Thursday, November 11, 2010

"You can't think you are going to win all the races by being quicker, because it's not possible. So you need to find another way." Alain Prost, French race-car driver

This week Hubert research has taken a backseat to my car woes. My nine year-old Volvo has been experiencing the aches and pains of old age. Like the old wives tale about dogs, I believe that one car year is equal to seven human years. Which would put my trusty Volvo at somewhere between 63 and 70 years old - past its prime but certainly not ready to be relegated to the junkyard.

I refused to accept the advice of my favorite (and uncharacteristically honest) mechanic friend to trade it in for a new, less expensive, lower maintenance car. Believing I needed a Volvo specialist to save it, I brought it to the Volvo dealer for a second opinion. Big mistake. Hundreds of dollars and a suspiciously broken dipstick later the bangs and clunks were still there.

Unable to accept the grim diagnosis about the faithful vehicle that transported me safely and comfortably each day, I brought my ailing automobile to yet a second Volvo dealer. Huge mistake. Here it was diagnosed as having a compromised breather box, injured tie rods, loose motor mounts, and a multitude of other problems. I was determined to rescue it from a slow death but thirteen hundred dollars later it was still banging and clunking so back again to dealer #2 who then proceeded to diagnose transmission trouble, the coup de grace of coupes. If I had been told at the onset that my car issues were due to transmission trouble I would have issued a do not resuscitate and taken the advice of my first (and favorite) mechanic friend. Now, with too much money invested, I have no choice but to hang onto my debilitated Swedish sedan.

With cars currently on my mind, I have noticed that Hubert has etched an occasional automobile into some of his scenes. I've been trying for quite some time to date Hubert (numerically, not romantically) but because only one of his etchings is titled with a date (1914-1918) it has been difficult to pinpoint his lifespan. Perhaps cars could be the key to placing Hubert in a specific time period establishing a chronology of his existence. Now, I just have to research thousands of cars to isolate the few that Hubert etched. I might be taking the slow lane but it's not how fast you drive, it's how you drive...

Monday, October 11, 2010

"Stop thinking in terms of limitations and start thinking in terms of possibilities." Terry Josephson

Question of the week - when do we accept our limitations and when do we stretch a little further? It was a long, hot, Hubert-less summer. Every minute lead I gathered over the past months seemingly evaporated in the oppressive humidity of the dog days of summertime. Even my hope went on holiday. But it was the words of my yoga guru that led me to doubt the likelihood of ever finding Hubert

My co-worker, good friend and current car-pooler, and I recently enrolled in a yoga class to limber up and de-stress. During a particularly challenging pose, our instructor's chant "accept your limitations" seemed directed exclusively towards me in more ways than one. Nearing the one year mark of my search it was time to face the realization that I might never find Hubert.

A last ditch effort to contact the bouquiniste society resulted in a terse reply from the man in charge. Emails to three different hotels that were depicted in three different Hubert etchings has yet to yield a single response. My attempts to locate a library, gallery, or museum in the same town as the hotels has been an exercise in frustration due to my French language impairment. Downward Dog may be a popular yoga pose but it could just as easily describe the downhill direction my Hubert quest has taken.

The yoga guru might have me submitting to that which is beyond the realm of possibility but it was the words of art teacher, part-time French resident, and Hubert supporter whose email gave me the shot in the arm I needed to realize that your limitations are not an excuse for failure.  Along with some valuable suggestions she pointed out that waiting was also an alternative, "be patient and persist, you might be a pioneer in exposing Hubert." So for now, I persevere AND wait because, as they say, good things come to those who wait....

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Patience is bitter but its fruit is sweet. --French Proverb

Patience is a virtue - one that doesn't come naturally for me. For the past month I've been impatiently wracking my brains for a new angle to find Hubert. My search, relegated to weekends now that I'm happily employed, has been moving along at a snail's (or in this case, an escargot's) pace. Last weekend the escargot didn't move at all because I had to make a three and a half hour trek to help move one of my daughters into the sorority house near her college.

The female version of Animal House minus the togas, my anticipation for a leisurely dinner at a gourmet restaurant after a quick move-in was cut short at the sight of the driveway, overgrown with weeds and littered with bottle caps. Somehow I knew this move-in was going to be anything but quick. That thought was confirmed once I saw the state of the kitchen. Dirty dishes with petrified mac and cheese filled the sink, empty wine bottles decorated the soffit above the cabinets and, what first appeared to be singed food residue, was actually mouse droppings strewn in Jackson Pollock-like fashion on the white stove-top. I could go on and on but suffice to say it took me three hours to bring the kitchen to conditional status.

During my cleaning frenzy, I did get a glimmer of an idea. Maybe it was the collegiate climate, the educational environment, or maybe just the first symptoms of hanta virus from the toxic effects of mouse excrement, but the business textbooks on hotel management that were piled on the kitchen table suddenly called to mind several of Hubert's etchings of French hotels . Might not one of these places of lodging still be standing? And might not one of these hoteliers recognize Hubert's work? After all, he might have set up his easel right in front of one of these inns to capture the image on paper. Perhaps someone in one of these hotels might remember Hubert or remember someone who might remember him. It's a remote possibility but it's all I have to go on for the moment.

