Becoming A Fan
by Dorty Nowak
Hot and frustrated, I stared at the pieces of the supposedly easy-to-assemble electric fan that came with nine parts instead of the required ten. My apartment, like most buildings in Paris, has no air conditioning and, after several days of unremitting heat, I was desperate. I picked up the instruction sheet, ignoring the number for the help center that was probably located in China, and folded it into a fan. My makeshift fan worked surprisingly well, reminding me of a museum that I had been meaning to visit ever since I read several years ago that it might have to close.
Le Musée de l’Éventail, the fan museum, if mentioned at all in guidebooks, usually merits only a brief reference. All I knew was that it was a museum about the history of fans. Not electric fans but, rather, the hand held kind that was an essential accessory throughout most of human history, including, for me, today.
Conveniently located near the center of Paris, the museum is housed in a typical Parisian building that looks like the others around it except for a large stone bas-relief of a fan on its façade. Pulling open the heavy wooden door, I knew that this was not a typical museum. Steep steps led to a dimly-lit door beside which a sign announced mysteriously, “Mme. Hoguet.“ Wondering if I was in the wrong place, I rang the doorbell and waited. After a long pause, an elderly woman opened the door, and I entered another world.
Fans were mounted on every inch of the walls of a long corridor – ancient fans from Egypt, China, Greece. I picked up a flyer titled simply “History” and read that fans can be traced to man’s earliest days. Originally the accoutrements of royalty, by the 5th century B.C. fans had become a widespread fashion accessory. These early fans were rigid but, in the 7th century A.D., a Japanese artisan created the folding fan after observing the wings of a bat.
Turning a corner, I entered a sunlit boutique where a riot of color greeted me. Beautiful fans of all sizes and shapes were offered for sale, from very expensive to modest in price. The woman who had admitted me now sat at the reception desk, watching me as I slowly circled the room.
“May I take some pictures?” I asked.
“No,” she replied curtly, “Mme. Hoguet does not approve.”
I put the cap back on my camera lens, wondering again about the mysterious Mme. Hoguet and wandered into the next room, my footsteps echoing in the silence.
This room was far different from the first. An array of antique wooden machines, which looked like medieval torture instruments, lined the walls. A placard above each described its role in the intricate process of fan making.
The final gallery was as sumptuous as the last was stark. The walls were peacock-blue brocade, and elaborately painted and feathered fans were displayed like exotic birds in glass cases throughout the room. I read that Henry III had introduced the folding fan to the French court in the mid-16th century. It was there that the fan came into its own as an art object and tool of coquetry. In the 19th century, famous artists like Gauguin, Monet and Renoir painted landscapes on fans, which were prized for their artistry.
As I was about to head back to the entrance, a slight movement from an adjoining room caught my eye. I peeked in and saw an elegant woman carefully gilding a fan. “Mme. Hoguet?” I ventured a guess. She looked up and smiled. Far from annoyed at being disturbed, she set aside her brush to answer my questions.
I learned that Anne Hoguet is the last fan maker in a family that has practiced the art for three generations. Her father began to teach her fan making when she was fourteen, and she has dedicated her life to the art. She opened the museum in 1993 to display her father’s collection of over 1,000 fans. Today she not only restores fans but also lectures about their history, and gives classes and tours to school groups.
Fan making will not become a lost art if Mme. Hoguet can help it, nor will beautiful fans be found only in museums. Indeed she seems to be succeeding in her crusade. Today, several skilled apprentices are practicing the art, and a group of friends and lovers of fans have created an organization to promote and perpetuate the museum.
And Mme. Hoguet, whom I had been told did not approve, said she would be delighted if I took pictures and wrote about her museum.
On this hot and humid afternoon in Paris, I learned about fans. I learned that museums aren’t just about the objects on display, but also about people like Mme. Hoguet, whose passion and efforts have preserved the past for us all. And yes, before I left the museum I bought a lovely fan to keep me cool.
Dorty Nowak is a writer and artist living in Paris and the U.S. who writes frequently about the challenges and delights of multi-cultural living. A former educator and insurance executive, she helped found the Oakland School for the Arts. She is co-curator of the “Where Do I Belong” project involving artists and poets from Europe, Australia and the U.S.
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Reader Comments (13)
Dorty, I love this charming tale of discovery. Thanks for sharing your adventure. The fan museum is now on my list to visit - I want to see these beauties for myself. I'm glad the art of fan making still lives. Jeannie
A fan?, yes one needs a fan in Paris...but not today...today it is snowing!
sorry i missed this fascinating museum on my recent trip to paris. will definitely put it on my list for next visit. you make it sound like a not-to-be-missed place to go. thanks!!
I never thought about fans but his article makes me want to see this wonder-filled place. Sounds like a visit to Paris is in store! thanks D!
oooooh! delight-filled! you certainly took me on a little journey...and i was imagining the brocade walls, lost in color- and wondering what things smelled like too! what does the fan look like which you purchased? thank you for sharing...you & mme hoguet!
Wow, I must go to this museum. What an interesting day you had and fans have such a curious history. Great read.
What a neat experience. There are so many treasures in Paris, but they are often hard to find. Great to know about this museum. We will add it to our must see list next time we visit Paris.
Thanks for the tip, and for taking us along on the joy of your wonderful discovery! I too can't wait for my next trip to Paris to see these beautiful fans first hand and, hopefully, meet Mme. Hoguet!
I'm a fan.
Dorty, You confirm my experience that it is the small details that most define the places I have visited — the fresh gelato more than the ancient buildings, the family-owned B&Bs more than the five-start hotels, the 'persons' more than the 'people.' You've chosen a detail that evokes gentle gestures that speak gracefully across centuries. Thanks for re-introducing us to the fans of Paris (and Mme. Hoguet).
— Dan
WOW, this is truly cosmic. I began collecting fans at the age of five, when I purchased miniature Japanese fans at a variety store in Arlington Heights (to compliment my Japanese doll collection, no doubt). I later acquired fans from Spain and Indonesia, with the most recent additions to my collection coming from Korea. One fan is plain white, with black Korean calligraphy, made by an uncle of my former student.
The museum is intriguing. Just another reason for me to visit Paris.
love,
Marianne
Very interesting. Were all the fans the folding type ? Am remembering fans given to mourners and parishioners at funeral homes and churches. On one side of the flat fan would be a photo of a black boy and girl. The girl always had long pig tails. I could never aspire to be such a model - my hair was very short. On the reverse side of the fan was an ad for the funeral home.
Hi Bola:
I remember those fans too, essential on hot summer days in the midwest! The oldest fans on display in the Paris museum were of fixed form and made from rushes. There is a fan museum in Healdsburg CA which I am looking forward to visiting. Perhaps the fans we remember will be on display there!