A Cyclists' Bridge To A City's History

Providence, Rhode Island billed itself the "jewelry making capital of the world."  For nearly two centuries before the 1980s, that claim was justifiable: In 1978, when the industry peaked, 33,574 people worked in 1,374 Rhode Island companies that were classified as making "jewelry, silverware and miscellaneous notions," according to the state's Department of Labor and Training.

Not coincidentally, during that time Providence was an important shipping port:  second only to Boston in New England.  Of course, not all maritime cargo was related to rings and amulets, but a significant portion certainly was.  So, the decline of the industry and the port were, to some degree, tied together.  But another reason why fewer ships entered and left Providence's harbor in 1990 than in 1890 was Interstate 195.  The I-195 span replaced the Washington Bridge, a bascule (movable) span. In addition to blocking ships from the inner harbor, I-195, like other Interstates, hastened the decline of traditional ports like Providence, Boston, New York, San Francisco and Los Angeles that did no have easy access to the highway.

I mention all of these aspects of Providence's history because, in addition to being a jewelry-making center, Providence, like other industrial cities, had a thriving bicycle industry during the 1890s.  As in other American cities, bike-making declined (or ceased to exist) after World War I and few adults pedaled.  

But now, as in other places, cycling in Providence has undergone a renaissance, fueled largely by young people who have moved to the city.  As in nearby Boston and New York, those new cyclists complained about the lack of safe streets and driver awareness.  This has led to the construction of bike lanes and other efforts, misguided at times, to make the city more "bike friendly."

One such effort seems practical.  Whatever else it may be, it's certainly picturesque.  I'm talking about the newly-opened Providence River Pedestrian and Bicycle Bridge.  The span allows cyclists to pedal between the city's Fox Point neighborhood and the waterfront parks on the edge of the Jewelry/Innovation District.  The span is at least as lovely as some of the brooches and necklaces made in the city:  The bridge's curved edges are clad in wood, evoking the designs of ships that plied the harbor.  Better yet, its surface is lined with a wildflower garden and benches that allow passerby to pause and take in the cityscape.

Oh, and the bridge is built on granite piers that supported an I-195 viaduct before the highway was rerouted during the 1990s.

Photo by Steve Kroodsma/Kroo Photgraphy

So, the new Providence River Pedestrian and Bicycle Bridge spans, not only a body of water, but a city's history--and serves the needs and wants of present-day urban dwellers.  It sounds like a "gem" to me.

My Age

Je suis le soleil.

I am the law.

Believe it or not, Donald Trump didn't utter the first of the above declarations, mainly because he doesn't speak French. (He barely speaks English.)  But if he could--or if he had any flair for figurative language--he would. "I am the sun" would sum up the way he sees himself.

He probably wishes he could make the second statement.  Sometimes I think he hired Rudy Giulani for the express purpose of finding a loophole in the Constitution that would allow him to appropriate such power unto himself.

Now I am going to say something just as audacious and ridiculous--and something El Cheeto Grande has fever-dreams about saying:  I am this country.

How is that?, you ask.  Well, today is Independence Day here in the US. Or, as some people like to say, it's this nation's birthday.

It's also my birthday.  And I am identifying myself with this American nation because, for the first time, I feel as old.

My wounds are healing and I have to go for another MRI in a week.  Hopefully, it won't tell me I'm not as well as I feel because, well, I'm used to feeling better than I feel now.

Fourth of July Bike Ride, 1934

I might get on my bike today.  If it doesn't leave me in more pain--and if I don't crash--I'm sure I'll feel younger, or at least better.

If only a "cure" for this country, or this world, were so simple!

I'm sorry for whining.

They're Not Free To Celebrate Their Freedom

Seventy-five years ago today, the United States and its European allies accepted Nazi Germany's unconditional surrender of its armed forces.  

Citizens in countries such as France, Belgium, and the Netherlands could, for the first time in years, consider themselves free of a brutal occupation in which many of their friends, neighbors, colleagues--and, in many cases, relatives--were murdered or disappeared.  