Exhausted and dirty but still swept up in school spirit when I arrived home I mustered some moxie and emailed my daughters' favorite teacher - who just so happens to be une professeur de francais - to ask for assistance in sending a proper French email off to the  hotels that are hopefully still in existence. But the email will have to wait a bit longer because le professeur est des vacances. All the platitudes of patience - "slow and steady wins the race", "good things come to those who wait", do not allay my growing vexation that this chase is still moving at a snail's pace....

Sunday, July 11, 2010

"You have to accept whatever comes and the only important thing is that you meet it with courage and with the best that you have to give." Eleanor Roosevelt

I've been a real slacker the past month about Chasing Hubert. June was filled with activity - graduations, weddings, engagements, new jobs - and I had barely enough time to sleep much less search for my mystery artist. I took a fatalistic approach to my Hubert hunting. If I were destined to find Hubert then surely one of the numerous emails I sent out would respond to me. In my sleep deprived state I rationalized that after spending the past nine months chasing after Hubert perhaps now it was time to throw it up to fate and see if Hubert would come to me. Illogical maybe but it was self-justification for my slacking off.

Instead I entered a dead zone in my hunt for Hubert. I would probably still be in that dead zone were it not for the drink contest I participated in on July 4th. The drink contest I refer to is a contest for creating - not imbibing - a winning cocktail (although one does have to sample one's creation to perfect and produce a winning entry.) My worthy opponent began to experiment a month ago testing combinations of ingredients until he arrived at the perfect concoction. He proceeded to work on his presentation, purchasing real coconuts and laboriously hollowing them out to serve his creation in, adding fresh fruit swizzle sticks, an island-themed stirrer, and finally layering the coconuts in nests of Hawaiian leis. It was the Mona Lisa of alcoholic beverages.

I, on the other hand, formulated a recipe in my head and, whistling "Que sera, sera" the night before the throw-down, ran around town searching for the vital ingredient of my creation - a bottle of coconut vodka. I never imagined how many versions of vodka there are on the market. Nor did I imagine how difficult it would be to locate the coconut version. Finally, with minutes to go before the last liquor shop closed I chased a salesperson down and he located what was probably the last bottle of coconut vodka in the state - a thirty dollar bottle of Ciroc premium coconut vodka imported from France  (in my Hubert dominated world amazingly all things lead to France.) The next afternoon, an hour before the contest, I attempted mixing various juices to create a layer that would resemble a sunset. Scientifically, this has something to do with juice density about which I know nothing so all of my juices melded together. My presentation consisted of dipping the glass rim in shredded coconut which unfortunately didn't fully adhere to the rim, then inserting paper drink umbrellas cast off from a previous party.

I forgot to chill the glasses and when the drinks were brought out for the competition my drink was served at room temperature which, considering it was an outdoor barbeque during the recent heat wave, was 95 degrees. Not only was it not refreshing but my glass was raining melted shredded coconut over my paper umbrellas causing them to wilt. Needless to say, my opponent was declared the winner. Surprisingly, I didn't lose by a landslide and my drink was actually quite tasty but my fatalistic approach of leaving it up to chance cost me first prize.

Somewhere in my drink is a moral. So I decided to take a cue and begin anew Chasing Hubert, this time leaving nothing to chance. I contacted a French teacher to assist with translating notes attempting once again to elicit a response from the bouquinistes of Paris, I emailed an art museum that specializes in prints, I'm pursuing the Art Appraisers of America, and I sent a follow-up email to the charming print expert at the New York Public Library. You could say I've gone from slacker to tracker...

Monday, May 31, 2010

The thrill of victory, the agony of de-feet.

Last Saturday was the annual 5K run. When daughter #2 asked me to join her in the race I acquiesced though somewhat reluctantly. Although a regular at the gym I've never run before and religiously avoid the treadmill. But secretly, I've envied those cheetah-like marathon runners and yearned to be among them sprinting gracefully towards the finish line, feet barely touching earth, wind in my hair, the theme from "Chariots of Fire" blaring as I cross the finish line...and so, when my daughter burst into my bedroom Saturday morning at 7:00 a.m. and asked me to join her at the starting line at 9:00 a.m. I thought why not, another item I could check off my bucket list.

I was the poster child for how NOT to run a 5K - no previous training, wearing five-year-old sneakers, no sunblock, no sunglasses, and no vital warm-up exercises. Inexperience, however, didn't stop me. I began to run at maximum speed and two blocks later almost passed out so I stopped to fake a quick chat with my nine-year-old neighbor in order to catch my breath. But when a grey-haired older woman sprinted past me I somehow pulled myself together and took off again trying to catch up with daughter #2 who had left me in the dust. Throat dry, calves burning, knees aching, a massive headache from sun glare, and sunburn on my nose and head, the only thing that kept me going was the thought of that senior citizen pulling ahead of me. Determined, I kept at it, and crossed the finish line ecstatic at actually finishing my first 5K run. Unfortunately, no one from my family was camera-ready to document the moment because they assumed I'd be arriving home by ambulance - no one dreamed I would complete the race.

