Zipped into the Hermitage at the opening bell, on a mission to mail postcards. I was surprised at how vast and empty it felt, tourists just beginning to trickle in, the babushkas still strolling to their posts. I keep thinking of the Empress looking at her paintings, her only company the mice. Dropped off two dozen postcards, a cash only transaction. Left by way of the main entrance, which I’d never even seen. Here’s the line I have also never been in, thanks to my Friends of the Hermitage card. 
I walked across to the General Staff building this morning to see what’s on second and who’s on first. My apologies to Abbott and Costello.
There were marvelous things in the collection of lavish diplomatic gifts presented to the Russian Imperial Court. Saddles were a popular choice.
I came across a small room dedicated to Rodin, with half a dozen pairs of his lovers, embracing.
I liked poking around in the Faberge exhibit too.
But what about the contemporary art? Let’s start with the most famous work.
Which one of these paintings cost them a cool 8 million? Wanna guess? It’s in the middle. Black Square, by Kasimir Malevich. I’d say I felt nothing but that’s not strictly true. I was irritated. The time I spent looking at this I will never get back. I’d heard of it, and did some Googling, and the idea in the context of the time etc., blahblahblah, but it fails me as visual art, so that doesn’t fix the problem. I know it is my problem, not Malevich’s. This is where I think visual art jumps the shark. Not art per se, but visual art. It’s like Peter’s wooden fruit, stuck in bowls of the real thing – part joke and part field sobriety test.
Next up, Red Wagon.
This installation is supposed to evoke the dismantling of the Soviet Empire. I thought it was a temporary site for workman to leave equipment, or possibly an exhibition under construction. Several of the building’s bigger rooms are empty. Lots of blind alleys and dead ends and maze-like hallways. But some welcome open spaces too. Anyway, now I know that it’s a bone fide conceptual installation? Don’t care.
This is a temporary exhibition. It’s a big deal.
It’s large. Parts are bristly, parts are smooth. Definitely big. 
Again, meh.
This is what I’d trade all of these for. It was up on the third floor, in the French rooms. It’s very small, 13.5″ x15″ 
Watercolorist at the Louvre, by Pascal Dagnan-Bouveret. I couldn’t get enough of it. Zoom in if you can. The subject is a woman in the act of painting, which of course matters to me. It’s shamelessly charming. That frothy pink bonbon of a dress is absurd, but the curves and flounces speak to the carved and gilded frame of the large painting. I love the backs of canvases stacked and leaning against the wall, the landscape painting-within-the-painting, the way the light caresses her. The whole thing is so replete with beauty, it’s practically edible. It’s even more captivating in real life than on this screen, trust me.
It will surprise no one that, although I fit the technical definition of a contemporary artist in that i am alive and I do make art, in the world of contemporary art I fall somewhere between an anathema and an anachronism. It’s important to add that every piece of art was not made just for me. You might love Malevich. Have at it. More for you! No lines, no waiting!
I lit some candles at St. Nicholas on my way to dinner at a joint around the corner from my hotel, Romeo’s. A film crew had set up right outside the door, reminding me of my Romeo. Glad we are not star-crossed lovers, just temporarily separated by a mere 4,982 miles.
Dinner was okay. My favorite part was dessert.
I think if you try to use the fork on the plate, they don’t let you drive home.
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