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The death of Jim Morrison is not the only mystery in the Rue Beautreillis. On this street where the leader of The Doors spent the last few months of his life and where he (probably) died, another door stands curiously alone. But what is it?
Today only one significant element of the city’s 19th century fortifications remains standing. Where is the Bastion n°1 and what purpose does it serve today?
I ask if there a particular message they wanted to get across, and Pasco shakes her head. "Well, we did do a lot of images of nature at that time because we saw the city becoming more and more concrete, but really we were just having fun". At first they worked almost entirely as a team. Each member had responsibility for one particular colour, enabling them to finish their creations and move on very rapidly. They then created a logo, meaning that team members could then work individually but sign their creations in the name of the group. The styles were similar, but each member was free to choose their own icons. Pasco has always favoured rock stars, whilst others have chosen jazz musicians or famous writers. "One member always created stencils of his girlfriends" smiles Pasco.
Several other well known artists began working in the city at the same time (Blek le Rat, Miss-Tic, Jef L'Aerosol, Epsilon), and the community was a very close one. They described themselves as the 'gang des mains noires' (black hand gang), and it is interesting to note that almost all still continue today. Miss-Tic is the one who has perhaps had the most success, and I ask Pasco what she thinks about her contract with a van hire firm (Miss-Tic has provided a logo and slogan for this company). She does not hesitate in her reply, "I'm very happy for her and I'm glad that she has so much success today. She struggled a lot, but she has always been someone who has helped others when she can, and she always helped us a lot".
She also wanted to offer something that other people could collect. The disc is decorated and stencilled then placed on a wall in a place which is tricky to access. “They are designed to be seen – and taken!” she tells me. Each one is signed and numbered and constitutes a unique work of art. This gives her street art a certain value, she feels, and also means that it lives on when it is removed from its initial environment, something that is very rare in this world. Posters get torn and damaged, but vinyl is sufficiently solid to resist when people pull it down from the wall. The decision to place them in difficult positions was deliberate, because Pasco believes that when people take them it is shows that they really wanted them.
She has created and displayed around 400 so far. She shows me her book where each of her creations has been carefully noted, and explains that she is careful not to make too many of each personality. “I’ve done 10 Preverts now” she tells me, “so there’ll be no more of him”. Her chosen icons are not just faces from the past though. She has recently produced stencils of Pete Doherty, Matt Bellamy from Muse and Alex Kapranos from Franz Ferdinand, with the latter being an interesting case. "We went to Glasgow this summer to place some of our art and I went to a Franz Ferdinand concert. After the show I was able to give him one of the discs with his picture on, and he seemed very happy with it". It is refreshing to meet someone who has not only retained the energy to create, but also the passion of a teenage rock fan!
Living close to the hospital, I often find myself wandering around inside. A hospital is a city within the city, and the barriers between the two are very clear at the walled Hôpital St Louis. It is a place that was designed to be cut away from the rest of Paris, left apart to live alone and treat the outcasts and virulent sufferers. Today outsiders are welcome, and families come to picnic in the 17th century quadrangle at its heart.
In one corner there is a building that has always fascinated me. The Musée des Moulages. The doors have always been resolutely closed, apparently open only at sporadic times and then only to students or professionals that have previously requested a visit. Last Sunday though, I finally found them open. At first sight, the interior seems a little like that of a light and airy country house. Busts of famous doctors stand in the hallway alongside paintings, bookcases and a statue of Saint Louis. To one side, a sweeping staircase leads visitors past a procession of leading dermatological specialists upwards towards the museum.The building dates from 1889 and was designed to house the growing collection of casts. The Hôpital St Louis was still on the periphery of the city and because of its self-sufficient autonomy had developed a world-renowned speciality in infectious skin diseases and afflictions. Three doctors were responsible for the creation of the museum. Alphonse Devergie donated his collection of paintings and drawings, but it was the doctors Fournier and Lailler who added the collection of casts. It is an institution which always had the intention of teaching and educating, and the two doctors believed that it would be more useful if the exhibits were three-dimensional.
The sight that greets you as you push open the doors is remarkable. A rectangular room bordered on all four sides by a double level of wooden display cases housing literally thousands of casts. The earliest dates from 1867 and the most recent 1958, but all share a gruesome, realistic form. The collection includes full heads, mouths, tongues, noses (or lack of!), arms, feet...and more intimate parts of the body. Any unusual or exceptional skin disfunction was quickly captured by the team at the museum.
The majority of the collection was produced by a man called Jules Baretta. It was the Doctor Lailler who found him, producing paper mache models of fruit in the Passage Jouffroy in Paris. He was so taken with the quality of the work that he immediately invited him to take up a post at the hospital. It was a radical change for Baretta, but he took to the work, producing incredibly realistic models which included features such as hair and colourings.
The collection is sorted by affliction, but I didn't want to look too closely at the details. Photos of the exhibits were not permitted, but respect for the 'patients' (and for my readers!) would have prevented me from taking any pictures anyway. I did want to capture the particular atmosphere of the place though, an installation that is almost unchanged 120 years later. Apparently students would learn little from a visit today (some diseases have been eradicated and many remedies are now known to be wrong), but it remains a fascinating historical monument (recognised by the state in 1992). One can only imagine the suffering as a plaster cast was placed on a painful or intimate place, but perhaps the patients were reassured by the fact that they were helping to further science and medicine.