My elation was short-lived because the next morning I woke up in pain, ankles swollen and massive purple bruises on both heels, a severe case of shin splints and a possible stress fracture. Every cloud, however,  has a silver lining. Sitting with ice packs affixed to both legs gave me the opportunity to do some Hubert hunting on my laptop. After hours of intensive researching I finally located an address to email the booksellers on the Seine. The first response I received (in French, of course) was the usual "sorry but we do not have these works." Emboldened by my recent accomplishment I was undeterred, and determined not to let the trail grow cold, I sent off another email inquiry. As Charles De Gaulle once said "You have to be fast on your feet and adaptive or else a strategy is useless." Obviously, I'm not all that fast on my feet but if my computer fingers were nimble enough to evoke a response from one of the booksellers then perhaps there would be someone else who might respond as well.

And there was - I received an email from another bouquiniste who also responded with a negative.  I persisted, asking if he could suggest another contact but by his return mail "Non aucune idee, du fait que nous sommes uniquement specialises en Geologie, Mineralogie et Paleontologie" (No idea, owing to the fact that we are only specialists in Geology, Mineralogy and Paleontology) my strategy as per Charles De Gaulle appears useless. My daughter thinks it's time to enlist the aid of a French teacher. I'm thinking it sounds like a far better idea than the 5K....

Monday, May 10, 2010

"Unlucky people are stuck in routines. When they see something new, they want no part of it. Lucky people always want something new. They're prepared to take risks and relaxed enough to see the opportunities in the first place." Richard Wiseman, "How to Make Your Own Luck"

It's been almost one year since I first joined the ranks of the unemployed. When my job was "eliminated" (the carefully contrived, thinly disguised, excuse to oust me by a bullying boss of the worst kind; the crazy kind) my first reaction was one of panic - no salary, no health benefits, no 401K, no Cream de La Mer anymore. But then the panic slowly abated as the realization hit me - no more long commute, no dysfunctional coworkers, no 9-5 grind in corporate hell - and made me think that maybe, just maybe, I could somehow make lemonade out of this grove-full of lemons handed to me.

And so I began to make up for time lost. In between job hunting I spent more time with my family, I reconnected with friends, I exercised, I read more, I enrolled in some classes, I began Chasing Hubert, and, in general, I started living again. Now, with a new career on the horizon, I look back and recognize that I should have been bold enough to make the change on my own and sooner rather than allowing myself to remain stuck in a rut.

Although it's been a challenging year it's also been an enlightening one. I haven't learned who Hubert is yet but I have learned some pretty worthwhile lessons - the following is my top ten list of wisdom I've divined during my year of living freely, frugally, and fearlessly.

1- Change is inevitable so embrace change, don't fear it. Without change life would resemble the movie "Groundhog Day". Boring people get stuck in routines.
2 - Never lose your sense of humor, you can always find something to laugh about. Sometimes you just have to look a little harder to find it.
3 - You really can survive without the expensive shoes, the designer duds, the fancy car. Stuff doesn't make you happy, experiences do.
4 - Exercising is a great way to avoid the doctor when you lack health benefits and it's also a great way to get your aggressions out without getting into trouble.
5 - No matter how bad things seem they always look better in the morning so hang in there because things will change (see #1).
6 - It's never too late to re-invent yourself. Grandma Moses didn't start painting until she was in her 80s.
7 - Don't let your job define you. Don't get so caught up in your career that you forget the other ingredients in your life.
8 - Live in the moment. Life is short so worrying about what's down the road keeps you from enjoying today.
9 - Money and jobs can disappear but true friends don't leave when the chips are down.
10 - Never lose sight of what's important to you and never give up!

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

"Knitting is very conducive to thought. It is nice to knit a while, put down the needles, write a while, then take up the sock again." Dorothy Day

There's been a severe Hubert drought lately. So much so, I found myself questioning whether Hubert's etchings are nothing more than pigments of my imagination. To atone for my recent bout of doubt, in a rare moment of repose, I sat down with my laptop (and a wine spritzer for fortification) to catch up on some Hubert hunting. Lo and behold, a Hubert etching for sale on ebay popped up on my screen, coincidentally of a scene set in the very location along the Seine where I've been seeking out bouquinistes.

With only hours to go before the auction ended, I was due at a friend's house for our weekly knitting group during the very critical last minutes of bidding. Already the black sheep of this wild and woolly group, as soon as I arrived at Knitter 1's house I announced that I would have to leave early to monitor the auction bidding. Wayward knitter that I am, the baby blanket I've been working on for 2 years has been getting smaller and smaller each week because I'm continuously pulling out rows with dropped stitches.  Hence the reason for my husband's increasing skepticism as to what we actually do each Wednesday night - he suspects knitting is really a cover for a ladies' night of watching porn and drinking cosmos.

