IT was 21.01 Paris time. One Irish guest had already scanned the Paris skyline beneath the setting sun and expressed surprise that an Irish flag flew from some official buildings, only to be gently reminded that the French had somewhat pioneered the tricouleur.
The party had been swinging for one whole minute, and crashers were not welcome. Humourless security guards stood at the entrance of the Centre de Pompidou, where James Coleman's exhibition had just opened. An Irish party, which included Declan MacGonagle, director of the Irish Museum of Modern Art and a member of the L'Imaginaire Irlandais committee, fellow committee member and Municipal Gallery director, Barbara Dawson, writer and critic Dorothy Walker, critic and academic Caoimhin MacGiolla Leith, writer and critic Luke Gibbons, and artists Aine Nic Giolla Coda, Alice Maher and Philip Napier had been embroiled, when last seen, in a deep discussion on life, art and Irish-French relations in the trendy Cafe Beaubourg.
Marguerite Cooney of the L'Imaginaire staff was working hard. She knew some of them were calmly planning to move on to the party. How late would they be? Would they have invitations with them? She beat the bushes of the Pompidou Centre for invitations to bring out to them. The clash of cultural traditions caused by casual Irish attitudes and French formality has been something of a challenge at L'Imaginaire.
When one who shall be nameless lost her security badge that afternoon, we could not leave the Centre de Pompidou for fear of not being allowed in again for the moment when the President, Mrs Robinson, would inaugurate the exhibition. When she arrived, we swarmed up the plastic bubble escalators only to be barred, like poor children at the door of Santa's grotto, from visiting the video installations, while the official party, which included Minister Michael D. Higgins, formed a line of shadows against the backdrop of works entitled Living and Presumed Dead and Initials.
L'Imaginaire's Irish commissioner, Doireann Ni Bhriain, had a daughter on each arm, Sorcha and Grainne, in their best flowery dresses. They were determined to meet the President because a girl in Sorcha's class had met her: "Ssh! This is Mummy's big moment," a friend explained to them.
The artists Louis Le Brocquy and his wife Anne Madden, who are both exhibiting at the Galerie Maeght as part of L'Imaginaire, were warm in their admiration for Mrs Robinson, having met her at a reception at the Elysee Palace.
Mrs Robinson had lamented the fact that everything in her life was now public it was her birthday and everyone knew her age (52). "She said when she was elected President one of her children said to her, `Mummy, I never knew you were so old'."
When asked the burning question - why are the French pouring a million-and-a-half into promoting Irish culture? - Louis Le Brocquy, who lives in France, explained: "Ireland and Irish people have a very special place in French people's hearts. I would be very, very optimistic about the benefit we will get from L'Imaginaire Irlandais."