Letters
Letter from Paris: A Plight at the Opera
Dear friends,
I hope you are sitting down as you read this, because it’s in this letter that I will reveal the shocking truth: I am an uncultured swine.
This will not surprise those who know me well. They are aware that my family tree is more of a creeping vine–spreading widely, but never far from the dirt. I’m not ashamed in any way of it, quite the contrary. But if things I’ve said or written have given the impression that I must have been raised by the sort of people who were never without a volume of Keats close at hand, or who thought of Tchaikovsky as pop music, you are mistaken.
My relations, if they still think of me at all, will tell you I was a horrible little snob even as a child. That is true. Nevertheless, there are significant chunks of my brain that remain stubbornly lowbrow, and from time to time they flash like my hometown’s single traffic light.
That’s what happened last week when I went to the Palais Garnier for an evening of contemporary dance. I have nothing at all against contemporary dance. Unfortunately, I lack the prerequisites required to appreciate it. Therefore, I do not seek it out.
On this night, for reasons, I was compelled to watch it.
The member of our party who organized the outing mistook the start time, which meant we were too late to be seated for the first half. I did my best to look disappointed and suggested we drown our sorrows across the street at the Café de la Paix. The others would have none of that.
They allowed a kindly usher to lead us to the tippy-top of the house.
We were slipped into an empty box from which about five percent of the stage was visible. On the other hand, we were just below Marc Chagall’s gorgeous ceiling and at eye-level with Charles Garnier’s famous chandelier.
While they craned their necks trying to see whatever gyrations were going on, I realized I had a new-to-me perspective on what is, after all, my favorite building in the entire world.
I took a bunch of pretty souvenir photos,
then pulled a chair into a corner–it was dark as a mineshaft in the box–and took a nap.
After the interval, however, we were transferred to our official seats several floors down. I, as the shortest, was put into the front row so that I could have the best view.
The best view of this.
Yes, that is a bidet on the stage of the Paris Opéra.
My friends, nothing good ever follows a bidet in front of the act curtain. I considered bolting. Too late. There were four pairs of dance maniacs crammed between me and the door of the box and the lights were going down.
A lady lurched onto the stage. She wore a flowing tunic and a single long braid that to me signaled unhealthy obsessions with macramé and wheatgrass juice. Hidden musicians struck up an electronic dirge.
The lady danced a Sad Dance around, and with, the bidet.
The crowd was silent. Breathless. The house was nearly full, and every pair of eyes except mine were fixed on the stage, where the pas de bidet gave way to an agitated Highland Fling involving vacuum cleaners.
The piece was all in that vein: convulsions and stomping and household appliances, in the service of blazingly original points such as “relationships are hard” and “modern life isolates us from one another.”
I certainly felt isolated. Little me in my little seat, bewildered, while several thousand people sobbed because the lady on stage (a different lady, wearing the wrap skirt of ennui and the fedora of frustration) was dancing an Angry Dance with a door.
I had knitting with me. Right there in my bag. The bag in my lap. Deadline knitting. I could feel the knitting inside the bag, so close, not being knitted. I’m working night and day on samples for Season Ten of Knit Stars, in which I (along with my bosses here at MDK) am one of the Stars. (They said it, not me.)
My series will be about shadow knitting, with two new designs, and this one was in the bag.
I wondered if I could gently, gently, slide open the zipper and slip out the knitting. I wondered if I could covertly work a few rows in my lap, in the light spilling off the stage.
I imagined two thousand angry dance freaks, aghast at a stray click of the needle, tearing me limb from limb like modern maenads in fancy sneakers.
I can’t tell you how long the second half of the performance was, but it felt like six weeks. It was one of those agonizing situations–if you are reading this, I’m sure you know it–in which one is uncomfortable and/or bored, but one is for whatever reason not able to get through it by pulling out something to work on.
It was an “if only I had my knitting” moment. Yet I did have my knitting. Yet I didn’t dare knit.
Please let me be clear. I don’t expect anyone to express a tear or even a modest sigh for my having been bored in a box at the Palais Garnier. The flip side of my upbringing is that I’m still grateful, desperately grateful, to be able to live where I live and see the things I see.