My announcement to bolt early was met with protest and Knitter 1, loyal friend and Hubert supporter, dragged out her laptop for me to log on and commence bidding for the coveted etching. As the final moments of bidding grew near, the screen suddenly turned black; the battery power ran out. Knitter 1 scrambled for the power cord, Knitter 2 cracked jokes to keep the tension level down, and Knitter 3, used to my obsessive-compulsiveness, just shook her head, rolled her eyes and continued knitting. Fortunately, the power came back on and the computer booted up just in time for the final countdown. I anticipated a last-minute bidding war on the ebay front line but I was the one and only bidder and as the last seconds ticked by, up popped that familiar ebay slogan: "Congratulations, You are the Winning Bidder!" Winning Hubert was easy, if only finding Hubert were as simple...

Sunday, April 11, 2010

"I hate to be a kicker, I always long for peace, But the wheel that does the squeaking, Is the one that gets the grease." Josh Billings, American humorist

With the exception of the wonderful, helpful, and brilliant researcher from the D'Orsay, I've had no response from any of the sites I've just emailed about bouquinistes along the Seine who might recognize a Hubert etching. Something recently occurred that made me think perhaps I need to change my attitude. Last Saturday I attended a cocktail party given by a close friend and former carpooler. In my long and arduous commuting history I've been a member of three separate carpools and consider myself fortunate to still maintain close ties with all of my ride-share buddies. An anomaly if the old adage "familiarity breeds contempt" is true. Surely spending up to 3 hours a day, 5 days a week, in close quarters with the same person in rush hour traffic, should have bred enough contempt to spontaneously combust the vehicle.

Carpooler 1 and I maintained silence. Neither one of us a morning person, we drove each a.m. in a silence punctuated only by an occasional road rage expletive. The ride home was much more animated with conversation, rehashing the events of the workday all the while attempting to psychoanalyze the personality disorders in our workplace sprinkled with a little justifiable boss-bashing for good measure. Once, when the office dynamics were intolerable, we fabricated an overflowing toilet bowl in order to breakfast at the diner so as to delay our arrival and avoid the ever watchful eyes of the self-appointed hall monitor of the office. Then, there was the time Carpooler 1 and I were assigned to a photo shoot and carpooled to our destination in monsoon conditions only to discover we left the cameras in my car one state away. Carpooler 1 and I might have occasionally courted trouble at work but never in our friendship.

Carpooler 2 was a free spirit and compassionate soul, moved by the plight of a homeless woman we passed each morning who sat on the grassy embankment adjacent to our exit. Deeply affected by the woman's situation, Carpooler 2 prepared a food basket for her and concocted a plan to toss the package from our speeding car as there was no place to stop. I decelerated as we drove by the indigent woman sitting in her usual spot and Carpooler 2 hurled the food basket in her direction. Unbeknownst to us, the homeless woman had relocated and a dog walker now sitting on the embankment was the unwelcome recipient of our meal on wheels. It was not long after, that Carpooler 2 shucked the corporate workplace for a position abroad teaching English as a second language. I'm willing to bet the traumatized dog walker found a new occupation as well.

I hit the jackpot with Carpooler 3 who, to my delight, assumed the driving while I sat in heated seat, sipping tea and reading the daily horoscope in Driving Miss Daisy style. If you really want to get to know a person well just commute with them. On one agonizingly long ride, having exhausted every current events topic and listened to every song on a 2 gigabyte ipod, I regaled him with details of my pregnancies, deliveries, and breastfeeding anecdotes. I can still recall the blanched look on his face as I persisted, fueled on by a grande cup of Starbucks Zen green tea. He enacted revenge by subjecting me to a litany of graphic details of his recent eye surgery. The paramount reason we carpoolers have remained friends is the fact that we are privy to enough intimate details to blackmail each other for life.

At Carpooler 3's party he introduced me to someone who authors a work-related blog. Loyal comrade that Carpooler 3 is, he instantly pulled out one of the many Chasing Hubert cards I accidentally intentionally left in his car and handed it over to his friend who, good to his word, checked out my blog and emailed me with kind comments describing my blog as "very nice and very civilized." And therein lies the problem - perhaps I've been too civilized about this quest. If it's the squeaky wheel that gets all the grease, then maybe it's my low noise tires that are holding me back. Maybe it's time to start squeaking and I'll eventually garner more grease....

Monday, March 29, 2010

"The afterthought is good, but forethought is better." Norwegian proverb

A good friend told me about a pseudo antiques roadshow to be held in her town in a nearby assisted living residence, according to an advertisement she came across in a local store. The flier stipulated bringing no more than two items per person and the antique appraiser would give the estimated value of your treasures. Willing to try anything at this point, I arose early on Saturday morning ready to make the 45-minute trek.

I had my Hubert packed up and ready to roll and as I ran out the door I grabbed an old cast iron bank off the bookshelf as an afterthought for my second item. It was a beautiful day and after meeting up with my friends we rushed over to the residence. We were anxious to beat out the throngs of collectors and be among among the first in line when they opened the door hoping to meet the appraisers while they were still in fresh form and not beaten down by the hordes of money-hungry treasure seekers. Not that we had anything to worry about - we were the only ones to show up for the event.

