The modern art museum in Nice is called Museum of Art Modern and Art Contemporary (MAMAC). It's a block away from our location at Garibaldi Square. And it's sublime. There are four floors, one for the admission office and gift shop, one for special exhibits and two for the permanent collection. I started with the temporary exhibit, focused on Nice's tourism and beach culture. Fantastic. The magic really started when I headed upstairs to the permanent collection. I'd heard of the artist Yves Klein but never really knew his work. Wowzer. I found another art hero. He was one of the first artists to incorporate performance into his work. His process was more important that the output of his work. He was ahead of his time, working in the 40s to 60s. He died in 1962, while in his 30s, from a heart attack likely brought on by drug abuse. Klein stretched the boundaries of what art is and then continued to question those boundaries. I was transfixed.
Then, I moved on to a wing devoted to an art movement in Nice called Ben (sounds weird, I know, and since I was dealing mostly with the French language, I don't even know what Ben stands for or if, perhaps, it's just a guy called Ben). The gist, I gathered with limited information in English, was to use art as a platform to surprise the public, make people question what art really is (they often would just take a random object and paint the word art on it and display it gallery style) and poke fun at themselves as artists. I wish I could describe this work better in words, but really, the experience was about a feeling, of getting their joke, of understanding the dynamic of the artists, their friendship and common language. Ben existed primarily in the 60s, but folks today still send "letters to Ben" (again - language barrier. There are several books in the gift shop filled with these letters to Ben up through the current century, but I have no idea where these letters go and what the literal Ben is). At one point in the exhibit, visitors to the museum are encouraged to contribute to the exhibition by adding their own creativity on a card. There are several questions or fill in the blank options, all in French, to use as a starting point. I just picked a card and doodled, added it to the receptacle and felt good about leaving a note for the mysterious Ben.
The last part of my museum tour took me to the rooftop terrace of the museum, where there are views of Nice in every direction that go for miles. The terrace itself is a work of art, with bridges and turrets to capture different sights of the museum and of Nice. It was the perfect culmination of a perfect museum visit.
On my way out I texted Alex and we met in front of our flat for lunch. Pizza was on the menu and it was good. A quick note about pizza in Europe. The restaurant doesn't cut the pizza for you. I'm not sure why. It would be so easy for them, especially with a pizza cutter, which I've been temped to ask if they know about on several occasions. Instead, they give you a steak knife and the cutting is done (awkwardly for me) tableside. I tend to make a mess of it. Next time I'm abroad, perhaps I bring a pizza cutter with me and whip it out at the table, impressing, probably, no one.
Post lunch, the plan was to walk through Nice's old town and wind up on the coast. Alex set out on the journey a bit anxious. We traveled through the streets, each of them charming and unique, not stopping much for pictures or window shopping. When Alex is anxious, he is driven to get to his destination as quickly as possible. I guess in his mind, walking through old town was simply a means to get to the sea. We did get there and it was gorgeous. I put my hands in the water as the waves spilled onto the rocky beach. Alex sat and enjoyed the view, taking a few pictures. But when I went back to join him, he was ready to leave. It had been, maybe 45 minutes since we'd set out after lunch, and I was not done exploring. Anxiety was building for him, though, and he was having a tough time fighting it off. At first we agreed to have him walk back to the flat on his own, but we couldn't get his GPS to work in maps. Then, he was going to wait for me at the pier while I continued my walk. I realized that would be a bad idea since I'd have to retrace my steps and find him before heading back. Finally he agreed to come with me and I agreed to shorten my exploration. Our plan didn't last long, however. Full blown anxiety overcame Alex to the point where he almost threw up. We were on a busy street. There were no good places to sit and try and calm the storm. So, we headed for the tram to go back to the flat. That was a misadventure in itself, with the tram approaching and my card not working in the ticket machine. Feeling out of options, we jumped on the tram ticketless. Three stops later and we tram thieves were back in our home square.
This sucks. Anxiety and depression don't stay home when a person goes on vacation. I'd planned the trip with this reality in mind - choosing only 10 destinations over six weeks to lessen the transitions and allow for down time. But the failure that Alex felt after we got back was tough. We talked it through, and as I've been doing more and more, I told Alex that he needed to figure out how to help himself feel better. It was about 3:30 when we got back to the apartment. I napped. He decompressed. And finally, he felt better around 6. We agreed to stay in for dinner and snacked on remnants from last nights food as well as some candy I'd bought for gifts (sorry giftees). And we played iPad Scrabble. It's a soothing evening activity we've been doing for about a week now. In that time, Alex has become quite good and for the first time, beat me two games to nothing. We will try again tomorrow, hopefully with a trip to Monaco.
Keep doing what you are doing. Sorry it's been tough.
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