There are few better ways to learn than to engage literally as well as figuratively in flȃnerie—a richly nuanced word grounded in the art of strolling—in the most positive sense of the word. The flȃneur (or flȃneuse) in learning includes those among us who want far more than a quick, superficial introduction to a topic that is of interest to us; we want to spend time exploring its paths and detours. We want to luxuriate in each moment of satisfaction great learning produces within us. We want to completely immerse ourselves in what we are seeing hearing smelling touching tasting. And we want to connect it to all the other learning strolls we’ve taken in our ongoing lifelong learning journey.
Which is pretty much how I am experiencing Paris at the beginning of the second week of our three-week stay in the city. The months of reading I did before arriving have paid off nicely: when we get up in the morning, we don’t spend a lot of time looking through guidebooks or going online to figure out where we are going; we make a fairly quick general decision about what sort of places we want to see—museums, parks, churches, unfamiliar city streets—then draw upon those months of reading to plan a very loose itinerary with one or two main destinations in close proximity to each other and set out along a meandering route that promises plenty of unexpected pleasures. (The intense preparation involved in reading a significant amount about the city and its history before we arrived and watching French-language videos, by the way, parallels another approach to learning I very much admire: the flipped classroom approach, in which learners watch videos or read about a topic before entering an onsite or online classroom to put their knowledge to work by applying it to specific learning goals. When you combine a flipped classroom with flȃnerie, you are setting yourself up for learning at its most rewarding levels.)
So, combining flȃnerie with a bit of flipped classroom learning and adding in a dollop of mindfulness (the process of focusing on, absorbing, enjoying, relishing, and learning with and from each moment lived) for good measure, we decide our main destination will be the Centre Pompidou, which among other things is offering a chance to see a special exhibition of work by Constantin Brâncuși in addition to wandering through numerous galleries filled with selections from the Center’s permanent collections. We start learning by walking, in the spirit of the learner as flȃneur/flȃneuse, from the place where we are staying (near the Place de la Nation) to the Place de la Bastille, looking into bookstores and other shops. Detour into alleyways that feed into small squares formed by shops and flats and trees and benches. Smell fresh-baked goods. Dodge cars, bicyclists, and other pedestrians. Occasionally check a map to be sure we haven’t strayed too far from where we want to go. And, when finally reaching the Centre Pompidou, join the line fill of people watching other people watching other people as it slowly snakes toward the ticket counter at the entrance to the multi-story ultra-modern complex with its galleries, bookstore, dining spaces, library, movie theaters, and more.
Flȃnerie continues to mingle with learning as we try to absorb all we are seeing. There is, of course, the art. And the wonderfully descriptive wall text and labels providing additional information about what we are seeing in the Brancusi exhibition. And there is the sense of watching others see and react to what they are seeing: some simply snapping photographs quickly so they can “see” the exhibit later, in the comfort of their own homes, rather than in galleries where it is impossible to not occasionally be jostled by our fellow co-conspirators in learning; others stopping in front of specific pieces to listen to recorded descriptions of the artwork; children and teens giggling not quite surreptitiously as they come across “Princess X,” Brancusi’s sculpted figure of a woman that so strongly looks like the most unfeminine of all objects that it was removed from a Parisian exhibition a century ago. And, for me, that wonderful moment when I am looking at one of Brancusi’s “Bird in Space” figures and seeing so much more: the figure itself. The other similar figures nearby. The way the light plays off the figure. The way the figure fits into the space it has been granted by the designers of the exhibition. And, as my eyes refocus yet another time, they capture, through an enormous window and off in the distance, the familiar outline of the Basilica of Sacré Coeur de Montmartre. So much to see and absorb, from so many different directions, yet all at once. And as I have done so many times during this trip (in Giverny, for example), I use the camera on my cellphone to isolate some of the images so I can better see, with distractions removed, what I am really trying to see in this particular moment. And the experiment continues as we walk from the special exhibition to the magnificent dining area near the top of the Center, snapping pictures as we go and while we eat—sometimes going for direct representation so we will remember what we are (trying to) see, sometimes going for the effect that comes from photographing parts of the Paris skyline through rain-speckled windows so that the result appears to be a distant cousin of an Impressionist painting.
More and more and more. My eyes fill. My heart explodes with joy. And then comes the moment that ties it all together—flȃnerie, flipped classroom learning, mindfulness, and viewing what we see from a variety of perspectives. For as I am absolutely emotionally overwhelmed in a room with several magnificent paintings by Marc Chagall, I see a group of very young students walk into that gallery with their instructor. Sit in front of one of those break-your-heart-beautiful paintings. And, with complete lack of self-consciousness, they learn by drawing and taking notes about what they see. Continue learning to see the world of art as something integral to their daily existence. And in the seeds planted in that moment, I see the birth of another generation of trainer-teacher-learners. Flȃneurs/flȃneuses in the best, most positive sense of all the word suggests. And feel the child that is not so deeply buried within me realize he once again has found his way back home.
NB: This is the tenth in a series of reflections on traveling and learning in Paris.
Building Creative Bridges 