I waited patiently as my two friends had their JFK inauguration program and tickets, their Charles Lindbergh commemorative plate complete with vintage chip, and their signed children's book illustration, authenticated and appraised. I pulled out my Hubert etchings (yes, I cheated and brought more than one) and cast iron pilot's head bank for examination. Everything was appraised at the $50 mark except for my bank which surprisingly was valued at approximately $150. Ironically, my afterthought took the prize for the item of greatest value. Not a windfall but certainly a bonus for an afterthought. I came anticipating a Hubert revelation but as the saying goes, you can plan a pretty picnic but you can't predict the weather.

When it was my turn to take the floor I proceeded to give a detailed history of my Hubert search as I handed over my Chasing Hubert business card and proudly displayed my etchings. The appraiser was warm and friendly and gave me some background on the history of etching, however, had nothing new to add about Hubert although she did say the name sparked a note of recognition. She took my phone number and promised to do a little digging into her antique resources to see if she could turn up any new information. Hopefully, she'll get back to me one way or another and my Chasing Hubert business card won't wind up in the bottom of a collectible vintage trash receptacle...

Sunday, March 21, 2010

"I first came because of the name: Serendipity. It's one of my favorite words. It's such a nice sounding word for what it means: a fortunate accident." Sara, from the movie "Serendipity"

I went to the library this week to check out a new release I was looking forward to reading only to find that it was unavailable. As I was about to leave, sitting on the desk was a copy of a new book "The Best Vintage Antique and Collectible Shops in Paris." I couldn't believe my eyes, this was just what the print expert at the NY Public Library ordered. I whisked out my library card and as I mused about my fortuitous discovery, the librarian commented, "Must be serendipity!"

I've always loved the sound of that word. According to the dictionary, serendipity is "when interesting or valuable discoveries are made by accident." A fortunate accident may be an oxymoron but many of life's memorable moments are due to fortunate accidents or serendipity. I first met my husband when I fell off a bicycle. I found my house when babysitting a friend's daughter when she made an emergency visit to the doctor.  I met two of my dearest friends when my husband and I, late for a bus tour in Antigua on an anniversary vacation, were the last to board the already full bus. My husband squeezed up front next to the driver and I became the third wheel in the two-person back seat of the bus next to a lovely and funny Scottish couple with whom we've spent every anniversary with since.

Perhaps my best example of a serendipitous moment was purchasing a tacky mirrored beer sign for its pretty frame and discovering a beautiful colored etching of a Paris scene signed by Hubert hidden beneath. Call it serendipity, karma, or just plain good fortune, I believe finding Hubert is somehow tied into my destiny. So when I spied the book "The Best Vintage and Collectible Shops in Paris" just sitting there on the library desk waiting for me I viewed it as the happy accident that might lead to a Hubert breakthrough. I sent emails in French to shops listed in the book that might include etchings. So far no response, but serendipity brought Hubert into my life and I'm counting on a bit of serendipity to bring me a little Hubert happenstance...

Monday, March 8, 2010

"There comes a time when every life goes off course, when you must choose a direction. Will you fight to stay on path?" H.G. Adler

Life is like a river. Sometimes it flows gently, other times it flows swiftly and can take you completely off course. This week my Hubert search was thrown off course. The first time was at the local bookstore where I occasionally escape to work on chasing Hubert.  A creature of habit, I've grown accustomed to sitting in one of the only two overstuffed armchairs in the bookstore, superstitiously convinced that somehow these chairs are a good luck link to writing, researching, and finding Hubert.

Apparently it was an unlucky choice because once I logged on to the WiFi and checked my email I found a response from a print gallery I emailed in Paris. Only the print shop was not a print shop but a photography store, as in camera equipment. Somehow, I knew that finding long-established souvenir shops and print galleries in Paris was going to be a challenge. Just as I was about to go back to the drawing board and begin a new search the battery on the laptop gave out. Here I was, blown off course.

 I was also thrown for a loop this week was when someone posed the question "Why?" to me regarding my Hubert quest. So what's in this Chasing Hubert for me? Certainly nothing of monetary value since my Huberts, although quite beautiful, don't seem to fetch much in the art market. Certainly not fame since Hubert is virtually unknown to the world. Fame and fortune aside, it was my friendship with Tom, without whom this search would never have gotten off the ground, and his tragic death that was the driving force behind my Chasing Hubert. Tom was my inspiration and this search and subsequent blog is, in some small way, a tribute to him. That is why, in spite of drifting off-course this week, I'm hoping and counting on the tide to turn, adversity to ebb, and the river to course fluently...

Monday, February 22, 2010

"Everything you want is out there waiting for you to ask. Everything you want also wants you. But you have to take action to get it." Jules Renard, French writer, 1864-1910

With the recent information imparted by the print specialist, I was eager to begin a new search. Confined indoors by the recent snowstorm I cozied up on the couch with my laptop and a cup of thé vert ready to pursue my new lead. Easier said than done. After an hour of googling souvenir shops in Paris all I came up with were copious hits for Eiffel Tower replicas in various sizes and materials, and a modicum of regret that I never actually purchased one as a memento when I was there.