As this is the 75th anniversary, few people who participated in combat, or who supported those, in or out of uniform, who participated in supporting the soldiers, sailors and airmen, or in other forms of resistance.  Even those who were young children during that time and remember various privations are not young.  So, this probably would have been the last time significant numbers of people who experienced the occupations in any way, as foes or allies, could or would celebrate in a major way.  

Notice that I used conditional tenses in my previous sentence.  Under other circumstances, thousands of people surely would have participated in ceremonies and other commemorations. Today, however, much of Europe remains under COVID-19 induced lockdowns.  In some countries, people can't even go for a bike ride or a walk and must show an official document granting them permission to go to grocery stores, pharmacies and other enterprises deemed as essential.

So, here is one of many sad ironies of the situation:  On a day when people would have been celebrating their liberation from one kind or tyranny, they are now living under another.  

And, the enforced curfews and other restrictions of Nazi invasions and occupations changed life in ways that still affect people today.  For example, the Paris Metro closes from 1 am to 5 am every day.  That schedule was imposed on the city during its occupation.  So it remains today.  In an odd parallel, for the first time in its history, the New York City subway system is  not operating 24/7.  It is now closed every day from 1 to 5 am--as a result of what has been called our "invisible invader."

Another parallel between the Nazi occupations and the COVID-19 pandemic is that thinking "out of the box" with the available facts is needed to beat back the terror.  The Nazis introduced the Blitzkreig, but French and other military strategists continued to strategize in the ways they'd done, or learned, before.  Once they and their allies understood that the Nazis were sending "lightning strikes" rather than masses of soldiers, they started to win battles.  Likewise, health care professionals, scientists and policy makers--at least the ones who don't placate political patrons--know that while their knowledge and data will inform their decisions, those decisions cannot always be made in the same ways because COVID-19 is not behaving in the same ways as earlier afflicitons.

I just hope that my friends in France and the wonderful people I met in other countries will soon be able to celebrate in the way they deserve (Xoom just doesn't cut it!)--perhaps with a bike ride.

1934: Pedaling The Lake

I occasionally ride to, or through, Flushing Meadow Park.  If you've never been there (or haven't read my posts about it), you might recognize at least one of its landmarks:  the Unisphere, built for the 1964-65 World's Fair and featured in Men In Black as well as other movies and TV shows.  

What you also might not know is that, like Prospect and Central Parks, it surrounds an artificial lake.  During the summer, those lakes are popular for, among other things, boat rides.  

Flushing Meadow, however, offers a type of water craft not available in the other city playgrounds:  pedal boats.  While they bear more resemblance to oversized beach toys than to boats or bicycles, they are propelled in the same way as your bicycle:  Your feet spin the pedals.  

I haven't tried one, but I plan to, if for no other reason than to see whether the experience is more like cycling or boating--or neither.

Perhaps these young women could have offered some insight:

For ten cents, had the opportunity  pedal across the waters of Lake Lucerne, near Seattle, Washington.  Their pedal boat literally combined two bicycles with a boat (or, more precisely, a raft) made of milled timbers.  The women's leg power propels the contraption forward by means of a water wheel attached to the bicycle gears.

It's pretty clever, if you ask me. If only the resort's managers could have had such acumen:  In December 1934, four months after the photo was taken, the property (which included 98 acres of land in addition to 16 acres of lake) was seized and sold at a U.S. Marshal's auction to satisfy a $22,763 court judgment. 

As far as I know, there haven't been any pedal boats on the lake since then.

Balance On The Road To Delphi

Yesterday, I took my first trip outside Athens, in the company of an unemployed historian.

Actually, Kostas is employed in three different jobs.  He was performing one of when he drove a passenger van designed to carry a few more people but which--luckily for me--had to transport only me and him on the 2 1/2 drive to Delphi.

