The third hidden.

In the few hours remaining before returning to London on the Eurostar, I had made a reservation to visit the former apartment of Le Corbusier on 24 rue Nungesser et Coli, which is now maintained by the Le Corbusier Foundation.  It was most fortunate that it was open, as it is only available for viewing on one day a week, and even then, with advance reservations.  But, knowing my own character and my interest in making such pilgrimages, I planned this far in advance- unlike my many other spontaneous diversions in and out of town and country.

Now, having been a Le Corbusier aficionado for years now, greedily absorbing all the information and books and images related to the Master, I was well acquainted with all the nooks and crannies of his space- but what immediately struck me upon visiting, with a striking sadness, was that he was no longer among us.  Of course this is common knowledge, but to see a place such as this, where he lived and worked, and which lives on in photographs where he is alive and working, but without so many of his things- whether it be paintings, brushes, papers, books, small objects collected on his travels, et cetera- it is plainly clear that something is very much missing- that this is in fact a museum of the dead, and that Le Corbusier no longer lives there, perhaps even in spirit.  But what remains, remains- and his hand is everywhere.

his bed, not slept in for years.

a dash of brilliant and ever changing color.

painting studio- no paintings.  even the smell of paint has faded.

the desk where he sat and worked.

in the lobby, the Poem of the Right Angle.

his signature.