I was there as a tourist of history and architecture, and this is part of the beauty of this hospital for me. It is history dragged into the modern day, centuries old stones that still exist for the reasons they were first put down. As I left, I saw that it is impossible to separate the reality of these buildings from the grim remnants of the past and today's thin, worn out individuals who are wired up to drips but still pulling on guilty cigarettes. We like to think we live in a safe, modern world, sheltered from the kinds of afflictions found in this museum. The reality is that we are towers of sand next to the solidity of these bricks and stones.
Note: If you are interested in visiting the museum, it is theoretically open from Monday to Friday, 9:00 - 17:00. However, you will only be allowed to enter if you have previously arranged a visit, and generally you will need to have a good reason for visiting (if you work in the medical profession for example). To contact them, call 01 42 49 99 15 or mail them at biblio.dermato@sls.aphp.fr.
There is a lot more to say about the Hôpital St Louis, but I'm not sure that a blog is the best place to do it. For this reason I am working on a walking tour of some of the most interesting hospitals in the city, including this one.
Note: There's plenty more to write about on this topic. I'll report back after attending the race meeting!
Gallopfrance: If you are interested in investing in a race horse or just interested in the sport, be sure to check out Gina Rarick's website. She also runs a very interesting and informative blog.
The Musée de la Prefecture de Police is probably the most difficult museum to locate in the city. X marks the spot on the map, but following the instructions leads to a building that looks like it belongs in Stalinist USSR. From the outside you would be hard pressed to find a single clue that would signal that there is a museum inside, but fortunately when you are lost here you can always ask a Policeman.
Unless you are fascinated by uniform and medals you can probably skip the first part of the exhibition. At their origins in the 17th century the police were little more than groups of militia, nicely dressed but with few responsibilities (their mission was resumed in three words: “netteté, clarté, sûreté”), and necessarily little of interest concerned them in this period. The story warmed up during the French Revolution when groups of people spontaneously organised themselves into a makeshift police force, but there was still no official service until the 19th century when the “Sergents de ville” were created in 1829.
The first item of interest is a reconstruction of Giuseppe Fieschi’s “Machine infernale”, a kind of homemade machine gun with two dozen or so barrels that the Corsican used in an attempt on the life of the Roi Louis-Philippe on July 28th 1835. Louis-Philippe survived but 18 others were killed in the incident. Fieschi himself was severely wounded by his own machine, and was saved from death purely so that he could later be tried and executed!
"Tête de Giuseppe Fieschi après son exécution" – Raymond Brascassat, 1836 (Musée Carnavalet, Paris)
Later in the 19th century comes a page in the history of the city that the museum quickly turns over. In many respects, the museum, run by the Police and largely about the Police, finds itself in a tricky position. How can an organisation that has been implicated in some of the greatest crimes during the period covered by this museum present itself in a fair-minded way? Many questions are simply swept under the dusty rugs, and that is certainly the case with the massacres that marked the ending of the 1871 Commune uprising. Indeed, the impression one gets is more of the police as victims, with a large painting showing the burning down of their headquarters earlier on in the uprising.
At the end of the 19th century, photography began to become an important aspect of police work and the museum gets more interesting! A photo-montage highlights the actions of a group of anarchists who terrorised the city in the 1890s, leading us into the most important room in the museum; crime and criminals in the 20th century. This long room hosts a series of glass cases organised by individual crimes. Often there is the original murder weapon with dubious stains and gruesome archive photos, and details on how the crime was solved. It’s a procession of ten inch spikes, serrated knives and crushed skulls!
The museum finishes with documents relating to the Second World War. Once more a very tricky subject for the Police, an organisation that was absorbed into the machine of the Nazi occupiers. A small display shows how members of the police force were responsible for the persecution of Jewish members of the community and for the rounding up of many of these people, but again here the focus is more on the policeman as victim. Larger cases and the photos that line the staircases highlight the individuals who fought for the resistance or who died during the liberation of the city, but how many of these had also been involved in the crimes against innocents beforehand?
Tim Pike
Outside of his day job, Tim is also a talented musician and songwriter. He can be found at http://www.myspace.com/drbrochet and will also be playing a concert at the La Tactique bar on rue Pascal, in the 5th arrondissement of Paris on Friday September the 18th.
Send Your Paris Polaroid! The beauty of the Polaroid was that it captured an instant. Such pictures were celebrations of the emotion of a moment, but like memories, Polaroids faded over time. In this series I am aiming to compile a selection of these Paris instants for posterity. If you have a memory of a Paris instant you would like to share, please send it to me and I will publish it here. A photo (which I will transform into Polaroid form) would be a bonus but is not a necessity (I can find one!). If you have a site, a project or a business to promote, send me the link and I will add a mention to your post!
The house where Haas was born with the construction his parents had built behind.
Amidst this suffering, Haas discovered art. His Uncle, a talented but depressive artist, lived on the ground floor of his building and the young boy would often spend time with him. Haas had problems walking but he decided that he would excel with his hands, and become an illustrator, sculptor and engraver. After his education in Paris, he spent much time in Brittany where he struck up a lifelong friendship with another artist, Xavier de Langlais.
A portrait of Haas by his friend Xavier de Langlais.
The parents of Xavier Haas supported him in his chosen career and decided to construct a building that would enable him both to work and give him a steady income. It would also prove to be his lasting monument in Paris. The construction at 12 Rue Cassini was entrusted to the architect Charles Abella* in 1930, and the result is a curious but fascinating mixture of forms and styles, completed by an extraordinary sculptured frieze by Xavier Haas himself.