Even when I don’t understand the things I see.
Even when the bidet starts to dance.
Cordialement,
Franklin
PS The performance got an enormous, endless cheering ovation. To my great relief, however, it appears that contemporary dance companies do not believe in encores.
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Great text!!!
I hope you went home and had a large glass of wine afterwards, you earned it. Love your writings.
Your restraint was amazing!
Ah! Cher Franklin! J’ai bien de tes aventures.
Je ne comprends pas non plus la danse contemporaine…une chance qu’on a le tricot!
Hilarious. Definitely experienced situations where companions’ scowls prevented me from knitting. Definitely hope you enjoyed wine after, or knitting!
Oh Dear – shouldn’t somethings remain where they belong? In the bathroom. But then I wouldn’t have had a good laugh to start my day. Thank you! Oh and that ceiling- marvelous.
And sooooo excited for both workshops from you and MDK. Already ordered the kits!
Brilliant!
Brilliant! Laughed so much. My daughter is a contemporary dancer and I feel for you.
I live in Oregon and this is as close as I will ever come to seeing that beautiful ceiling. Thank you so much for sharing your unique perspective of knitting and Paris. I look forward to your next Letter From Paris.
An apt description. Really, quite a beautiful one. And a delightful account of your experience of said pas de bidet. Bravo! And gorgeous knitting, BTW.
Fond greetings from the 17e.
You have given me a wonderful way to start my day! Too funny!
Okay, I have seen many a ballet and enjoyed them thoroughly. But, a ballet with a bidet?!! No way and no thanks. You showed enormous restraint and consideration for your neighbors.
You’ve said it for me!
I think you could have knitted. After all, watching the ballet is more like watching a movie than it is like watching the road while driving. Can you knit and still appear to be enjoying the riveting ballet?
Oh dear Franklin, now I can only picture Isadora Duncan dancing with A bidet!
Thanks for sharing…not sure I’ll be able to get that image out of my head any time soon.
OK, Franklin Habit wins “most hilarious person” trophy hands down. Love the way he writes and all of his observations. If I were living in Paris, I would find him and dog his tracks just for laughs. This latest entry made me spit out my morning coffee laughing.
I totally relate! I have had so many of those exact same moments – nearly been tossed out of a meditation group for knitting during a “dharma talk” (which, to give me credit, was a RECORDING). Thanks for the beautifully related description of the ballet.
As a yoga teacher and therapist, it’s unfortunate that some teacher/organizers still fail to leave their egos at the door. Knitting can most definitely be meditative. We experience this as knitters. More recently, people have written books and articles on this subject. In the eastern tradition Yoga poses (the asanas) were solely initiated as forms of sequenced and repetitive movement to quiet the mind to facilitate the goal of meditation. (Definitely not the power yoga/buffed body/western exercise interpretation to create another gym workout) How is relaxed knitting that can facilitate mindfulness and meditation any different from the original purpose to practice the asanas? Knit on and namaste!
THANK YOU FRANKLIN!!! I feel seen!!! Thank you for that BEAUTIFUL photo of the ceiling. You have made my day. THANK YOU.
Bravo! Bravo!! We want a Franklin Habit encore… that is, a knitting encore!
Too funny. We can all relate to feeling like that at least once. But on a positive note, you got to view in person that amazing ceiling by Chagall!!! So lucky!!
“Pas de bidet”Lol!
This had me sympathizing and chuckling throughout!
So funny, Franklin! Paris with you is trés amusant. A lifetime ago, in the 50-cent student seats (I forget the centimes) I shared that same fifth of a stage view as you, which in our case involved the tip of a spear, one of the props in Tristan and Isolde. The entire opera, with only a spear! Being young, we all laughed it off. At least it wasn’t a bidet!
Love seeing the ceiling, thanks!
Fabulous pictures. Hilarious article. Many of us feel your pain. It’s so representative of similar moments in all of our lives. You’re a treasure and definitely a Knit Star.
