat, dressed to "model", "haut", fashion perfection...
She would, accompanying me, either sing a line from ANY popular song with a voice, ocassionally bordering on an Alpine yodel, vocally "click", "clock" & "cluck", or RAPID FIRE: "COOS", like a turtle dove on mescaline.....OR!....whistle casually, sometimes melodic or non-sensical.
A penetrating whistle: eeerie & soulful.
Either way; I, leading the way, to drinking haunts of yester-year (the legendary MAZET, by the Odeon, for example) always knew - without looking back or around - that she was always "with me" and just "where" she was....
...in the rain
crossing busy streets
dodging rush hour traffic
in the Social flurries
the crowds
"dans le Metro",
my shadow Song-bird:
My Natasha.
.....................................................................
NATASHA part 2: "L`, Atelier"
How we met is of vague consequence. Vague, because we were probably both in our cups.
The venerable "Cafe Rendezvous des Amis" in Montmartre comes to mind. My hangout, Picassos,s, too, once, staffed by a team of Artists, vivants, Chantreusses and Grande Amis!
Still, a Bar, in the American sense, more-so than a typical French Cafe.
PINK FLOYD in the mornings, Jazz, Blues, post meridian.
Omelettes to die for, incidentally
...le plat du jour
BIG BEERS!
Weekend, live music.
Smoking, alas, outside: November? -BRRRRRR
Interior decor?
-the fabulous photographic GENIUS of Miguel Cianca...
(miguel@cianca.fr)
....Bohemian portraiture, B/W faces on every wall, mine, too, may well be exhibited by now (masochists pls take note).
LE CAFE RENDEZVOUS DES AMIS, at the Rue Sevete & Rue Gabrielle in Montmartre: Do try!
Natasha? A recent habituee who, finding me there, locked in her genius - a Painter & conceptual Artist, a la Joseph Beuys/Cristo - trailed me home to my "A;telier" abode a street away. Infact, an Art gallery, owned by the Baroness Katarina Von XXX which I rented by the week, she (the Baroness) busy painting, etc., in Morrocco (spell?...spell in GERMAN!!!!) along with the enchanting HAKIMA, a close friend who sealed the gallery rental deal.
Natasha, who had her own apartment, nevertheless was my on and off "Atelier" house guest,
Dancing to bad French radio music.
Beaujolais Nouveau, of course.
"1664" French beer.
Packet Veg Soup, with spuds & champignons.
....Couldnt find HANERNERO chillis anywhere!!!
(I may have mentioned this before)
No matter. Feeling at home, Natasha and I always stoked "chilli hot" conversation and solved ALL the World,s problems between waltzes, tangos, rumbas and...yes!
We DID like to MAMBO!
...We never smoked in there. (the Atelier)
I mean, we NEVER smoked in there ONCE.
Not ONE cigarette.
Not one.
I swear!
The Turkish toilet in the back yard, however, was a challenge!
.............................................
Natasha: Part 3: Les Enfants Terrible
Natasha was, some time ago, asked by a Priest, to paint a mural on a newly restored Alpine cemetery wall.
...by a Priest.
The gentlemen of the CLOTH are clearly expanding from the genre of Paedophilia.
She,s over 21, blonde, a Lady and "tres" hot for chrissakes!?
Anyways, her mural is a hit with the locals - makes the Press! - and the Church rewards her to the extent that she can move to Paris (from Austria) for a while and further her studies/pursue her Art.
I want to know more about this Priest...but on this point, uniquely, she is quite reticient.
Her mural, incidentally, was quite "avante garde" and in no way Biblical or figuritive....but I AM FORGETTING that though very young, she,s a very determined Lady and, in essence, an ancient Soul, wise beyond her years.
Still... And if I sound jaded...or "affected"...it would be true.
Our time together is a mutual joy. We crave Intellectual companionship (no crime, mes amis). We share the same tastes in Art & Music, sing with GUSTO the same oddball songs and are as thick as thieves, liberating Parisian Street/road signs (for artistic purposes ONLY, you understand)....one, in yellow & black:
RUE BAREE
...we are as brother and sister, "les enfant terribles", or man & wife; the latter - if not Biblically - and....and...something greater than "caring" creeps into our friendship.
(there´,s that whistling again!)
I know at some point, should we remain together, I may exceed being caringly protective and become outright posessive.
I`m such a Prick!
Already, I "SHOO!" away hustlers & gawkers.
(Natasha pretends not to notice)
And I can HARDLY WAIT to meet that frickin Priest!!!!
................................................................
Natasha: part 4: Rue Baree
I`ve always admired or been in awe of the Artist who could actually work in public. People, buzzing around. Fuckers who yak, IN the room, when you``re creating Pieta.
Students in the Louvre, a blonde girl (like Natasha), I remember, sketching Picasso`s at an exhibit at the New York Gallery of Modern Art.
Sometimes she was engulfed, jostled by the dilitante/tourist hordes, and yet, she maintained her concentration.
