Friday, October 30, 2009

"When one retires, one hurls oneself into new pursuits." Hercule Poirot

The same can be said about losing one's job. My current state of unemployment affords me the time to pursue Hubert. Unfortunately, my current state of unemployment affords me not much else.  Luxuries like purchasing Huberts have fallen by the wayside thanks to the machinations of a lunatic boss whose cackle mimics the Wicked Witch of the West. But this blog was not created to be an expose of my dysfunctional ex-workplace because then it would have to be re-titled "The Devil Wears Polyester".

To keep myself from falling into a giant vat of self-pity, I've hurled myself into the pursuit of Hubert. To appease my husband I've also hurled myself back into the job market.  Considering the current state of the American economy I don't know which will come first - gainful employment with health care benefits or tracking down an unknown artist from an unknown location with an unknown name. My money right now is on the artist. As Hercule Poirot, master French detective would say, let us examine the facts. I only have two.

1)Hubert's etchings are set in France and Belgium. 2)One etching was dated 1914-1918.

Several etchings depict automobiles of which make and year I do not know as I am not a car aficionado. His signature is unclear although after careful examination I can make an educated guess that it's Hubert with a flourish. Hubert was a prolific artist - to date I've counted 59 different etchings. He (or she) has been mis-identified as Hubert Robert (1733-1808), Francois-Hubert Drouais (1727-1775) and Alfred Hubert (1830-1902). I think I can safely deduce that these identifications are erroneous because my Hubert was still etching away in 1914. It's a mystery to me that no one has any information at all about an artist whose work continuously shows up across the globe 100 years later. And these, blog readers, are the only clues I have to crack the Hubert code. If there are any CIA, FBI, KGB... agents out there who have any suggestions please feel free to throw your hat in the ring.  If not, perhaps this calls for a new organization - ASI (Artists Scene Investigators). Now there's a thought for a new job...

Sunday, October 25, 2009

The Climb

My husband and I honeymooned in Paris years ago. Loving wife that I am, when a significant birthday of his recently rolled around I surprised him with a return to the scene of the crime. What better way to commemorate this momentous occasion - AND do a little Hubert hunting on the side. So, armed with photographs of several Hubert etchings and a French dictionary to keep me out of trouble we set off for the city of lights, my husband intent on re-creating our honeymoon and me intent on searching for Hubert clues.

Paris was just as wonderful as I remembered. Perhaps even more so now that I was seeing it through Hubert's eyes. My aim was to visit the various sites he etched, as if seeing them up close and personal would yield a clue.  Each day we walked and climbed - La Tour Eiffel (347 steps climbed to first level), Le Palais de Justice, Montmartre - Le Square Saint-Pierre, Sacre-Coeur (225 steps climbed in lieu of funicular), La Place de la Concorde, L'Arc de Triomphe (238 steps climbed to the top), Sainte Chapelle, even a side trip to Giverny to the Hotel Baudy, once a favorite haunt of well known artists, as I searched for the elusive Hubert. I perused antique shops and galleries hoping to chance upon a Hubert etching in person. Yet, no Hubert.

Notre Dame was my last best hope, cathedral of choice for Hubert and the subject of many of his etchings including the original, the very one that started my chase. Several of these Notre Dame scenes pictured merchants in stands selling books and prints lined up along the Seine River.  Maybe I would get lucky and find a Hubert waiting for me to be discovered amongst the stands. My husband, used to my  obsessive-compulsiveness, rolled his eyes when he saw hundreds of stands lining the streets that bordered Notre Dame with thousands of prints for sale. I enacted a new policy of 'no etching left behind' and proceeded to examine every print in every stand and exasperate every merchant, one following me holding his hand to his head in obvious anguish as I riffled through hundreds of his prints, one by one. Again, no Hubert.

We saw a lot, ate a lot, laughed a lot but sad to say, all I got for my efforts were sore feet (thanks to my stubborn refusal to pack sneakers and risk looking like a tourist out of National Lampoon's European Vacation). No, I didn't find Hubert on this trip but I was imbued with a revelation. As Miley Cyrus sings, it's not about how fast I get there, it's really all about the climb....




