Roussillon -- a Village of Color

I read about Roussillon in Susan Vreeland's Lisette's List. It is a historic fiction novel set before, during, and after World War II. It is a story of a young woman who after leaving her Paris City life learns about living a rural life, learns about art and artists, and discovers that love comes in many forms. 

I was fascinated about the ochre mines and the pigments made from the colors described in the book. I knew this was one place I wanted to visit on my journey in France.

After my hot air balloon ride, I took the route to Roussillon rather than heading straight home. Winding roads led to a busy little village in the Vaucluse hills. Everything was reddish, golden and ochre. The village spiraled in a Fibonacci swirl up to its peak looking out over the incredible beauty of the region. I found a place to park, it was still early in the day, but the sun was hot, and there were tourists everywhere.

I walked down from the parking lot and the first store was filed with colors. It was a store selling the pigments of Provence.  I was in heaven. I wanted them ALL! I wandered the little store enjoying all the colors for a while. The employee was bored and seemed to prefer smoking her cigarettes to talking with customers,  but that did not deter me. I was in a little slice of heaven and she could not shake that lovely dreamy place from me. 

 

Such a vibrant little village filled with shops, narrow streets, people, and restaurants. After wandering, taking many photographs, stopping for a delicious lunch, I made my way back to the pigment store once again soaking in all of the beautiful colors. I wanted everything and the only thing that slowed me down was knowing that I would have to pack all that I purchased in my bags to come home. I settled for a lovely sampling. 

One of these days, I will open them and try them out to create an ode to this very special place.

Art and Photography

While I believe that photography can and certainly is an art. It has also been become so easy to take pictures that the creativity and thought that I feel goes into the art, is often lost. Maybe there is an art to the selfie and the posed picture of people in front of every location that you visit, but part of what gets lost in that for me is the actual visit; the time spent seeing, feeling and understanding the place.

When you paint or draw a location, you have to stop, sit or stand, and really look at the place. You look at the lines, the color, the form. You look for cracks, shadows, and angles. You also become a part of that moment. You are a part of the scene. You are putting more of yourself into the place and opening the door to others looking over your shoulder to see if you are any good or maybe just to see what has intrigued you enough to stop in that location.

I had planned to draw and paint more on this trip, but it was very hard to stop, find a place to settle in for a while, and then expose myself to the world.

In truth writing this blog and even sharing my photos on Flickr are exposure that leave me open to criticism, apathy and maybe even compliments. Maybe that is part of what art is; being willing to put yourself out there to be viewed by others no matter what they think, say, or don't say about your work. I think that art is so personal; something that you feel that you absolutely need to do to satisfy your soul.

Van Gogh needed to paint so much, that in the ten years that he was a painter, he made 900 paintings. During his life, only one of them sold.

The impressionist artists wanted to do something different from the traditional painting of the time and their work, for the most part, was not accepted into the art salons until they created their own exhibit. They lived in poverty and used most of the money that they had to buy more canvases and paints, just so they could make one more painting.

Musee D'Orangerie

Monet's Studio

The modern artists did it again, wanting to create something new and different. They wanted to show their perspective of the world.

Art within Art within Art

Fleeting Moment of Art outside the Pompidou

I sat on the street one day and drew. As I started the sketch, a little girl came up to stand next to me and watch. Her parents said she just liked watching people draw. She would look at the drawing then to the location that I was working on capturing and back again. She never said a word. She didn't want to leave, but her parents pulled her away and thanked me for allowing her to watch. Later, a group of men coming toward me, posed so I could capture them in the drawing. I made quick swirling motions with my with my hand as if I was trying to capture them in the drawing. They stopped to looked and were complimentary. They said it needed color, but it was good. They are correct that it needs color. I stopped to draw this scene for two reasons; the color of the flowers and buildings and a desire to practice drawing perspective.

Sketch of a Street in Old Arles Looking toward the Amphitheatre

I survived putting myself out there. Those wandering past were not critical but complimentary. Selling your work is not a prerequisite, though it is likely a form of validation that you are an artist. Doing the work, putting yourself on the the canvas, through the lens, on the paper, or in the blog are what make you an artist.

So Many Things to Share

So little time.