His employment situation is like that of too many young Greek (and American) university graduates.  Even though he didn't incur debt for his education, Greek salaries are so low (at least in comparison with other European countries and the US) and taxes so high that he has to work nearly non-stop.  That, in itself, is troubling. So is something else he told me:  "In Delphi, I can't guide you."  As he explained, he is not part of the guild of licensed tourguides.

Still, our conversation en route and on the way back to Athens was interesting.  When you talk to him, you start to see that modern Greek life, even among the uneducated, is a reflection of the philosophies of espoused so long ago.  "They all stressed balance," he explained.  "The body, mind and spirit, all should be in balance," he said.  "So should all areas of life--work, family and everything else."  The fact that so much of the media stresses materialistic values and the body--or, at least, a particular image of it--is why the cause of so many of our problems.

While none of the philosophers focused on the body, "it all starts with the body," he explained.  That made perfect sense when I saw this:

The stadium, for the Pythian games, is at the very top of the Delphi site.  Below it is the theatre, which in turn is behind the Temple of Apollo, where consultations with the oracle took place.  While the stadium is at a higher location, the Temple, the most sacred structure, is right at the center of Delphi, thus "balancing" different aspects of human life. 

and under that, various stages, temples and treasuries.  Near the base is the "navel" of the world.  That stone was left exactly where archaeologists found it. I suppose leaving the stone there is also a kind of balance, too:  After all, how do we define what is the "center" of our planet?  The core?  The point where zero degrees longitude (the location of which is pretty arbitrary, when you come right down to it) meets zero degrees latitude (the Equator)?  Those archaeologists, I believe, were balancing what they knew as researchers and scientists with portraying what ancient people knew about the world in which they lived. 

On our way back to Athens, we stopped in Arachova , which looks like an Alpine ski village.  Actually, it is, except that it, of course, isn't in the Alps.  I admitted to Kostas that until we saw , I never would have used "Greece" or "Greek" and "ski" in the same sentence.  Then again, I am neither Greek (as far as I know, anyway) nor a skier, so I wouldn't have known how well-known the place is among skiers--and Greeks.  

Now there's a balance:  skiing, on the slopes around Mount Parnassus.  On the other hand, I have to wonder how many folks are thinking "Nothing in excess!" as they're barreling down the slope. 

Would Hadrian Build Bike Lanes?

Almost three years ago, the first phase--all 3.2 kilometers (2 miles)-- of the Second Avenue subway opened, nearly a century after it was first proposed. The second phase, roughly two-thirds of the distance, is expected to open some time during 2027-2029. After that, yet another extension is planned. 

Whenever it's finished, it's still running ahead of the schedule on which the Temple of Olympian Zeus was built.  To be fair, no one planned on taking more than seven centuries to finish it.  Begun in the 6th Century BCE by Peristratos, it was abandoned for lack of funds.  It finally got finished in 131 CE under the Roman Emperor Hadrian, who had a large statue of Zeus built in it, along with an equally large statue of itself.

If the Acropolis is the #1 "can't-and-shouldn't-miss-it" sight of Athens, the Temple, only a five-minute bike ride (if that) away is easily #2.  For one thing, it's easily the largest and one of the most magnificent temples you'll ever encounter.   

Just outside the Temple's grounds is another impressive structure:  Hadrian's Arch, completed a year later both to commemorate the consecration of the Temple and demarcate the boundary between the ancient and Roman cities.  The northwest frieze reads "This is Athens, the Ancient city of Theseus," while the southeast frieze says, "This is the city of Hadrian, and not of Theseus."

This Hadrian character had an ego.  But he sure knew how to build a city.  While he destroyed some other cities in Greece, he loved Athens and wanted it to be the artistic and intellectual center of the Roman Empire, as it was for its Greek counterpart. Evidence of his magnanimity and megalomania are found in another stop on my bike tour of Athens:  Hadrian's Library.  There's not much left of the actual library, which was set next to a courtyard bordered by 100 columns with a pool at its center!  The library, in addition to the estimated 75,000 volumes it held (by far the largest collection of its time), also contained music and lecture rooms.  

