Woven willow fence at the Cluny photo Tim HurleyWe sat for an hour in the medieval healing garden at the Cluny in Paris just breathing in the fragrances of the lavender, thymes and lilies. Ancient roses wafted all around us. This garden in the middle of Paris was designed for rest. The perfect place for a cuddle.
The stone walls in the Cluny go as far back as Roman times. Gargoyles watched our every move and guarded darkened corners. Grafitti had been carved into walls for generations and just became other markings on the stones.
I knew the museum held the Unicorn Tapestries. I didn't know how moved I would be standing in front of them in the dimly lit chambers. Each one of them was so carefully woven. Each yarn so carefully dyed and shaded. They made the lady's face so luminescent. The unicorn glowed so other worldly. Tapestry after tapestry was more beautiful than the next but with a constant design. Millefliore. Thousands of flowers and herbs are documented in the backgrounds.
I almost missed the twelfth century monk's shoe. Worn, soft and cracked brown leather. More like a slipper than a servicable shoe. More feminine than masculine by current fashion.
Who kept this shoe? Was it buried in the walls or had it been intentionally treasured? Who wore it?
The reason for shoe fetishes became very clear. The imprint of the foot had worn its mark and left its memory. The presense of its owner hovered all around. Who wouldn't love this holyman's little foot.
I saw so many ancient material objects in Paris. Things that had belonged to Napoleon and Antionette. Objects from those so greedy and long dead. Nothing captured time so fully as one worn leather shoe!
The stone walls in the Cluny go as far back as Roman times. Gargoyles watched our every move and guarded darkened corners. Grafitti had been carved into walls for generations and just became other markings on the stones.
I knew the museum held the Unicorn Tapestries. I didn't know how moved I would be standing in front of them in the dimly lit chambers. Each one of them was so carefully woven. Each yarn so carefully dyed and shaded. They made the lady's face so luminescent. The unicorn glowed so other worldly. Tapestry after tapestry was more beautiful than the next but with a constant design. Millefliore. Thousands of flowers and herbs are documented in the backgrounds.
I almost missed the twelfth century monk's shoe. Worn, soft and cracked brown leather. More like a slipper than a servicable shoe. More feminine than masculine by current fashion.
Who kept this shoe? Was it buried in the walls or had it been intentionally treasured? Who wore it?
The reason for shoe fetishes became very clear. The imprint of the foot had worn its mark and left its memory. The presense of its owner hovered all around. Who wouldn't love this holyman's little foot.
I saw so many ancient material objects in Paris. Things that had belonged to Napoleon and Antionette. Objects from those so greedy and long dead. Nothing captured time so fully as one worn leather shoe!
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