Thursday, October 22, 2009

Memories

I consider myself something of a Francophile. I admire the history, the culture, the food, the fashion, the language, the people, AND Hubert (although I shouldn't assume that Hubert is French simply because the subject of his etchings are always French scenes.) While most of my friends in school opted to learn Spanish I chose French, the language of love. I knew someday French would come in handy. Especially so, when chasing Hubert solo I chanced upon a Hubert etching for sale on French ebay.  Thrilled to discover the French connection I plunged ahead convinced that language would be no barrier for me.  Immediately I sent off a note in French seeking info about Hubert and inquiring into the possibility of purchasing the etching. I eagerly awaited their response. I'm still waiting - they never responded to my polite French inquiry.  When I inserted my letter into an online French-to-English translation site I realized why. My note read:

Hello
Excuses if you please. I speak far from French.Have you any information on the artist? I am very interested by engraving titled 'Notre Dame de Paris'. Is what you do you sell to the United States and if so, how much is engraving and what type of payment you accept? Thank you infinitely of any help you can give me.
Memories

Memories??? I think I was actually doing okay until that last line. How did my French transpose 'Best Regards'  into 'Memories'? I don't know but I can only guess that when they came to my closing salutation images of a deranged woman in a cat's costume warbling the theme to the Broadway musical scared them off.

This chasing Hubert is not going to be easy.  Maybe I ought to take the search to Paris...

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

"You can't go through life quitting everything. If you're going to achieve anything, you've got to stick with something. " ~From the television show Family Matters


After Tom died my zest for chasing Hubert died along with him. I couldn't get beyond the whole fragility of life concept. You wake up one morning to a day like every other and then - Boom! - that's it, it's over with no warning.  I couldn't seem to shake the despair that seized me each time I passed Tom's office.  My despondency must have been apparent to those around me because one morning, a co-worker, a woman who never lost an opportunity to attempt to undermine my ability or deliver a well-timed snide remark behind my back, presented me with a black and white cookie in an effort to be nice. I'd like to believe this was a sincere expression of her sympathy but more likely it was fear guiding her - fear that perhaps I was depressed enough to fling myself through the glass wall separating our offices (because the windows were sealed shut) thereby interrupting a crucial scene on one of the many soap operas that blared daily on her TV.

And so, I simply gave up.  It's a principal flaw in my personality. When things don't turn out well I throw in the towel.  My defeatist attitude can be traced back to the 5th grade when my school held a writing contest and I cajoled my best friend Judy to enter with me.  She refused because let's face it, what 5th grader in their right mind would want to add required work to their agenda.  But I was convincing - I think it was the bribe of chocolate egg creams every day for a week after school that did it. I spent hours, days, on my story writing and re-writing. Judy started and finished hers on our lunch hour.  The winner was announced at a school assembly and - you guessed it - Judy won.  They chose her story about a 5th grade girl recovering from a hit and run accident over my tale of Martians and Sandy Koufax, ace pitcher for the Los Angeles Dodgers.  I vowed never again to set myself up to disappointment.

So that was the end of my Hubert tracking.  On the 1st anniversary of Tom's death, a co-worker and good friend (coincidentally named Judy) and I went to a nearby church on our lunch hour to light a candle in Tom's memory. Not an overly religious person I did say a prayer for Tom and oddly enough, found myself asking for a sign from him.  No, I was not going down the John Edward Crossing Over speak to the dead path, I was merely experiencing a bit of delayed grief.

A week later, feeling nostalgic, I decided to attempt chasing Hubert solo. When a sight popped up immediately I couldn't believe my eyes - 15 Huberts for sale, all in pristine condition at a ridiculously inexpensive price. It was my biggest Hubert score yet.  Did I think it was Tom reaching out from the dead? Probably not but I believed it was a sign for me to hang in there...

