Paris Dreaming Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Anita Heiss
I was already imagining what I'd order next time. I'd found a new interest in food since landing in the city and every mouthful of my muesli made me think of Lauren and how she'd love the French palate.
I strolled along the Seine, crossed over the Pont Royal, turned right on the other side, and walked along quai Branly. I followed the directions I'd been given by Canelle to the staff entrance at the back of the building. I climbed up the stairs to the reception desk and while I waited for Canelle to collect me, watched couriers come and go, two people manning one phone on the front desk, visitors waiting to be served, but no-one stressing out except me because no-one seemed to be able to find Canelle.
I calmed down when I saw Judy Watson's two halves with bailer shell (2002) reflected above me. I couldn't believe I would be greeted each morning by the rich Prussian blue of her canvas made into an enormous installation. She had won the Moét et Chandon Prize and numerous others for a reason. Watson was the perfect example of why I wanted to bring more Indigenous artists to the world stage. There was so much talent in our community and it was easily measured when you saw such stunning works. I took a deep breath, lost in a moment of awe as I considered the journey of just one woman from Waanyi country becoming part of the interior of this extraordinary institution.
'Hello,' a soft voice only just broke my thoughts. A gorgeous black woman stood before me, smiling. She had black hair slicked to her head, full lips with glittery lip gloss, dark brown eyes and fingers covered with bling. She was shorter than me and was wearing black pants and top with flat red shoes.
' Bonjour, Elizabeth,' she said warmly. ' Je suis Canelle. It is so wonderful to have you here. Everyone is very excited.' She kissed both my cheeks.
' Bonjour, je suis Libby Cutmore,' I said in response, emphasising the 'Libby', concerned that perhaps she had confused me with someone else.
'Of course you are, but Libby comes from Elizabeth, oui ?'
' Oui ,' I said, although no-one had ever called me Elizabeth. Not since kindergarten and only when I was in trouble.
'Elizabeth is so much more elegant, don't you think?' She raised her eyebrows, seeking my agreement, and her red scarf was so perfectly tied around her neck, I couldn't argue.
' Oui .' I'd just agreed to change my name, what the hell was I doing? I was thrown off balance but gathered my senses quickly. 'I am very excited to be here also.'
'I love your shoes,' Canelle said, looking at the black Kenneth Cole sandals I'd picked up when I'd been in New York visiting Lauren. But my feet were already killing me.
' Merci beaucoup .' I wished Lauren could've heard the compliment about my fashion style. She would've been impressed.
Canelle smiled. 'I need a coffee first, and you?'
' Oui .' Hell, I'd need to say more than ' oui ' or she'd think I would need to be called boring Libby and not elegant Elizabeth.
I followed Canelle to a coffee machine downstairs below the staff entrance, which turned out to be a hub of activity with people catching up on their caffeine hits. Senior staff, curators, administrative staff and labourers were all chatter and laughter.
'I need a cigarette,' she said, taking me to the smoking area ' which I was surprised to find also had artwork near it. I laughted to myself at how the French could make any place look cultured and artistic, even the smoking room. My distaste for smoke remained though.
'This is a great place to catch up and get all the news or share news, it's still all work here,' Canelle advised on exhaling. 'That's what we call the musicology tower,' she pointed behind me, 'it goes up every floor and has instruments from all over the world.' I
I strolled along the Seine, crossed over the Pont Royal, turned right on the other side, and walked along quai Branly. I followed the directions I'd been given by Canelle to the staff entrance at the back of the building. I climbed up the stairs to the reception desk and while I waited for Canelle to collect me, watched couriers come and go, two people manning one phone on the front desk, visitors waiting to be served, but no-one stressing out except me because no-one seemed to be able to find Canelle.
I calmed down when I saw Judy Watson's two halves with bailer shell (2002) reflected above me. I couldn't believe I would be greeted each morning by the rich Prussian blue of her canvas made into an enormous installation. She had won the Moét et Chandon Prize and numerous others for a reason. Watson was the perfect example of why I wanted to bring more Indigenous artists to the world stage. There was so much talent in our community and it was easily measured when you saw such stunning works. I took a deep breath, lost in a moment of awe as I considered the journey of just one woman from Waanyi country becoming part of the interior of this extraordinary institution.
'Hello,' a soft voice only just broke my thoughts. A gorgeous black woman stood before me, smiling. She had black hair slicked to her head, full lips with glittery lip gloss, dark brown eyes and fingers covered with bling. She was shorter than me and was wearing black pants and top with flat red shoes.
' Bonjour, Elizabeth,' she said warmly. ' Je suis Canelle. It is so wonderful to have you here. Everyone is very excited.' She kissed both my cheeks.
' Bonjour, je suis Libby Cutmore,' I said in response, emphasising the 'Libby', concerned that perhaps she had confused me with someone else.
'Of course you are, but Libby comes from Elizabeth, oui ?'
' Oui ,' I said, although no-one had ever called me Elizabeth. Not since kindergarten and only when I was in trouble.
'Elizabeth is so much more elegant, don't you think?' She raised her eyebrows, seeking my agreement, and her red scarf was so perfectly tied around her neck, I couldn't argue.
' Oui .' I'd just agreed to change my name, what the hell was I doing? I was thrown off balance but gathered my senses quickly. 'I am very excited to be here also.'
'I love your shoes,' Canelle said, looking at the black Kenneth Cole sandals I'd picked up when I'd been in New York visiting Lauren. But my feet were already killing me.
' Merci beaucoup .' I wished Lauren could've heard the compliment about my fashion style. She would've been impressed.
Canelle smiled. 'I need a coffee first, and you?'
' Oui .' Hell, I'd need to say more than ' oui ' or she'd think I would need to be called boring Libby and not elegant Elizabeth.
I followed Canelle to a coffee machine downstairs below the staff entrance, which turned out to be a hub of activity with people catching up on their caffeine hits. Senior staff, curators, administrative staff and labourers were all chatter and laughter.
'I need a cigarette,' she said, taking me to the smoking area ' which I was surprised to find also had artwork near it. I laughted to myself at how the French could make any place look cultured and artistic, even the smoking room. My distaste for smoke remained though.
'This is a great place to catch up and get all the news or share news, it's still all work here,' Canelle advised on exhaling. 'That's what we call the musicology tower,' she pointed behind me, 'it goes up every floor and has instruments from all over the world.' I
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