The best case scenario would be a return trip to the City of Lights to do another in-person investigation but my suggestion was met with a reaction that sounded a lot like Ricky Ricardo's oft-repeated reply to Lucy's hair-brained ideas, "What's the matter with you? Are you crazy or somethin'?" Looks like a trip to Paris won't be happening anytime soon. At times like this I really wish I had a French pen pal. But I do have two readers with friends in French places so I contacted both readers to plead my case and ask for help in locating long-established souvenir shops and print galleries. Both came through for me. One, perhaps fearful that my notoriously poor mastery of the French language might inadvertently damage his relationship with his French friend, kindly offered to contact his friend for me. The other reader, also aware of my language problem, provided a few French phrases for me to insert in Google France to help locate the correct type of shops.

Of course, once I locate the shops there remains the next step, that of contacting the proprietors of said shops and relating my story. So I composed an email explaining my great desire to find my beloved Hubert. After re-reading the email I realized that what I wrote could possibly sound like a solicitation for an online French dating service, so I plugged the paragraph into a web-based translation site rather than relying on my high school French. Hopefully this will avoid any lost in translation issues. Now I just have to weed through the hundreds of sites on Google France to try to determine the most appropriate shops to contact - in French. Hindered once again by my my inability to read or write any more than the most basic French phrases, it's been extremely slow-going and I've only been able to recognize a few sites to contact on my own and follow up with an email.

So far, I've yet to receive a response to the few emails I've sent. Not even one in error from French match.com....

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

"She just wanted to show me some French etchings." The Thin Man by Hammett

I've taken to showing my Hubert etchings to anyone that shows a glimmer of interest. A tad disconcerting for my husband who would much prefer that I occupy my time getting back into the 9 to 5 grind instead of playing host to a procession of onlookers parading through the Hubert gallery I set up in the upstairs hallway of our house. But showing my etchings has finally paid off.

The print expert at the library who graciously accepted my proposal to view my etchings up close and personal kindly agreed to meet with me last week. Fearful perhaps that in my overly enthusiastic state I would show up with a U-haul in tow unloading crates of Hubert's work, he tactfully suggested bringing two or three examples of Hubert's works for him to examine. But thrilled at the prospect of finally speaking in person with someone knowledgeable on the subject I set out with a dozen etchings in my bag and enough excitement to propel me up the hundreds of steps to the third floor print room of the imposing historic building.

A self-described bibliophile, I gawked at the reams of beautiful leather-bound books lining the wood paneled walls while I waited for the front-desk librarian to summon the print expert. Expecting a bespectacled, bow-tied, bearded gentleman I was greeted by a man who more closely resembled a big- screen star than someone who spends his time pouring over works of art. Distracted by musing about which actor would best play his part should they ever shoot a movie about the NY Public Library, I  quickly regained my focus remembering my mission and proceeded to dress the large wooden library table with my dozen etchings.

Unfortunately, the library has no record of Hubert in their archives. Although we still don't know who Hubert is, we now know conclusively who Hubert is not. Hubert is not Alfred Hubert nor is he Hubert Robert having been incorrectly identified as both on occasion. After examination and discussion, it was determined that most likely Hubert was a souvenir artist (and a pretty good one at that) which explains why his work shows up all over the world. It also explains why I've had negative responses from the various museums I've contacted. Apparently I've been barking up the wrong tree. Looks like I need to zero in on long established antique shops and souvenir shops in the Paris area. And my search gets more and more difficult. But on a positive note I now have a new direction, and, thanks to the very charming print expert, I finally feel validated in my search...

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

"It is exercise alone that supports the spirits, and keeps the mind in vigor." Cicero

To recapitulate or bring you up to speed as Inspector Clouseau said, to date responses from le Musee d'Orsay, Musee des Annees 30, Musea Brugge, Sothebys, and the NY Public Library have been negative so far as having any evidence of Hubert in their databases. No response has been received from le Musee de Montmartre nor from the print detective I emailed back in December. No appraisal yet due to lack of funds but I'm not sure how worthwhile an appraisal would prove to be as it would most likely estimate the value of the print rather than impart any knowledge about the artist. I'm currently waiting and hoping for the NY Public Library's print expert to scrutinize the etchings and perhaps shed some light on the subject or point me in a new direction. I've sent copies of some of my Hubert etchings and business cards to my ex-federal agent friend to explore museums and maybe a university or two in his hometown to expand my search across interstate lines.

My search for Hubert, although still unresolved, has been plodding along with leads then dead ends, advice then dead ends, ideas then dead ends. And now the plodding has come to a grinding halt. I'm stumped, stymied, at a standstill. I've hit a brick wall at 57 m.p.h. Unsure of what to do or where to go next I turn to my usual source of salvation - when the going gets tough, the tough go to the gym. A respite from the interminable challenges of life, I find solace in the steely arms of the fitness equipment. Jobs, money, people drop out of your life inexplicably but the gym is always there for me to run out my frustrations on the treadmill, climb my way out of a melancholy mood on the stairclimber, or just punch out my anger on the sandbag.

