Even Cluny with its Christian artifacts and numerous images of the Christ, seems less church-like than the home and studio of Gustav Moreau. The proportions of the space, high vaulted ceiling and placement of the spiral staircase, as if the painter will mount the pulpit and sermonize with paint.
He sermonizes with paint all right.
Hushed voices, if any voices at all are heard under this enormous ceiling. No one is asked to talk softly, in lowered voices. The space itself tells us that. Here you don't talk in normal voices, play music, check your phone for messages.
There is just too much to take in, each individual painting like an epic poem in a room filled with endless visual, epic poems.
Count.., if you can: the horses, unicorns, swans, doves, elephants, bulls, sacred cows, moons, glowing stars, gold frames, brass plaques, gods and goddesses, the number of framed artworks. Once I spent the better part of a day examining the drawings in one of the numerous study cabinets.
I ceased due to utter exhaustion, absolutely drained, with a sort of smile.
Paris 2017 #51