Brilliant! Thank you for the fun this morning, and I don’t know how you did it, but I certainly felt the tension. I, too, would have struggled with my inner voice going “it’s right there, knit away!” And dancing with a bidet? Certainly a new one for me, I will chuckle about your ‘night out’ for the rest of the day.
I look forward to everyone of your posts. This one especially made me giggle. And I don’t think it had anything to do with your upbringing, I consider myself a fairly cultured person but that would have me wanting to break out my knitting, too. Bidets belong in the bathroom behind closed doors.
Franklin, this is one of your best columns yet! I was laughing out loud. So looking forward to your Knit Stars time. You ARE a star!
Ohmyyes. This desperate grasp to be “modern and different” seems to have infested the entire world of the arts. As an opera director, I am dismayed by how many times such things as a urinal, or dead animals, or shocking costuming are substitutes for beautiful movement and musical artistry. i’m all about moving forward, but let’s move towards something! Bravo to you for toughing it out, and just enjoying that astonishing building.
Thank you for the very glam view of the space near the top. Deco skills from an era …. and from the entrapped front row seat of anguish. Your descriptions … perceptions…. i see my ironing board. —a dance? Vacuums are too loud to hear the music! Must sweep my broom off its bristles….
A dancing bidet – be still my heart. That brings back the productions in elementary school where every child had a role. My son was once cast as the fifth brick. It was considered one of the better roles.
Nevertheless, there are significant chunks of my brain that remain stubbornly lowbrow, and from time to time they flash like my hometown’s single traffic light.
I hear you!! Thanks for a fun article and the beautiful photos!!!
All I can say is “ I’m with ya Brother!!!!!” I would love to see the inside of the building tho.
” I lack the prerequisites required to appreciate it.” This will be my new response, in lieu of “I don’t really care for it.” Perfectly written!
I totally agree.
Pas de bidet.
Yes.
Just love what you share! And that ceiling and chandelier are gorgeous ! I’ve been known to knit in a bathroom stall at a boring corporate dinner .. I always bring my knitting! Love to you Franklin .
Thank you, I guess, for sharing the experience. I am also not of the cultured class that would appreciate that type of dance. But it is an adventure you will always remember, and that photo of the ceiling and chandelier is wonderful. So glad you got to see it up close.
Hilarious as always and so worth reading again!
Thank you!
You are hilarious….but at the same time, being trapped in Palais Garnier is kind of my dream, as it’s my favorite building, too. Soldier on, mon ami!
Very excited for our guided tour of Palais Garnier in a few weeks when we visit France! As always- love your posts. My funniest dance memory is my mom taking me at the age of somewhere between 5 and 8 to a dance performance. One of the pieces featured the male members (oops- that will turn out to be a pun) of the ensemble. Men, dancing only in the most abbreviated of leather thong bottoms. My mother was mortified. I was fascinated! She grumbled something about “warning people” that the performance was not child friendly and “nudity” and it became a part of family lore.
OMG (mon dieu!) I had to take a modern dance class for a gym credit in college (it was the only option still available – color me shocked that everyone else had avoided it). It was torture – ridiculous gyrations of bored and completely uninspiring college freshmen. I can’t even imagine the mind-numbing length of watching it on stage instead of knitting! Glad you survived.
Oh Franklin, I feel your pain. I once attended a play which featured a toilet in the middle of the set. As Chekov said, if you introduce a gun in act 1, it must go off by act 3.
In my case, thankfully, there was an intermission and I fled. Ever since, however, I have wondered just whatever happened with that toilet….
I am genuinely disappointed that you didn’t see it (though I understand completely the desire not to). Though maybe I’m best left to my imagination about what happens….
I wish for a full recovery from your experience! I bet this is what you saw. As soon as I read white tunic and long braid I thought of Martha Graham, which may have been an influence.
https://www.nytimes.com/2000/06/07/style/IHT-a-little-light-housework-at-the-paris-opera-ballet-dancing-with-the.html
OMG. It is almost a classic performance. Thanks for the link.
A treasure, as always. Thank you, Franklin Habit!
Hilarious! Franklin’s imagery is the perfect way to begin the week. Thank you for this delightful essay.