Each day was generally filled with doing and seeing. The first several days,  I couldn't get the wi-fi to connect on my laptop. All my photos were there. Some ready to post, others in need of editing. I made several short videos along the way,  but as things fell behind, I didn't do anything with them.

On my long train ride to Avignon, I  wrote about the trains in my OneNote app. They are there somewhere in quick notes, but I can't find them.

I am now sitting at the Heathrow airport waiting to fly home several days early. I am homesick and tired of struggling to understand and to be understood.

All but the last day of photos have been uploaded to Flickr.

I learned:

• Traveling alone is alright for a while, but it is more fun when you have someone to share the experience with.
• Many apps, like Pandora and Amazon music don't work when you visit another country.
• 20 days is a long time to be gone from family and friends.
• You can muddle your way through.
• France is beautiful. 
• They have some wonderful agricultural diversity. Sunflowers, next to wheat, next to grapes, next to rice fields. 

Water system along many fields

The Beautiful Tournesol

• I love the French words pamplemousse and tournesol.
• The Mediterranean Sea is not overly salty.
• Olives are wonderful.
• Many cheeses and creams are actually more mild in France than at home.  Maybe it's because they are fresher.
• I'm sure there is more, but I'm off to catch my plane.

American Airlines Flight 47 to Chicago

From the Plane waiting to take off

Grottes de Thouzon, LeThor

Stalactites and stalagmites. An under ground cave with 60 million years of earth history. A constant 56 degrees. What a treat after mostly 90 degree temperatures.

A geology lesson and a person who spoke English for the tour. I didn't realize that much of the stress I was feeling was from exerting so much energy trying to understand and to be understood.

The photo below are of drapes. Unlike the stalactites, they are solid. Whee taped on with a key, then make a musical sound.  Different tones for different sixes drapes.  The stalactites are flat in tone with no resonance. 

Before the original entrance closed up, this cave was a home for bats. One did not make it out and is petrified on a stone. 

Stalactites, Stalagmites and a pool of water.

Petrified baby bat

There's also a spot where the bat guano remains, dark against the creams and yellows of the stalactites and stalagmites. 

Sault -- Lavender

I am sitting at an outdoor cafe in Sault. It was a wild drive up and around the mountains to reach this beautiful place filled with lavender fields.

It's lunch time. The view  looks out and down to the fields; greens, golden hues, and light lavenders to deep purples.

Off in the distance is Mount Ventoux. It stands out cream colored against a pastel blue sky.

Here, as with all the other places I have visited, the swallows are busily flying about in search of food, and squealing all the way.

Across in the park, a group of men are playing bolles, (a giant game of marbles?) in the shade of the trees.

I took the "touristique" (scenic) route down. WOW! The photo below shows two tunnels through rock that I drove through. The road twisted and turned and switched back and came around with the rock climbing to my right and a deep drop off to the left. The road was just rode enough for two cars. It was both dizzying and and dazzling.

Auvers sur Oise -- Vincent

My last day in Paris, I traveled to Auvers sur Oise. This is the last place that Vincent lived before he died. Most people believe, from the stories they have heard, read and been taught, that he committed suicide. It is now believed that he was murdered. A book on my list to read fully is Van Gogh, the Life by Steven Naifeh and Gregory White Smith.

I started it, was pulled in by the beautiful writing, but didn't have time to read it all before leaving in this journey. At the very end in the appendix, there is a section about his death and what research has uncovered.

The short version is that there was a teenager from a local wealthy family who teased Vincent mercilessly. Vincent didn't try to stop him,  he was already too tortured mentally, and only found solace in drink and paint. On the day that he was shot, it is thought that Vincent went out to paint, was actually inspired and feeling pretty good, the young man met up with him and teased him with a old gun that he had been given. They suspect it went off by accident and Vincent was shot.

The first part I wrote riding the train to Auvers sur Oise. It was cool and cloudy.

After the challenge of the second train never arriving,  I caught an Uber the rest of the way.  The driver dropped me off in front of the signs showing the places to visit; just a few steps from Vincent's room.

In front of the building sits a small table with two chairs two glasses and a bottle of red wine.

The town was mostly quiet except there were at least three school groups of children taking tours. As I sat across the street from the house, the last group passed by. They were happily singing a tune skipping along.

The tour of Vincent's room was interesting. They tell the story that he committed suicide. The room has been empty for 126 years. No photographs were allowed. But they told the story of a man who committed suicide. I wonder if that is a better sell for the visit than the possibility that someone shot him by accident?