I do some of my best thinking at the gym - there's really not much else to do while running or climbing for 60 minutes unless you count eavesdropping on the conversations about the sexual exploits of the two couture clad women in full makeup to the left of me, or the two senior citizens to the right of me comparing colonoscopy narratives. Once again, I find myself at the gym looking for answers, this time to my Hubert conundrum. Instead of answers I got a severe muscle cramp in my right shoulder from overdoing my workout and a crick in my neck from straining to glimpse the well-developed quadriceps of the weightlifters. I'm out of ideas but I'm not out of hope yet. As Fran, the 94 year-old gym regular, optimistically replies to the perfunctory "Good morning, how are you doing today?" greeting from her many admirers  - "Well, I'm still here, aren't I!"....

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

"Now let me bring you up to speed...we know nothing! You are now up to speed." Inspector Clouseau, The Pink Panther 2

My ex-fed friend (as in federal agent, not to be confused with Fed-ex) responded to my plea for help with a long list of professional recommendations, a sign that he still thrives on the adrenaline rush of investigation or perhaps a sign that he has way too much time on his hands. Either way, I welcomed his ideas even though the first of which was to start all over again since my quest "hasn't been all that successful." Ouch! My instructions as per my Supervisory Special Agent or SSA (could his self-appointed title whose acronym when held up to a mirror, be designed to form a certain message for me?) are as follows:

1-Make copies of Hubert's work to take out in the field ("you never want to take evidence out of the evidence locker.") Previously accomplished.
2-Scan his works in e-mailable format. Previously accomplished.
3-Take all leads acquired through the years - responses from museums, galleries, people, etc. - and record results in a newly created Hubert file. Good idea, info now recorded on index cards
4-Never assume anything. Hubert may be a first name, last name, nickname or pseudonym. Point well taken.
5-E-mail Hubert's work to library research desks, art museums, and galleries in major cities. Previously accomplished and ongoing.
6-Canvas local galleries, museums, antique shops, print shops, etc. with etching copies and leave a business card ("I've had countless investigations where someone who swore they knew nothing, all of a sudden have their memory jogged three days later and call the number off my business card with very good info.") Business card is a very interesting idea, however, the thought of personally engaging strangers leaves me frozen with fear considering I'm always the one at a social gathering sitting in a dark corner feigning fascination with the ice cubes in my drink.
7-Expand my search and branch out to France and Belgium. Hello? I haven't been awarded an international fellowship, my unemployed status barely takes me to the local supermarket.
8-Become a cold, hard investigator. Lose the passion for your subject. Too late, I'm already emotionally involved with my etchings.
9-Set a goal of closing this case one year from now to avoid a "career case", a pejorative term for an agent that sits on a case for years. Sage advice but I somehow suspect that I'll be wiping the drool off my Chasing Hubert business cards from my wheelchair in the nursing home.
10- Have fun and good luck! 

Looks like I'm going to need a lot of luck. Feeling a bit like the bumbling Inspector Clouseau, my Chasing Hubert business cards in hand, I'm off to give it my best shot. I guess everyone has a dream, some people dream of fame or fortune, some dream of winning an Oscar or receiving an Olympic gold medal. Mine just happens to be discovering the identity of an etcher....... 

Monday, January 18, 2010

Mission Impossible

A bit of Hubert trivia for the week: Hubert is the patron saint for hunters. Apparently, Saint Hubert (interestingly, born in France and died in Belgium) devoted most of his time to the chase which was his chief passion. An ironic twist of fate considering that I am hunting the hunter. Or at least I am hunting the artist using this eponym. One can only imagine what Hubert would have to say about this blog - blogger on a wild-goose chase, blogger chasing rainbows... okay, I'm guilty of circumlocution and now it's time to cut to the chase.

Last week I received a negative - no Hubert here - response from the D'Orsay. No sign of Hubert in Belgium either. My disappointment, however, was tempered by the good-humored and pleasant manner in which the news was delivered. The museums were kind enough to provide names and links to refer me to additional museums and libraries that might aid in furthering my search. To date, the institution that holds the most promise is the New York Public Library who, although also had no Hubert in their database, delightfully accepted my out-of-character bold and rather persistent proposal to examine my Hubert etchings. And so, the chase for Hubert advances in baby steps rather than giant leaps but the hunt is on, at any rate.

At an impasse until the NY Public Library's print expert can examine my prints, I decided to take a cue from a popular game show and phone a friend. I placed a call to my ex-federal agent friend, otherwise referred to by some in my family as Uncle Jack Bauer in a nod to the TV show "24", (although I feel my objective in this case more closely resembles the show "Mission Impossible") for a quick tutorial on how to track a missing artist. Certainly a person who trailed gang members, terrorists, missing persons, deadbeat dads, and criminals of varying degrees for a living, would have little problem locating a mysterious foreign etcher.  I compiled a dossier of pertinent information I've gathered over the years on a post-it, included a message for him that began "Your mission should you decide to accept it...", and anxiously await his investigative strategy. I just hope and pray that this blog will not self-destruct in 5 seconds....

Sunday, January 10, 2010

Am I Smarter Than A Fifth Grader?