In between Hadrian's gate and library, I made another stop at the Roman Agora, right around the corner from the library.  While the most impressive remains are near the entrance, the real "show-stopper" on this site is the so-called Tower of the Winds, which has served as an astrological observatory and Orthodox chapel.  If you step inside on a hot day, as I did, you will understand why even with such summer heat, air conditioning was so rare until recently, here and in most of Europe:  It seems like all of the winds are blowing through it!

Plus, I'll admit, I wouldn't mind having a skylight like that in my apartment!

Now, if I were an Athenian or in any way sensible, I probably would have stopped at least for something to drink, if not a full-on Greek lunch, somewhere between one of those destinations.  But since I'm not Greek (and I will let you decide whether or not I'm sensible), I wanted to ride and see more.  You might say I was getting addicted to cycling my way through history.

Oh, and I wanted to pack as much into my day before I had to return my rental to Athens by Bike.  I would have kept it another day if I hadn't had other plans.

So another ten-minute bike ride through a narrow, cafe-lined lane, an only-slightly-wider path rimmed by flea-market stalls and a cobblestone walkway that led to the path I rode to the sea, I came to Kerameikos, which you might say is an early "potter's field" because it takes its name from the clay-workers who settled there, along the banks of clay-rich banks of the Eridanos, a stream that was covered over in ancient times and re-discovered during construction of the Athens Metro.  

Kerameikos is practically a diorama of Athenian history.  In it, you can see the Sacred Way, which pilgrims entered through the Sacred Gate for the annual  Elusinian Procession, which commemorated the abduction of Persephone from her mother Demeter by Hades, the king of the underworld, and her rescue.  A little further along is the Diplyon Gate, at that time the city's gate and the starting point for the parade.  It's also where prostitutes gathered to offer themselves to travelers.  Oh, and right by that gate, Pericles gave a speech extolling the virtues of Athenians and honoring those who died in the Peloponnesian Wars.

Oh, and right by that is a cemetery used by the Romans until the time of Justinian (6th Century BCE) and uncovered during street construction in the 1860's.  And there's the path to Plato's Academy.

I thought my head was spinning from taking all of that in.  But, in reality, between my biking and all of the sites I'd visited, I'd been out in direct sunlight for close to eight hours.  Even with all of the sunscreen I slathered on myself, I was feeling the burn.  

After returning the bike, I stopped for some yogurt with cherries and an iced coffee.  Then, in walking by down the pedestrian mall that passes the Acropolis Museum and the base of the Acropolis hill, I saw an entrance to the park that includes the Hills and Pynx, which in turn connects to Filopappu Hill, named for a prominent Roman consul and administrator.  It is on these hills that, according to Plutarch, Thesus and the Amazons did battle.  The west side of Filopappu, as it turns out, is right across the street from the apartment where I'm staying.

Like most hilltops in Athens, it offers a nice view of the Acropolis.  But, if you get tired of that (as if that's possible!), you can turn and see this:

 I wanted to visit all of the sites I mentioned because the pass I bought for 30 Euros at the Acropolis included entrance to all of them (except Filopappu, which is free) and lasts for three days. (It's 20 Euros for the Acropolis alone.)  That 30-Euro pass is, as the Athens cultural office explains, for "archaeological" sites, all of which are outdoors.  There's another 15-Euro pass, also for three days, that includes the Acropolis Museum and the Archaelology Museum, as well as others.  As each of those museums has a 10-Euro admission fee, this pass is also well worth the money.

Today, though, I travelled outside of Athens. More about that later.

They Got It Back--Wrecked

In another era--or was it another life?--I wrote for small-town and community newspapers.  In that role, I looked at police reports and blotters. It's a vice in which I still indulge, occasionally.

