WAS IT WORTH IT?

I was privileged to be invited to my niece’s installation at the Academie des Beaux-Arts in Paris, France.

When I received the invitation, I immediately responded with my over-the-moon congratulations on an honor well deserved, and I very sadly added that I would not be able to attend. The message was clear. My toe and tap shoes were already in storage. I never thought about giving them away. Any minute I could become famous, and they’d be wonderful collectibles.

A few months before the invitation, I had slipped and given my head a big bang. I hadn’t realized it, but that bang had taken over my life. Bad enough, I looked like the Bride of Frankenstein for months, but now this fear of falling wouldn’t leave me alone. It went everywhere with me, returning me to my childhood scaredy cat years… waiting for the other shoe to drop. Not a great way to greet the day.

I was just accepting my traveling days were over fate when one of my daughters called to tell me she was thinking about attending the event. A disembodied voice from the ether bellowed, “Wait a minute. If you’re going, I’m going with you. You’re not leaving me behind.”

Tickets were booked (10 hours from Miami to Paris, ugh), the hotel secured, my daughter Pamela flew South to Aidez-moi. Arrangements were made to meet daughter Lori and her husband Chris at the hotel in Paris. Daughter Dianne’s best friend was getting married in the States, so with great sadness, the trio of sisters became a duo. 

Writing in black and white, it all looks so simple.  For most normal people, it was. From the moment I decided to travel to Annie’s ceremony, every waking and sleeping minute was filled with a growing, intense high and higher anxiety. I was desperate to find someone to forbid me to travel. I checked with my very wise physician.  For sure, he would order me not to go.  Instead he told me to buy support socks and asked me one question.

“Sally-Jane, where did you have your accident?”
“In my bedroom at home.”

What a guy!

Friends and family weren’t any help either. They were excited and supportive. I’ll show them.  I’ll rewrite my will. On the outside, I played thrilled, sure, and strong.  Inside, I was a big bowl of anxious, cowardly jelly. 

The pilot didn’t know it, but he needed me, which is why I didn’t close my eyes for one minute of the 10 hours. When we arrived in Paris, I not only had jet lag to contend with but pilot fatigue. Thank goodness I couldn’t fly another plane for five days.

All right already, what is the thing about ceremonies? Definition of ceremony: A formal event celebrating a particular occasion or individual performed with rituals and procedures.

The closest the Americans come to any ceremony, other than the President throwing out the first pitch on the opening day of baseball (do they do that anymore?),  is the Kennedy Center Honors. The bulk of American award programs are commercially, not traditionally or culturally inspired. Tevya sang it loud in Fiddler on the Roof… “Tradition”. We Americans run short on traditions.  

Contrary to certain political opinions, all American ancestors, except for the native population, come from other countries. Whatever traditions we do have were born in other countries. On the block of nations, we are still the baby.  

France is not only the senior adult in the world of ceremonial performances but giving credit where credit is due; the centuries of all those Louis’ had a lot to do with it. They knew how to create a ceremonial event, leaving their audience, aka all the people who live outside the palace, in awe. For hundreds of years, these awe-inspiring ceremonies guaranteed the King and his progeny over-the-top indulgences of jewels, real estate, foie gras, champagne, and, oh, yes, governance of the people, by the people and for the people whom unbeknownst to them, were left to pay the bill. Until that fateful day when the people rose up and demanded a heads-off accounting.

Thousands of years later, I attended one of those awe-inspiring ceremonies.  A little background to the event. The membership of the Academy is set.  Someone has to die before a new member can be invited in.  I.M. Pei, an American architect and member, recently passed away. Sebastiao Salgado, a member and well-known photographer and admirer of Annie’s work, nominated her for membership. She was invited to join.  

On the Day of the Ceremony, with my head safely between my shoulders, I became one of the awe-inspired witnesses to French tradition.

The Academy building is on the left bank of the river Seine. It dates back to the early 19th century. It houses a stunning glass-ceiling domed circular assembly hall, where we were gathered for the ceremony.

Several hundred people sat watching as a battalion of soldiers dressed in 19th-century French military uniforms lined both sides of the hall leading to the assembly room; some with swords at attention, some with snare drums playing a beat to accompany the couture-designed uniformed members of the academy and the honored Annie to their seats. Something within me stirred. I wasn’t just at an event where the mind wanders or the body fidgets. The building, its history, and the rituals transported me.   It was almost as if I was watching it happen from outside my body. How could anyone remain immune from the soul of the spectacle… uniforms, swords, drums, housed in a beautifully designed building and a dear, honored one at the center of it all? I was no longer an observer. The ceremony and I became one. 

Annie looked beautiful in her Beaux Artes uniform. 

Annie Leibovitz in uniform with her Sponsor, Salgado

Her sponsor, Salgado, spoke lovingly about her life and her achievements. Annie was then introduced.  She accompanied a meaningful speech about her life, her assignments, friends, and family with photographs projected on screens around the room from her book, A Photographer’s Life.  It was a triumph. It was obvious why she belonged in the Academie Des Beaux Artes. 

She introduced Patti Smith, who was accompanied by her daughter.  She sang Peaceable Kingdom. It’s generational. Patti Smith is not part of my musical history.   My knowledge was limited to the photographs Annie took of her and her fairly recent career as an author.  Her performance was masterful. In this assembly of art lovers and artists, she brought the audience to their feet. 

Personally, Patti Smith gave this weary soul wandering in the desert of hopelessness hope.  

Transcendent.

Like the cherry on top of a magnificent sundae, on a Wednesday, Anna Wintour capped the event with a beautiful speech about Annie’s person and work. She then presented her with a sword that Annie had designed. The culmination of the event was the presentation of this personal ceremonial sword. A tradition of the academy that dates back to the early 19th century when swords were not only fashionable but very useful for survival.

A reception in the massive courtyard was held immediately after.  

The aura of the event stayed with me all of that day and the next and actually followed me onto the return plane, where I let the pilot fly alone for an hour while I took a nap.

All my body parts, including my fake knees, in exhausted indignation, demanded to know why I turned every organ upside down, threw away the body clock that was, if not perfect, in good working order to accept this invitation.  

The challenge my body parts made to my brainball… “WAS IT WORTH IT?”
What a question!
You bet your damn booty it was. 

Furthermore, remember the accident I had before I left for Paris that left me with a frightened voice inside my headball following me everywhere? Well, even wearing my mechanical earballs… it was gone…gone…gone.

I would have loved to have taken all of you with me. Not possible. However, I found this video of Patti Smith from 2022, singing the song that brought the audience to its feet, hope to my heart, and hopefully to yours.

P.S. You can see the full article in Vogue here.