Saturday, October 17, 2009

Life is an Adventure



So you don't think I'm going to all this trouble to unearth details of an artist based on one lonely etching - I've actually amassed a collection of Huberts. While working in a network photo department I met a comrade, a fellow rebel with disdain for corporate politics. Tom, who was in the IT department in an office down the hall, also worked among what we once referred to as the living dead -  those crazed individuals with no lives outside the office. Helen Keller once said "Life is a daring adventure or nothing at all". These are probably the people she had in mind when she said "nothing at all".

When your job occasionally entails retouching the wrinkles off a well-known TV journalist or photoshopping the love handles of an A-list actor, you find yourself frequently questioning the meaning of life. This often necessitated a walk with Tom to the vending machines to commiserate over Vienna Fingers and Cool Ranch Doritos. Tom was an incurable optimist, a glass half-full kind of guy. After one particularly meaningless morning I related my Hubert discovery to Tom who was totally intrigued, convinced I was sitting on a windfall, and in disbelief that I hadn't pursued it. Because he looked forward to a fun distraction he immediately set forth on a quest to help me find Hubert. Lucky for me, his computer skills were far superior to mine and within a week he found a Hubert etching for sale on ebay from Canada. He emailed the antique dealer and although she had no info regarding the artist I was jubilant at finding a mate for my lonely print.  He made a bid for me and I became the proud parent of a new Hubert etching, this one a night scene. Thus began my addiction and Tom became my supplier ferreting out Huberts on the internet. A new high was attained with each acquisition. Our curiousity grew and although we found many more Huberts, each as lovely as the next, no one ever had any details on the artist.  But chasing Hubert surely saved us from a slow painful death from ennui.

Until that horrible day exactly two years ago today when I received  the call telling me that Tom had been killed in a motorcycle accident on his way home from work. Tom taught me many things - among them friendship, optimism and perseverance. In keeping with his character I'm trying to remain hopeful that somehow, someway, sometime, I will discover the identity of Hubert. Meantime, I like to picture Tom and Hubert sharing a carafe of wine in some little French cafe in the sky...

Friday, October 16, 2009

Does Anyone Know My Hubert?


No, Hubert is not an ex-boyfriend, old lover or current crush although I suppose you could say I am fixated on him. I first became acquainted with Hubert in the 1980s.  It all began in the old drive-in movie theater in Orangeburg, New York at a flea market. I was on a quest to find picture frames to frame old family photos to hang above the staircase in my new old house. I purchased a half-dozen vintage frames including one I particularly liked for a dollar that framed a tacky mirrored beer sign.  The frames sat propped up on the floor of my garage for a few years because I changed my mind and decided that the family photos would be more aesthetically pleasing in uniform modern frames. So there they sat until that fateful spring day, when, backing my car out in a rush, I knocked over the beer sign and the mirror shattered into tiny little pieces. Cursing, I swept the glass into the trash and noticed that behind the mirror was a beautiful, detailed, signed, 8X10 colored etching of a scene in Paris in front of Notre Dame. It was love at first sight.

It is truly an amazing find. I've visited many museums, I've viewed many paintings, photos, prints, etchings, but nothing has ever quite affected me the way this one did. No matter how often I look at it I find myself swept away by the image, imagining myself a part of the enchanting scene, wishing to zap myself into the carefree lady in the yellow dress strolling the Seine untroubled by corporate politics, rising tuition, global warming ...but I digress. I'm not a fine artist, and can barely tell the difference between a print and an etching. Although I can distinguish a Monet from a Manet that's pretty much the extent of my expertise.  I do know after examining my lovely picture that all of those lovely miniscule details had to have been executed by a pretty damn good artist.  An artist whose signature I could barely decipher - was it Huberly? Huberty? Hubey? or Hubert with a flourish?

Believing I stumbled upon a real treasure (something akin to the copy of the Declaration of Independence also bought at a flea market and sold for a fortune) I set out to uncover the identity of - I'll call him Hubert - who I believed to be my ticket to financial security.  But these were the days before Google so my attempts to track down Hubert were limited.  I called Sothebys but my phone call was never returned. I tried the library with no luck. An inquiry at the Museum of Modern Art yielded no results. So I framed Hubert and hung it in my bedroom where I would gaze admiringly at it for the next 20 years until my curiousity was re-awakened again in 2005.  But more about that next time....