Sometimes those reports make me laugh.  How else could I react upon reading something like "a caller reported a man yelling and swearing on Street X"?  

On the other hand, I mutter "What fools!" when I read some items, like the one about the woman who left her wallet in a shopping cart.  (It didn't stay there for long.) Or the one about the woman who reported that checks and deposit slips were stolen from her car.  

Then again, I'm from New York, where one of the first things you learn is not to leave anything in your car, or cart!

Perhaps my Big Apple-induced jadedness extends even further than I thought.  In the Wisconsin Rapids Tribune, the police blotter reported that a caller complained about "kids on bicycles who kept on going into dumpsters." (Someone called the cops for that?)  But my favorite item is this:  "A Wisconsin Rapids man reported someone stole his child's bicycle...and then brought it back destroyed."

Hmm...Taking something from someone and giving it back destroyed.  For a moment, I thought, "That's what my country did to Iraq." 

(Also check this out.)

 

Gardens Of Memory

Rain fell in the wee hours of yesterday morning. But the day dawned bright and clear, if windy.  So, of course, I went for a ride--to Connecticut.

When I got to Greenwich, I parked myself on a bench in the Common, where I munched from a packet of Kar's Sweet 'N' Salty Trail Mix (I see how that stuff can be addictive!) and washed it down with a small can of some espresso-and-cream cold drink.  

That combination of caffeine and sugar can make you feel as if you're ready to burst forth--like the flowers I've been seeing during the past few days.  The weather is warm for a day or two, and the flowers just seem to appear, in gardens, on trees (oh, the cherry blossoms) and in public monuments. 

It's sadly ironic to see flowers growing around a memorial to military members who died in combat.  Those soldiers, sailors, airmen and others--almost all of them young-- are gone, long gone.  Who remembers them, or the cause--whatever it was--for which they fought?  And who will remember, in future generations, the ones who die fighting for basically the same reasons and impulses as the ones who survive only as names on stone?

But the flowers return, whether on their own or because someone planted them.  It does not matter whether the monument they adorn commemorates people who gave their lives in a just or unjust, constructive or futile, reasonable or fallacious cause:  Those flowers will return, and grow, just the same.

Using Ma Velo To Make Mon Choco

The secret or not-so-secret vice of many cyclists is chocolate.  Yes, it's one of mine, too.

I reckon that most cyclists prefer dark chocolate.  At least, that's been the choice of the cyclists I've known.  It's mine, too.  It's a great energy food and not sickeningly sweet. Also, milk chocolates are more difficult to digest when riding.

As I've written in previous posts, cyclists have harnessed the power of their wheels to do all sorts of things, such as  sharpening knives, making electricity and grinding flour.

So, if cacao beans have to be ground up in order to make chocolate, it makes sense that someone would use the power of pedals turning a wheel to turn out the confections we love.

Such is the idea behind Mon Choco, an operation overseen by Dana Mroueh, who says he is guided by an "eco-friendly" philosophy.

Using stationary bicycles to power the chocolate grinders is just one way Mon Choco minimizes its use of electricity.  It also doesn't roast its cacao pods.  That, according to Mroueh, also allows the pods to retain more of their original flavor and nutritional value, the latter of which is greater than most people realize.  (If you've ever looked for an excuse to eat chocolate, there it is!)  

But, in keeping with Mroueh's philosophy, Mon Choco uses organic cacao.  That doesn't seem surprising until you realize that Mon Choco is operating in la Cote d'Ivoire, where most of the cacao is grown with the use of pesticides and other chemicals.  Those substances are, in themselves, bad enough for the environment.  So, however, is the very act of making caocao plantations, which has contributed to deforestation.  Environmental campaign groups say that la Cote d'Ivoire is at risk of losing all of its forest cover by 2034.

That deforestation can be said to be part of the "hangover," if you will, of colonialism.  La Cote d'Ivoire is the world's largest cacao producer, but until recently, almost no finished chocolate--the real revenue-producer--has been made in the country.  Nearly all of the raw cacao or powder has been exported to Europe or, to a lesser extent, North America.