...I come from the School of Mahler. I demand quiet, serenity (a good hangover) and isolation...except when I``m inspired. Then? I can write or compose in a crowded bar OR a football stadium.
...I know. Paradoxes abound. But mostly, give me Isolation UNTIL I feel isolated. (thank u vy muk)
Natasha has NO such qualms. Or maybe, because Delacroix is in the room she is not disturbed?
She has perfectly shaped dark eyebrows and, whilst painting (or attacking a canvas), her left brow hovers, then remains high, a la "sniper", the prey of her intentions, firmly in her cross-hairs....and, boldly, her hands/fingers; with all the precision of a Neuro-surgeon, cross-bred with a Butcher, executes her creative delivery.
It``s a noisey affair. Charcoal gets scratched/chain-sawed onto raw canvas. Paint splats! And she uses everything at hand!
Lipstick.
Stabillo marker pens.
Mustard from a tube! (Sharfer Senf)
A dab of wine/beer.
Spital, if necessary!
As she works,she does not speak at all. As for her clear blue eyes? They are - predictably - intent; glass shards of exigency.
There is no kind (ness) osmosis in her working aura. A cold, feverish, furnace prevails, perhaps? -but a furnace, nevertheless...and ALL is projection.
She rules.
At length, she pauses. There is sweat on her normally cool brow. She has been quite alone for an hour. Two?
I dont recall.
"RUE BAREE" (Road Blocked). The Canvas.
It``s done.
c 2010, davedelacroix/Black Pearl/Nicky bartending/Usingen/Germany/frickin Winter!!!!
Monday, November 29, 2010
Saturday, November 13, 2010
OUR MAN in EUROPE/dave delacroix/Part 22: Breakfast in Bed!
Part 22: Breakfast in Bed!
(No-one ever said Blogs have to be sequential; our man in europe -in point!)
In Paris for 5 minutes...and aside of a bout of Pneumonia/extremely exagerated reports of my death abounding in cyber-space...I'm already in Love with a girl called (really!)
LOLA.
Quite (ahem!) un-requited, of course (she doesnt call back) I fold my despair and roam the Metro linguini, popping up at stations with mythical, mystical and Historical names.
Abesses.
Pigalle.
Who-ever "Madelaine" is...she must be very popular because everyone gets off there!
Rue de Bac, finally, and up to the street I come... en cue for an outbreak of biblical rain whereby the City, my Tuxedo AND I
get HOSED!!!!
At the nearest, er...watering hole...I attempt to restore my earlier "joi de vie" with a large Whisky, beer chasers:
"Rive gauche" Paris parades by.
Burberry umbrellas; TRES gauche! Surrounding stores displaying absolutely useless million dollar knick-knacks
(This aint Montmartre)
Bus stop! Bus stop!
A pantomime of old ladies. The only young one throws me a smile, I smile back; WE smile!....:)
Blonde, incidentally.
Should'a, could'a, ought'a ha, didn't...
I note - with mild disgust - that kiddie Scooters (the one's we had as children, back in the 60's) have had more sucess in Paris than any town in the U.S.A., especially with guys OVER 35 years old.
Why settle for a "leg-push" scooter when you can have a Pontiac...in Racing Car red?
...Fur lined-hooded Parkas... No eco-p.c. dead Skunk fur scruples in THIS town.
OOO! Actor Johnny Depp (Capt Jack) and escort, I kid you not! -now sitting at the next table. Furtive, talking in hushed tones;
"Good to see ya!"-I say NOT.
Arriving blondes are not so courteous, and...alas...ogle the poor man.
And the rain goes into Tropical gear, the rush hour (it's always rush hour in Paris) traffic roars and honks and splashes; my heated cafe trat-terrace; smoker's heaven.
OOO! I think I just lost/ate my last tooth whilst nibbling on the free snackie petite bagels!
...Tasted good, though. (?)
There's something quite satisfying about eating your own body parts. Like sucking the blood on a cut finger.
...I must make a note of that.
You get the flu?
You eat your foot!
"Heel or toe, Monsieur?"
"I'll leave it to the Chef.
"Breakfast in bed?"
"Buggered if I know!?.... Ask Captain Jack!!!"
c 2010. davedelacroix/our man in europe/ paris
(No-one ever said Blogs have to be sequential; our man in europe -in point!)
In Paris for 5 minutes...and aside of a bout of Pneumonia/extremely exagerated reports of my death abounding in cyber-space...I'm already in Love with a girl called (really!)
LOLA.
Quite (ahem!) un-requited, of course (she doesnt call back) I fold my despair and roam the Metro linguini, popping up at stations with mythical, mystical and Historical names.
Abesses.
Pigalle.
Who-ever "Madelaine" is...she must be very popular because everyone gets off there!
Rue de Bac, finally, and up to the street I come... en cue for an outbreak of biblical rain whereby the City, my Tuxedo AND I
get HOSED!!!!
At the nearest, er...watering hole...I attempt to restore my earlier "joi de vie" with a large Whisky, beer chasers:
"Rive gauche" Paris parades by.
