Artworks' Whispers

One of my favorite things about finally buying bookshelves for my library? Knowing where there was spare wall space. That, in turn, meant we could hang stuff on the walls. And by stuff, I mean this Musée du Louvre poster (see below...the one on the right). I bought it when I lived in Paris back in 2004. Though the poster isn’t in FOR PARIS, FOR LOVE, the Louvre is. I spent a lot of time in the Louvre, as does Renee in FOR PARIS, FOR LOVE.

For me, my favorite time to go to the Louvre was Monday nights. Not all of the galleries were open, but the ones they closed weren’t my favorites anyway. It was winter in Paris and by the time I descended the winding staircase into the museum, it was already dusk outside. Sometimes, later in the year, there would be florescent streaks of orange or pink in the sky. I loved looking at them through the glass of the museum’s pyramid.

Monday nights were quiet. There were few tourists around and the lights always seemed lower, as though hushing already silent works of art. From the espace d’accueil—I don’t even know the English word for that spot where you enter the museum , pay, get maps, etc.—I would ride one of the escalators to my favorite wing. With my carte Louvre jeunes (a season pass for people under…26 maybe), I’d linger by my favorite sculptures before seeking out my favorite paintings. Many of them are on that Louvre poster.

When the museum was quiet, you could almost hear the artworks’ whispers. There were nights when I was the only one in a gallery. I’d sit—if there were benches—and stare around the room. Sometimes I brought a journal and wrote whatever came to mind. I had a lot to say and no one to listen. (I’d lost my passport in Dublin, after all, and couldn’t leave the country like my classmates.) Except, I’d swear, the artwork listened. That’s why, when I started writing FOR PARIS, FOR LOVE, I couldn’t leave out the artwork. I didn’t remember just how much I’d loved the Louvre until I dug out my journal and started reading. I don’t know the names of my favorites, though I wish I did. I’d like to go back, someday.

The thing about going back to the Louvre (or to anywhere you’ve loved so much), is that it won’t be the same. Will it be open Monday nights in the winter? If so, would I be there in the winter? The closer it got to summer, the more the tourists invaded the museum. I’d like to go there without them. I’d like to see if the artwork still speaks. I hope it does. I hope, if you go, it speaks to you. That’s part of why I wrote FOR PARIS, FOR LOVE. It’s part of why I hope, someday, FOR PARIS, FOR LOVE will be published so that you, too, can read what it’s like to be in the Louvre on a winter night, just in case you can’t make it there yourself. In the meantime, there’s this poster.