So far Paris is twice as good as we thought it would be. Le Marais makes Hampstead look like a rubbish tip and our local patisserie is so expensive it feels like we've been shopping in Tiffany's every time we pop out for a baguette. Anyway, we are blissfully happy and don't ever want to leave.
Last week I played a concert in the magnificent Salle Poligniac, once the home of Madame Singer-Poligniac, a lady of legendary status in France as patron and supporter of almost every great French composer there ever was. The house holds letters and manuscripts by Ravel, Stravinsky, Cocteau, Poulenc and many, many others. The decor is extraordinary- in the concert hall (which once doubled as Madame's living room) there is an opera house style box built into the wall where the great lady would sit to watch performances by the great and the good of the time. It really is the sort of place which makes you shiver when you look around- which is tricky when you have to play long slow notes.
The box in which Madame Poligniac sat for the concerts held in her home, with her portrait underneath
No comments:
Post a Comment