I spent three days in Paris with sore feet, a pocket notebook, and way too many museum tickets. I wanted to see what the big names actually feel like in person. Do they hit hard, or just look good on tote bags? Here’s what stuck with me, what didn’t, and the little moments that made me grin like a kid with a pastry. (I expanded this adventure in a longer piece right here if you want every brushstroke detail.)
For a concise primer on navigating tickets, passes, and opening hours, I leaned on the tips over at Just France, and it streamlined the whole trip.
Monet — the quiet that hums
I sat in Musée de l’Orangerie, inside the oval rooms of Water Lilies. The panels wrap the walls, soft and huge. The light plays across the paint. It’s hushed, like a warm lake at dusk. My shoulders dropped without me noticing.
- What I loved: the calm; those misty violets and greens; the bench in the center so you can just breathe.
- What bugged me: crowds; folks taking selfies with their backs to the art. It breaks the spell a bit.
I also went to Musée Marmottan Monet to see Impression, Sunrise. It’s smaller than I expected, like a quiet spark. The orange sun is a dot, but it carries the whole sky. The basement rooms there are loaded with Monets, which felt like peeking in a painter’s closet.
Degas — sweat, satin, and sore toes
Musée d’Orsay hit me fast. Degas’ Little Dancer Aged Fourteen stands there with a real fabric tutu and a ribbon. She looks stubborn and tired and brave. It’s a bronze cast, sure, but the face reads like a girl you might pass after practice, scuffing her shoes on the curb. And just a few steps away, his oil painting The Ballet Class gathered a small knot of onlookers, each of us marveling at the mix of stiff rehearsed poses and sudden flashes of exhaustion.
The dance pastels nearby show legs, bends, strain. You can almost smell rosin and dust.
- What I loved: the pose; the grit; the way the pastel lines feel quick and alive.
- What bugged me: glare on the glass; you have to tilt your head like a curious bird.
Manet and Renoir — honesty vs. sparkle
Still in Orsay, I stood in front of Manet’s Olympia. She meets your eyes. No sugar. The cat at the edge looks ready to bolt. People whisper, but the painting doesn’t flinch.
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Then I slid over to Renoir’s Bal du moulin de la Galette. It’s all glow—blue shadows, sun through leaves, chatter you can almost hear. My head kept bouncing between them. Do I want truth, or do I want a party? Well, both.
- What I loved: Olympia’s nerve; Renoir’s light.
- What bugged me: a rope and a small crowd keep you at arm’s length.
I bought a tiny Olympia postcard. I bent it in my bag. Still worth it.
Matisse — color that grins at you
At Centre Pompidou, the Matisse room radiates. I stood with La Blouse Roumaine and felt the reds hum against the cool blues. The shapes are simple, but the rhythm is big. You know what? It cheered me up, and I wasn’t even grumpy.
- What I loved: bold color that feels like a song.
- What bugged me: a bit of gallery hopscotch to find the room on a busy day.
Cézanne — apples with backbone
Back at Orsay, I found Cézanne’s Still Life with Apples and Oranges. The table tilts. The fruit looks heavy, like it means business. Folds in the cloth are mountains. It’s quiet, but not shy.
- What I loved: weight, structure, patience.
- What bugged me: nothing, really—unless you count my rumbling stomach.
Rodin (and Camille Claudel) — stone that breathes
The Musée Rodin garden is a dream. The Thinker sits there like a storm cloud. The Gates of Hell bristle with bodies; every inch is alive. I took a slow lap, then another.
Inside, I found Camille Claudel’s The Waltz. Two figures twist together, tender and tense. It felt personal—less grand, more human. I didn’t expect to stand that long, but I did.
- What I loved: shadows moving over bronze in the garden; benches; roses in bloom.
- What bugged me: a line for tickets; bring a hat if the sun is sharp.
Toulouse-Lautrec — posters that shout
Orsay also has Toulouse-Lautrec posters, like Moulin Rouge: La Goulue. Flat color. Bold type. It’s nightlife, but on paper. You can almost hear clinking glasses and a heel tapping time. I saw a stack of cheap reprints in the shop and smiled. The art outlived the party and kept the beat.
JR — a giant trick on a glass pyramid
One more punch: JR’s big photo piece on the Louvre pyramid (2019). He covered the glass with printed paper to make a wild illusion. I went on day two. The paper had torn a bit from shoes and rain. That almost made it better. Art mixing with weather and people like a street story.
- What I loved: scale; fun; strangers pointing and laughing together.
- What bugged me: blink and you miss it—temporary by design.
Tiny breaks, big helps
Between rooms, I grabbed a quick espresso and a butter cookie. My notes got smudged with crumbs. My feet thanked me for five minutes off the marble. Funny how a seat can save a whole afternoon. I learned the value of these micro-rests during a lazy long weekend in Brignoles, where slowing down felt like an art form of its own.
Who should see what?
- Need calm? Go sit with Monet at l’Orangerie.
- Want grit and grace? Degas and Claudel.
- Crave color joy? Matisse at Pompidou.
- Love structure? Cézanne’s still lifes.
- Like a good flex? Rodin’s garden.
- Want nightlife vibes without the hangover? Toulouse-Lautrec.
- Chasing bold public art? Watch for JR’s next stunt.
And if museum-hopping in Paris sparks a bigger wanderlust, my roundup of favorite French cities—from canal-lined Strasbourg to sun-drenched Nice—might help you sketch the rest of your map.
Final word (said with paint on my sleeve)
These famous names didn’t feel dusty. Not to me. They felt alive—messy, bright, stubborn, sweet. Some rooms asked me to slow down. Some made me grin. A few made me hush up for once.
Would I go again? Yes. I’d bring better shoes, a bigger snack, and the same small curiosity. That’s the real ticket.