The highlight was the last three stops on the walk. The church he painted, the wheat field and the cemetery where he and his brother are buried.

From the Musee D'Orsay

The Church in Auvers s/Oise

 

Vincent and his brother are buried side by side. Theo died 6 months after Vincent 

These three spots made me feel like I was truly walking in his footsteps. It was a beautiful day. Beautiful clouds, the sun shining, and no major tours of people making selfie photos in front of each location. I guess not completely walking in his foot steps as I visited his grave, but peaceful and hi paintings came to life for me.

Giverny -- Claude Monet

I was very fortunate to grow up seeing at in Chicago with school trips. It was there I was introduced to many artists and also where I fell in love with the impressionist painters. Claude Monet and Vincent van Gogh became my favorites.  Why these two when there were so many, I'm not sure. I feel a connection,  I love the colors, and their paintings resonate with me. Many years ago,  as a teenager, I saw Monet's paintings of the Water Lilies of Giverny at the Art Institute. I remember walking into a dark room and the paintings stood under light long and huge reflecting a place of dreams and color.

The day after visiting Giverny and Monet's garden's I went first thing in the morning to the Musee de L"Orangerie where the Water Lily paintings hang in two large light oval shaped rooms.

The Water Lilies of Giverny

The paintings took my breath away again as they did many years ago.

I don't know that I always wanted to go to see Monet's home over all these years. I guess in a way, it never seemed possible until I started doing research for this trip. When I realized I could see the place, I purchased a ticket.

I took the early train to Giverny so I would arrive as the gardens opened for the day. The train leaves out of the Saint Lazare station one of the places that Monet painted when he was in Paris.

Saint Lazare Station today. No longer the smoke and steam from the trains.

Gare Saint Lazare as painted by Monet

Even arriving early at Giverny, on such a beautiful day, it was crowded, though I noticed that the lines to get in after lunch were much longer.

It was beautiful.

Water Lilies of Giverny

For more photos from Giverny Check out my Flickr Album of France or with this photo Time and Giverny start here.

In his home, the rooms were filled with light and art. It was a place meant for work (painting and gardening, sleep, pleasure, and visitors. If there was no window, there were paintings hanging on the walls. 

Monet's Studio

Monet's bedroom

View from Monet's bedroom window. Now that's a great way to wake up each day.

A Second Special Gift

For my birthday every year, I receive a card with a check from my father-in-law. This year, I opened the card and:

Que tous vos desirs se realisent" means "May all your wishes come true"

What a lovely surprise with a wonderful sentiment.

First Special GIft

In my house, Christmas was about the surprise, buying just the right thing, wrapping it beautifully and then watching the recipient open the gift on Christmas day. The biggest or the smallest gift was not always the most thought out gift, it was the gift that you had no idea you were getting; the one that maybe you had asked for or commented on in March of that year and then forgot about until the wrapping paper was ripped and tattered around your feet.

The last few years of mom's life, she didn't have the energy to go shopping for Christmas. I would "take care of everything," but I know that it was one of the things that bothered her tremendously. Christmas of 2014, I wasn't sure if mom would live to see it. The early weeks of December were tough. Mom mostly slept and hardly ate. She made it. On Christmas Eve, we made plans for spending Christmas morning at Mom and Jane's house. As planned, we arrived with food and gifts. I went in to see mom but she wasn't feeling well.  I got her to the bathroom, but that was all she could handle. She was too tired to go out to the living room. She felt so bad to be "ruining" Christmas. "It's OK," I said, We'll just have Christmas in here." She sat in her bedroom chair and I took care of a few things in the kitchen. She decided she felt well enough to be wheeled out to the living room. So we had Christmas together in the living room with all the traditional scattered and tattered wrapping paper. After the last resents were opened, mom asked me to get her walker that had a little pouch where she could carry her papers, money and what-not. 

She asked me to pull out three envelopes; one for Jane, one for John, and one for me. 

With the little energy she was able to muster during the night, she had put together three envelopes with the only thing she still had to give. I knew that I wanted to use the money for something special.

Not long after mom passed away, I started planning a trip to France. That trip will begin in less than a week. Somewhere along the way, I will do something with this little treasure to honor my mother's memory.