Burberry umbrellas; TRES gauche! Surrounding stores displaying absolutely useless million dollar knick-knacks
(This aint Montmartre)
Bus stop! Bus stop!
A pantomime of old ladies. The only young one throws me a smile, I smile back; WE smile!....:)
Blonde, incidentally.
Should'a, could'a, ought'a ha, didn't...
I note - with mild disgust - that kiddie Scooters (the one's we had as children, back in the 60's) have had more sucess in Paris than any town in the U.S.A., especially with guys OVER 35 years old.
Why settle for a "leg-push" scooter when you can have a Pontiac...in Racing Car red?
...Fur lined-hooded Parkas... No eco-p.c. dead Skunk fur scruples in THIS town.
OOO! Actor Johnny Depp (Capt Jack) and escort, I kid you not! -now sitting at the next table. Furtive, talking in hushed tones;
"Good to see ya!"-I say NOT.
Arriving blondes are not so courteous, and...alas...ogle the poor man.
And the rain goes into Tropical gear, the rush hour (it's always rush hour in Paris) traffic roars and honks and splashes; my heated cafe trat-terrace; smoker's heaven.
OOO! I think I just lost/ate my last tooth whilst nibbling on the free snackie petite bagels!
...Tasted good, though. (?)
There's something quite satisfying about eating your own body parts. Like sucking the blood on a cut finger.
...I must make a note of that.
You get the flu?
You eat your foot!
"Heel or toe, Monsieur?"
"I'll leave it to the Chef.
"Breakfast in bed?"
"Buggered if I know!?.... Ask Captain Jack!!!"
c 2010. davedelacroix/our man in europe/ paris
OUR MAN in EUROPE/dave delacroix/Part 21: "Le Bizuth"
Part 21: "Le Bizuth"
(It means...."biscuit"?... I'll get back to you on that one)
This first November week "dans Paree", 2011; the deluge continues.
Having rented an "Atelier" (German Baroness's Art Gallery) in Montmartre with basic facilities, the deluge continues; NO RAIN! NO RAIN!
(Didnt work at Woodstock... Why should it work here?)
Stocking up on a can of Champignons
can of Peas & Carrots
X 2 Spuds
1 Onion (the size of a clove of Garlic/a kid's pea-knuckle)
Le "country Veg" Powdered soup
(Yummy!)
1 Lemon (a lemon is a lemon)
A "can" of pork & beans
-known in France as: Casulet
(a 12 pack, of course) Bier Francais: 1644
blonde stuff
I nevertheless - despite the inclement weather - forego the saucepan-hotplate feast and shower (take one), hit the local laundry-matte, coffee nearby whilst spin cycling (where I meet friend & colleague-songwriter, Celine) ...withdraw with cleaned goodies to the "Atelier", spruce up, screw my head on...and respond to the
burning bills in my wallet.
"Je suis, Allez!!!"
It's a day in the Life...leastways, till the money runs out.
Piss on, dear rain. I couldnt give a Monkeys! This the best Salute I can do!
In the "old days" I used to say: Cheers!
Salute!
Prossit!
Sante!
Skol!
Your Health!
Older now, I say,
Be well.
(Be good)
Be SAFE!
(You look like shit!)
Bon voyage!...
Or
See ya, Tomorrow!
(Ya think?)
c 2010 Cafe B. Rue de Bac, Paris/davedelacroix/our man in-Paris
(It means...."biscuit"?... I'll get back to you on that one)
This first November week "dans Paree", 2011; the deluge continues.
Having rented an "Atelier" (German Baroness's Art Gallery) in Montmartre with basic facilities, the deluge continues; NO RAIN! NO RAIN!
(Didnt work at Woodstock... Why should it work here?)
Stocking up on a can of Champignons
can of Peas & Carrots
X 2 Spuds
1 Onion (the size of a clove of Garlic/a kid's pea-knuckle)
Le "country Veg" Powdered soup
(Yummy!)
1 Lemon (a lemon is a lemon)
A "can" of pork & beans
-known in France as: Casulet
(a 12 pack, of course) Bier Francais: 1644
blonde stuff
I nevertheless - despite the inclement weather - forego the saucepan-hotplate feast and shower (take one), hit the local laundry-matte, coffee nearby whilst spin cycling (where I meet friend & colleague-songwriter, Celine) ...withdraw with cleaned goodies to the "Atelier", spruce up, screw my head on...and respond to the
burning bills in my wallet.
"Je suis, Allez!!!"
It's a day in the Life...leastways, till the money runs out.
Piss on, dear rain. I couldnt give a Monkeys! This the best Salute I can do!
In the "old days" I used to say: Cheers!
Salute!
Prossit!
Sante!
Skol!
Your Health!
Older now, I say,
Be well.
(Be good)
Be SAFE!
(You look like shit!)
Bon voyage!...
Or
See ya, Tomorrow!
(Ya think?)
c 2010 Cafe B. Rue de Bac, Paris/davedelacroix/our man in-Paris
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