In the old days, Montmartre was the end of some Metro lines. “Direction Montmartre”. Not any more. It’s actually hard to find the appropriate station to go to “Matha’s hill”. I recommend Lamarck-Caulaincourt. No stairs, just walk up from the back. (The first half of this post has just been wiped out by WP. Grrr. Start from scratch. Patience, patience.)
Le chat noir, the black cat, has become a symbol of Montmatre. Who doesn’t have this sketch on a mug? A cabaret, it was founded by Rodolphe Salis in 1881. It soon drew a crowd of artists and “bohemians”, establishing the reputation of the “hill” as a haven for artists, then and now.
Sleeping angel. Montmartre, 2018.
Urban strawberries. Strawberries? Seriously? Yes. Check the leaves. (Do not expect any kind of logic here. This is a Montmartre Pot-pourri)
Le théâtre du chat noir. To lure patrons, “the black cat” presented shows of the most up-to-date technology: the theatre of shadows:
Black mass, by Henri Rivière, 1891. In those days, the crave was for shadow theatre. I imagine there was a narrative and live music to keep the public on their toes. In 1895, the brothers Lumière would do the first public show of a moving picture.
A spectator coming out of Le chat noir, after a projection of Le Théâtre d’ombres. (Okay, back to where the post was scratched. Grrrr.)
Martha’s vineyard. (Montmartre is the deformation of Mont-Marthe, Martha’s hill). I’ve never tasted this wine. I believe 500 bottles are auctioned every year in October. I wonder whether they served the wine at Le Chat noir?
Clients at “Le chat noir” must have dressed like that. “Couple” by Maxime Dethomas, 1904. Only a century ago. Yet women’s dress codes have changed radically. Early 1900’s, my grandmother dressed that way. I have pictures!
George Goutière and his wife, Alice, in Calcutta, 1897. George was my Grandmother Julie’s cousin. His daughter, Christine Weston, became a renowned American writer. Another son, Peter Goutière, a pilot with Claire Chennault’s Flying tigers in China during WWII, is still alive and kicking, at 105 and change… A century? A blink of an eye.
Le chat noir, at the Musée Montmartre, 2018. A quaint little museum, well worth the visit.
Competition, Le Consulat, or Embassy of Savoie, is still up and running.
Le chat noir, By Adolphe Villette, 1881.
La maison rose, the pink house, is still in operation.
A butterfly, facing the Musée Montmartre. Then with a Van Dongen expo. See the tiny bit of poster to the very right.
Aristide Bruant (1851-1925) was one of the most famous artists of the time. A writer and “chansonnier” (cabaret singer?) his silhouette is another symbol of the Hill.
Bruant by Toulouse-Lautrec. 1892. (source Google)
Bruant in Suzanne Valadon’s house at the Musée Montmartre. A very creative exit sign.
Not a black cat. Take a close look at the triangle. See the angles?
Black cat, by Ardif.
Portrait by Marie Laurencin (1883-1956). A “contemporary artist”, Marie Laurencin is also famous for a song by Joe Dassin: “L’été indien” (Indian summer) This particular portrait is at Suzanne Valadon’s house. (Or was it at the Musée Montmartre? Same thing)
Birdcondition. Montmartre, 2018.
Can’t really do without the Sacré Coeur, right? Personally I dislike the architecture, reminds me of a Kitsch pudding, but with time, (a few centuries?) I guess one will get used to it. I prefer the following:
A Montmartre reflection. Complete with cat and red cobbled pavement.
Captain wishes to than you all for flying Equinoxio’s Time-Space shuttle. Bon week-end. (A longer post again. I keep blowing my 15 illustrations limit. Sorry ’bout that. I still think shorter posts are better. Will work on it)