It might seem a paradox but Hubert's rich macaroni and cheese put me in an exceptionally buoyant mood. After partaking in my good luck New Year's Eve meal, 2010 appeared promising from both a Chasing Hubert and a personal perspective but before long my hopes were dashed. In the same way a bloodhound sniffs out criminals, challenges seem to dog me. Awarded a scholarship by a local college for a course in an area of study I know nothing about nor have had any experience in, I nevertheless embraced this latest challenge because after all, if Madonna can reinvent herself why can't I? Unfortunately, a rock star future is not in my stars because the New Year's ball barely touched down when I received a call apprising me that the college dropped the ball on funding for the scholarship.

The second bomb of 2010 was dropped when an email from the researcher at le Musee d'Orsay lit up my computer screen informing me that after examination of the etching copy I sent, it was determined that according to the style of clothes and the overall style of the print the artist is too recent for the musee which covers the time period between 1820 and 1870, and that Hubert's etching probably dates after WW1.  She ends her note "as the subject is very common, I would not like to give you too much hope." This researcher was the first person to give my Hubert search recognition and responded quickly and so pleasantly to all of my queries that I was really rooting for her to be the one to find Hubert. Reeling from these two major setbacks in 2010 (and we're only into the first week of the New Year), compounded by fatigue from trying to burn off the excess calories from the French mac and cheese, I succumbed to a dark mood threatening to dominate the lingering dog days of winter.

While babysitting for my neighbor's three young sons I found myself relating my Hubert story to ten year- old Nathaniel, having thoroughly exhausted every adult I know. He listened rapt with attention as I plied him with freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies. An hour later, after polishing off the second batch of cookies, he turned to me glassy-eyed and asked "What's a blog?" When I got to the part where I whined about being stumped as to where to go next for information he suggested the library. I answered smugly that I had and he matter-of-factly replied "What about the BIG library?' A bell went off and I immediately contacted the NY Public Library where the art and architecture department quickly responded and forwarded my email to their print department for further evaluation.

I predict a lucrative future career in law for Nathaniel - or maybe psychiatry? Thanks to my fifth-grade friend, hope was restored and I anxiously await - dare I say - some good news......

Monday, January 4, 2010

Bonne Année and Bon Appetit!

Not one for making (or keeping) New Year's resolutions, instead I poured all of my 2010 good intentions into hunting Hubert. I fired off a follow-up email to the Museé d'Orsay in Paris and one to le Musée de Montmartre as well. I researched art museums in Belgium and sent a note to the Groeninge Museum in Bruges. While surfing the web I located an interesting article on how to be a print detective and contacted the author for some advice. I followed up with the Appraiser's Association of America and, as I predicted, it's going to cost me. But I now have the name of an etching expert who can appraise my etchings once my proverbial ship comes in - and I'm hoping it pulls into port soon because I'm precariously hanging on to a life preserver by my fingertips. Although frankly, I care not if my Huberts are deemed to be valuable because Hubert's art brings me joy and isn't that what art is all about?

In many cultures it is considered good luck to start off the New Year by indulging in certain foods. Germans and Swedes eat herring for good fortune. Greeks bake a cake with a coin inside. The Chinese prepare dumplings. Italians eat lentils for luck. To enhance my chance for finding Hubert in 2010 I decided to jump on the New Year's food wagon and eat for luck. I vividly recall a philosophical carpool discussion on one particularly long commute in which it was theorized that everything in life boils down to money, sex, and food. Under my current circumstances money is obviously out of the picture. Sex is out as well since I attempt to keep this blog PG-rated. That leaves food as the common denominator. As American chef, James Beard once said "Food is our common ground, a universal experience."

To ring in the New Year on an auspicious note I created my own symbolism for New Year's Day food.  Perhaps my special meal will set the scene to bring more favorable results for finding Hubert this year. I adapted my sought-after but never-divulged macaroni and cheese recipe to create a French version in honor of Hubert. Sometimes my culinary creativity succeeds but more often than not, whenever I deviate from the tried and true, my inventiveness fails miserably. Therefore, I'm taking it as an unequivocal sign of good luck that my French macaroni and cheese was a roaring success. So indulge in a little French mac and cheese (recipe below), prepare a salad of greens, mandarin oranges, caramelized walnuts and vinaigrette and raise a glass of  Chardonnay to toast Chasing and Finding Hubert in 2010!....

Hubert's French Macaroni and Cheese

16 oz. of penne rigate or other tubular pasta
1 large clove of garlic cut in half
3 tbsp unsalted butter
1 large leek sliced thin
12 oz. Cantal cheese shredded, reserve 1/2 cup for topping
*if Cantal cheese is not available substitute Gruyere
1 cup creme fraiche
1 tsp Dijon mustard
salt and pepper to taste
1/2 cup dried seasoned breadcrumbs

Preheat oven to 350˚. In ovenproof baking dish rub the bottom and sides with one garlic half. Then brush with 1 tbsp. melted butter. Cook and drain pasta. Saute leeks in 1 tbsp butter about 5 minutes till soft. Crush second garlic half in garlic press and add to leeks while cooking. In large mixing bowl combine pasta, leeks, Cantal cheese, creme fraiche, dijon mustard, salt and pepper. Mix well, pour into baking dish. Top with reserved cheese. Melt remaining tbsp. butter, combine with breadcrumbs and sprinkle on top. Bake till hot, bubbly, and golden.