Fantastic text. I love your letters and I’m so excited when I see them.
The scarf is lovely, I have yarn and a pattern, but I’m nervous to start mine.
So next time a knitting bag without a zipper?
This was fun to read! I have been in similar situations and wished for a noncrinkly bag so I could just put my hands into it and silently knit. Perhaps we need a lesson on how to appropriately knit in public?
You are on to something here. I think my next design project just might be a structured bag I can knit inside ever so discreetly. It will be perfectly quiet and have an ever-so-tiny LED bulb that magically shines only inside the bag. 🙂
You can call it “The Franklin”.
Merci for my morning smile – nay – chortle and giggle.
I’m with you Franklin!!
Franklin, I grew up in a tiny rural town in MD. I was taught piano playing classical music which I loved which PLAYING it. But the thought of going to listen to a whole evening at the symphony sounds like torture. I know the music is beautiful, but to be stuck in a seat for hours just watching musicians play is not my cup of tea.
Oh, what a poisonous experience in so many ways. You made me laugh! Thank you for the picture of the Chagall ceiling and the chandelier. Seeing that would almost make up for the dancing bidet.
I don’t think anyone would notice if you knit during that “agitated Highland Fling involving vacuum cleaners,” but you would have had a standing ovation if anyone did notice….
Fabulous! Reinforced my belief that I really am correct in staying away from these types of things!
Hilarious! And so relatable. I once went to an awful performance of The Magic Flute, during which I was so bored I was COMPELLED to stand up, as though I’d been thrown out of an ejector seat…
Been there, done that and the itch to leave is nearly impossible to ignore! I hope the cafe was still open after the performance? and a fine wine was available for downing. Beautiful place, tho❤️
Oh the pain, but at least the surroundings were gorgeous. Next time have a hankie in your pocket, so that you can spend more time looking around, while gently dabbing at the emotional “tears” being produced by the “artistry”
I know you will find something in this experience to motivate your own art. (But not a knitted bidet please )
I’m surprised that in Paris – France! – there is not already an ordinance not only permitting but encouraging knitting during theatrical/dance/symphonic performances! Surely Parisians know all about the creative energy that leaps from one creative endeavor to another, inspiring ever-widening ripples of art throughout the world? Tcha! Je suis disappoint.
Brillant!
Weeping with laughter! Thanks so much for this.
Franklin: For us in states, who have very heavy thoughts now, this was such a comic relief! Plus beautiful pics! Diane
Hilarious! I felt your pain while reading this Franklin. Love your writing. Thanks for brightening my day!
Be still my heart! You, Monsieur Franklin, are one of my favorite people! I have never met you but I have so much affection for you! And I am excited to learn about illusion knitting!! I even have a pattern that is in my queue! You always seem to bring joy and laughter to me day!
Thank you Franklin.
You should have knitted. And clicked you needles loudly in time with the music. Or napped.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart for having a public presence in the world. I think it is unlikely, no matter how many die hard fans you have heard from, to know how much your point of view enriches my world.
Franklin you light up my life
lol! Franklin, I have done it. I have slipped my knitting out of my bag from behind a tablecloth at a sports banquet. I have knitted at funerals (my dad’s, even), while my mother scolded me. I just shrugged. I knit in church, during the sermon, every week. If anyone asks, I just tell them (truthfully) that it helps me to focus. I feel your pain. I would have probably pulled that knitting out, but maybe the group you were with wouldn’t have appreciated it. I would have been thinking about it the entire time, though. And fidgeting. A lot.
So familier and absolutely worth the read….delightful
This reminded me of the many meetings where I wrote speeches in my head, or decided what to cook for dinner, as I smiled and nodded along to the business at hand. I never had the chutzpah to bring our my knitting, though. And I might have been tempted, in that magnificent theatre, to count putti instead.
Thank you, Franklin, for this morning’s healing laughter.
OMG, you are the best writer (arm-in-arm with Clara Parkes, of course). I don’t suppose you two would consider an epistolary novel, written together?
Glad you at least got a nap in.
Totally brilliant commentary. Love it!