Let's see what happened in Paris, France during the year 1927 and what Janet Flanner has to say about it.
Claude Monet (1840-1926)
It was the greatest aesthetic and financial blunder critics ever made, if one excepts the one they made a few years later in regard to Cézanne and would probably make today if another great innovator appeared. But the public and the government suffered most. In 1921 the Beaux-Arts paid through its nose for Monet's 'Les Femmes au Jardin.' Had they not been so busy laughing, they could have had it in '76 for a song. Monet's coffin was placed on a village handcart and two peasants in Sunday clothes pushed him to his grave in Giverny. Clemenceau followed on foot. "
Poor artists, so many of them are only appreciated after their death. Monet also gave something else than his beautiful paintings to the world; he built himself a house and garden in Giverny, which is today a museum. I visited there last year and the garden is absolutely fantastic. You can easily see where he got his inspiration. Well, worth a visit.
Hugo Père, Hugo Fils
Captain Charles Lindbergh
"The night (May 12, 1927) a young tourist named Captain Charles Lindbergh landed his plane The
Spirit of St. Louis at Le Bourget, concluding his historic flight across the Atlantic Ocean, the Paris news vendors screamed throught the streets, Bonnes nouvelles! The American has arrived.'..."
Diaghilev's Russian Ballet
Émile Zola (1840-1902)
"The recent celebration of the twenty-fifth anniversary of the death of Émile XZola, because it recalls his wretched life, is a sad literary French affair. Placidly accepted by us Anglo-Saxons as a library classic, his compatriots find
him still living enough to redissect, and the agony begins afresh. His general influence on French writers today is null, Flaubert and Maupassant having won the disciples where naturalism failed. Today Zola is read only as a bargain by workmen picking up his novels for a few sous from the bouquinistes on the quais. 'I shall be appreciated twenty years after my death,' he cried with hope. His prophecy missed its accuracy by a margin of two years: in 1920 a reprint of his works was effected without much comment. 'Never,' remarks the Paris literary critic Marius Boisson, 'was a writer so insulted, so covered with odium and caricature.'...."
Turned out to be quite a few entries for 1927, so I save two for next time; Isadora Duncan and Marcel Proust.
Since this post ended up with all this serious looking men, let's finish with a couple of paintings of Monet, to make it a little bit more joyful!
|This place you can see in his garden|
|Autumn 2013, so not so many|
flowers as above.
|Going up to his house.|
|Most of the flowers gone this|