Lots of things one can call art are found on our wanderings. Some are meant to be, others are inadvertent:
With some it's difficult to tell; was this motorcycle burned accidentally or deliberately? and if the latter, to what purpose? Vandalism or art?
The Marais is full of galleries and this is the time of year exhibitions are popping up all over. The "rentrée" is taken seriously here, the September return of Parisians from their summer activities to the excitement of a new year of art, books, shows, school, and of course work. Which these folks are doing in this not-yet-open-for-business gallery on rue Vielle-du-Temple.
So this afternoon I was walking down the street near the currently closed-for-renovations Picasso Museum when I passed the Gallerie Susan Nielsen, which two years ago had had an exhibition of paintings that I had liked very much, very gauzy images of a girl. And there was a similar photo in the window, although there was a different show hanging in the gallery. I went in to find out about it and there were three people standing and talking in English.
The one with all the invitations in her hand was the artist whose work I liked so much, a Finn named Tiina Heiska, and I raved about her last show, which she appeared pleased to hear, and asked to be invited to the opening, which she appeared pleased to do.
Walking away I realized that we have a dinner on that night and I may not be able to go after all. But I will contact the gallerist (this seems to be the new word for dealer, did you know?) and get us on the list for future events. Oh how I plot my life here!