And, while people who've tasted Mon Choco's creations praise them, the sad fact is that most Ivoiriens can't afford them:  a typical Mon Choco bar sells for about 1500 CFA (US $2.60) in a country where the average monthly wage, after taxes, is about 200,000 CFA (US $345). So, for the moment, most of Mon Choco's production is exported, mainly to France.

Saturday Ride: Empires And Connecticut

It's one thing to be reminded of Paris when you're in New York--especially, say, if you're walking down the Grand Concourse in the Bronx and looking at the Art Deco buildings--or pedaling along Ocean or Eastern Parkways in Brooklyn.  As I have mentioned in other posts, these places were inspired by the Grand Boulevards of Paris as well as the wide residential boulevards of London and other large European cities.

Also, I was in Paris a week and a half ago, so I have an excuse for thinking about it.

Now, it would be fair to ask what would cause me to think about Cambodia during a bike ride to and from Connecticut.  After all, there isn't much physical resemblance between the two places.  You might think that because I was riding on a cold day--the temperature didn't reach the freezing mark the other day, when I pedaled to the Nutmeg State--I was taking a trip, in my mind, to the warm weather I experienced in Southeast Asia.

Actually, I wasn't thinking about that.  Something I saw in the Greenwich Common reminded me, in an odd way, of something I saw in the land of the ancient Khmer kingdom.

Bare branches furled themselves around a monument to young men who marched, perhaps bravely, perhaps blindly, into their own slaughters.  In another year they are mourned, their young bones turned into mud:  They remain only as names on these stones after dying to capture hills and other terrestrial features that are recorded only as coordinates on a map or, perhaps, dates and times.  

All right.  I'll get off my soapbox.  When I see a war "memorial", I can't help but to think of what a colossal waste of lives--especially those of the young--result from the rise and fall of nations, of empires--whether said entities consist of real estate or simply numbers traded and sold from one electronic screen to another.

At least all those Greenwich residents who died too soon have names, at least for as long as those stones stand.  What, though, if the trees--not unlike the ones on the Connecticut state coin--were to wind themselves around those monuments?  What if they continued to grow, as they would if no one touched them, while the stones bearing the names of the lost were to crumble?

Somehow I don't think similar questions ever darkened the mind of Henri Mouhot.   He is often said--mistakenly--to have "discovered" Angkor Wat.  Of course, he no more "discovered" it than Columbus "discovered" America:  There were thousands of people already living in its vicinity, and they all descended from people who'd lived in the area.  Moreover, other French explorers and missionaries had seen and documented the temples decades before Mouhot.  He did, however, popularize Angkor Wat in Western imagination, in part by comparing them to the pyramids.

I have to wonder, though, what went through his and his colleagues' minds when they first saw Ta Prohm.

We know the name of the King--Jayavarman--who commissioned it.  Those who cleared the jungle, cut the stones, carved the statues and made the meals for those who did all the other work are anonymous to us now.  So are those who fought to build and maintain the Khmer Empire (or almost every other empire).  What we have now are what Mouhot encountered 160 years ago:  Trees reclaiming their home from monuments humans built.

Now, of course, I am not complaining about having gone to see Ta Prohm, or the rest of the Angkor Wat complex.  It really has been one of the great privileges I've enjoyed:  The temple sites are awe-inspiring in all sorts of ways, and the people are inspirational.  It should be remembered, though, that its glories, much like those of the Vatican and the grand cathedrals of Europe, as well as the pyramids, were the result of now-nameless people whose lives began and ended as fodder for the empire.  

And, I must say, it is ironic to be reminded of an ancient marvel in a tropical climate on a cold day in a modern suburban downtown--while riding my bicycle.

