The first impression I had of the Louvre was the rainbows on the floor. The museum’s famous glass pyramid combines with the sunlight from outside to make a sort of prism. As a result, the cold, white marble floor by the ticket counter becomes periodically covered in an enormous crisscross pattern of brightly dancing rainbows. This effect was simultaneously simple and spectacular. The rainbows’ playful and whimsical beauty seemed like the natural world’s way of getting a small say in the gigantic, man-made spectacle known as the Louvre. However—possibly to nature’s dismay—this rainbow light show has probably never been pictured or discussed in the countless books and websites dedicated to the most famous museum in the world. In fact, this small wonder was just the first of many aspects of the Louvre that I could never have gained from a book, but will always distinctly remember.
Despite my lack of art knowledge, I felt thrilled at the prospect of seeing some of the wonders the Louvre had to offer. As our group separated for the day, I found myself with my friend Laura, ready to begin my journey through this incredible museum. Like all good tourists should, we began our visit by making a beeline to the painting that is almost synonymous with the Louvre—the Mona Lisa. Along the way, we sped through enormous rooms whose walls were covered in rows upon rows of paintings and others whose floors seemed like thick forests of sculptures. I began to wonder what I had never had opportunity to wonder before—who has the responsibility of hanging the pictures and arranging the sculptures in world famous museums; and how on earth do they do it? I struggled to come up with answers to these burning questions and to enjoy these multitudes of priceless pieces of art I quickly passed, while I tried to keep my focus on getting to the Mona Lisa.
After rushing through several more of these magnificent rooms, we finally reached our destination. There she was. The woman. The myth. The legend. She looked just like she did in all the books and prints where she had been reproduced. But in the countless times I had looked at reproductions of DaVinci’s masterpiece, I had never before had the opportunity to see the extent of its popularity. This popularity was embodied in the thick throng of tourists from every nation, tribe, and tongue who surrounded the painting, and the noisy, collective clicking of their cameras. Laura and I decided that we cared more about seeing the rest of the Louvre than fighting the Mona Lisa crowd, so on we went.
The plethora of artwork that I witnessed that day has become a blur in my memory. I remember searching for Vermeer, Venus de Milo, and Michelangelo. I also remember wandering through the African art section on the way and being fascinated by its exotic and exaggerated qualities. But aside from these and several other distinct fragments, I remember the art I saw that day as one continuous stream of figures, frames, portraits, and landscapes. Although I enjoy art, like I mentioned before, I do not have the least bit of knowledge of art history or technique. All I could do was steal brief glances at the paintings that struck my fancy, and take flashless pictures of the ones I most wanted to remember. Maybe someday I’ll show those pictures to my artist friends and have them explain the paintings’ significance. But for the time being, all I had to enjoy the paintings were my imagination and my untrained eye for beauty. Despite my lack of knowledge, I still felt a child-like wonder and excitement as I saw some of the best art this world has to offer.
But art is not all the Louvre had to offer, nor is art all I will remember it by. In addition to the art, the little events and oddities of my day at the Louvre made my visit memorable. I continued my endless march through the rooms upon rooms of paintings, struggling to decide which ones to notice. Suddenly, I spotted something to which I, without a doubt, had to give my full attention. Stationed in front of one of the paintings, sat a petite elderly woman at an easel painting a copy of one of the paintings hanging on the wall. The woman had almost finished her work, so I could admire her skill in creating an almost identical copy of the painting she had been trying to imitate. Again, I thought about what I had never thought about before—how amazing it would be to be an artist and sit in front of an original painting and copy it. What a way to learn your craft!
After a full morning of roaming around the Louvre, Laura and I both began to feel hungry. So, we headed towards one of the Louvre’s adorable and overpriced cafes. Glad for the break from walking, we both sat down and ordered focaccia sandwiches. The sandwiches turned out to be melt-in-your-mouth delicious. In all of my years of dreaming about visiting the Louvre, it never once entered my mind that a museum could make such yummy food—which is a good thing, considering the number of Euros we paid for it. As we enjoyed our lunch, Laura and I pored over the museum map, strategizing what we would try to see in the time we had left. Pictures of famous paintings and sculptures peppered the map, indicating where these pieces were located amidst the vastness of the Louvre. It felt like a Where’s Waldo of museums. After trying to make sense of the map, we came up with some semblance of a plan.
The second leg of our journey through the Louvre went smoothly until we reached the Dutch paintings. Suddenly, an alarm started blaring from the ceilings. A monotone voice began giving instructions in numerous different languages. Neither Laura nor I could understand the voice’s instructions, but we saw people pouring down the stairs as if to evacuate. But a museum employee assured us everything would be fine and that these alarms went off all the time. Yet, the alarm went on like a song on repeat. When the alarm finally stopped, the same museum employee eagerly pointed us to a window. This particular window had the perfect view to all things Paris—mainly the Eiffel Tower and the Arch de Triomphe. Not only did this man’s gesture dispel the myth that all Parisians are rude and provide a great photo opportunity, it also stands out as the highlight of my day at the Louvre.
After a few more hours of wandering, we finally had to return to the lobby and meet up with the rest of our group. But finding a way out of the Louvre proved to be an adventure unto itself. We spent at least half an hour walking up and down marble staircases, moving in circles through Italian sculptures and Egyptian artifacts, and puzzling over the museum map, before we finally found the lobby. Our adventure in the Louvre was almost over—but not quite. While we waited for the rest of our group, we witnessed a high profile security procedure, centered on a suspicious backpack that had been left on the floor. Fortunately, the backpack proved to be the harmless possession of a school kid and everything at the Louvre returned to normal.
After I returned to America, I pulled my Treasures of the Louvre book off my shelf. It had been given to me by a friend’s mom when I was in middle school. I read the note she wrote me, and my eyes fell upon the line “I hope that some day you will actually get to visit it.” I felt a feeling both gratified and eerie that her wish for me had come true. I had indeed experienced the magnificence of the Louvre. Now the museum no longer exists merely as a fact, it also lives as a memory—a memory that includes rainbows, a focaccia sandwich, and a kind museum employee, in addition to the Mona Lisa I expected.