Cycling, Cubism, Computers And Commerce In Paris

I am certainly not the first cyclist to notice that pedaling enhances the senses.  We can see and hear more vividly, and whatever we taste or touch (or touches us) is more intense.  And we all know that our favorite foods and drinks taste even better during and after a ride.

Perhaps it's no coincidence that I found myself thinking about these phenomena as I pedaled around the Place des Vosges and through narrow streets lined with sandstone-colored buildings:  My morning's meanderings ended at la Musee Picasso.

So how are my ramblings and ruminations connected to the creator of Demoiselles d'Avignon and Guernica?

Well, actually, I started to think about the way we receive sensory details--on or off our bikes--on Saturday, while looking at an exhibit of Cubist painters in the Centre Pompidou.  The way Picasso, Braque and others dissected (visually, anyway), faces, objects and vistas, then re-assembling them in new ways, does not reflect the way our eyes see--or, at any rate, the way we are accustomed to thinking that our eyes see.  Rather, those artists were showing us how something besides our sensory organs--call it the mind, the intuition or the spirit (I mean that in a secular sense.) senses the world around us--which, of course, cannot be a re-creation of the object, the face or whatever we see.  

It makes sense when you realize that the words on this page, or any other words, cannot transmit the things they are supposed to communicate or represent.  All they can do is convey something--a code, if you will-- that the mind turns into an image or idea of whatever the words are supposed to convey.  The mind doesn't do that simply by taking in the sequence of letters that form the word; it turns them into something that the mind or consciousness, or whatever you want to call it, can use to portray an idea or essence of whatever that word is supposed to represent.  If you see the word "house", your mind provides you with an image of a house because it turns the letters of the word into something your mind can re-assemble into a visualization of some house or another.

I am not a neuroscientist, so I have been able to describe our conscious processes only in the language I could find in my own intuition, such as it is.  And I know even less about the way computers process data, so please forgive me if what I say next makes less sense than anything I've said before.

Here goes: It occured to me, while riding afterward, that Cubism may well have been a prototype of how computers process data--and, in particular, how information is conveyed through computer systems and, in particular, across the Internet. As I (mis)understand it, what I am typing right now won't be posted directly to my blog:  It must be changed into a format that can be sent and re-assembled into the intended message or content.  And that format, as I understand it, bears no resemblance (at least in terms of logic or syntax) to the language we use and has to be rearranged in ways we never would (or could) do in order to convey our message.

So..Could the Cubists have been proto-computer scientists?  

Anyway, riding is always a great primer for looking at art, or almost anything.  And within steps, literally, of the Picasso there are two other museums.  I was going to go to the Carnavalet, but it was closed for renovations.  So I went to one I visited on my previous trip to Paris:  the Cognacq-Jay.

Like the Jacqmart-Andre, it was the residence of a wealthy couple who collected art and objects.  The collection was on display, but there was also an interesting exhibit about "l'art du commerce."  It shows how artists like Jean-Antonine Watteau were instrumental in bringing about what we might recognize as marketing in the 18th Century.

The convergence of a few factors made it possible. One was, ahem, colonialism, which gave France and the rest of Europe access to a wider variety of materials--and designs they'd never before seen.  Another was the means to reproduce the exotic objects that came from afar, mainly the Middle and Far East.  Then there was the development of merchant and middle classes --whose tastes and demands drove these new markets--and, last but not least, a group of artists and other creative people.  

This is the era in which, essentially, department stores and catalogues began. That is why artists like Watteau others of his generation were so suited for this development: They had sketch-like techniques developed for creating portraits of  merchants, bankers and other professionals:  the sorts of people (and their families) to whom marketing was directed.  So, in some weird way, you can thank (or blame) Watteau for Amazon--or, if you're of my generation, Bike Nashbar, Performance, Supergo and all of those mail-order shops that sold all of those exotic and unaffordable bikes and parts we couldn't find at our neighborhood Schwinn dealers.

Could it be that the bicycle developed from the draisienne to what we ride today because of the l'art du commerce?