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Art
Monday, 29 May 2023
Today, I fancied retracing my steps to Atelier Cézanne in Aix-en-Provence.
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Saturday, 4 February 2017
Sunday, 15 January 2017
It was a sizzling day in the South of France last June,
when we arrived in Cagnes sur Mer
to take in the old farmhouse & gardens of Auguste Renoir
~ his beloved “Les Collettes”,
where he lived with his family
for the final twelve years of his life.
The estate is perched on top of a hill
with incredible views to the Cap d’Antibes
and Haut-de-Cagnes.
As we ascend towards the main building,
we pass under the shadow of olive trees,
the kind Northern girl me has hardly seen
~ centuries old that you can’t resist brushing with your hand
to feel those enticing grooves, lifelines on the bark
~ etchings of the passing years,
like lines on a dear elderly face
with wisdom concealed in the depths.
It’s a surprisingly quiet afternoon,
as we walk through the main entrance
~ just one other couple & the two of us.
We enter an unspoken pact to keep our distance,
as if all here by ourselves,
ready to hear the walls speak.
And the walls do tell their stories
~ in unison with the peeling layers of paint,
the far-flung ceilings,
the sense of stillness,
the simply and sparsely furnished rooms,
that caressing gold-tinged milky light
that floods through the vast windows
& fills you to the core.
I swear I can feel it now.
Renoir’s wheelchair & easel in his atelier
are reminders of the pain & beauty that intermingled,
that never ruled each other out.
The creativity & persistence.
He painted until his death,
even with his hands curled due to arthritis
and being left in a wheelchair after a stroke.
He looked for new ways of expression
~ changed his technique,
an assistant would place the brush in his bandaged hand.
He used a moving canvas to be able to make larger works.
And he began to create sculptures with the help of a young artist.
“The pain passes, but the beauty remains”
~ he is quoted as saying.
“The work of art must seize upon you,
wrap you up in itself and carry you away.
It is the means by which the artist conveys his passion.
It is the current which he puts forth
which sweeps you along in his passion.”
– Pierre-Auguste Renoir
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[All pictures shot last summer
at Les Collettes aka Musée Renoir,
visitor information here.]
Monday, 25 July 2016
We had a girls' day out on Saturday.
We visited a lovely garden
had some lunch,
then poked our heads
in small boutiques
before finishing off with cake
washed down with coffee for me
& strawberry juice for her.
I cherish times like this with my two.
I love to take them to beautiful places,
where time stands still
for a moment,
as you stare at the way
the light falls through the window,
& the soft, dark corners.
Senses wide open.
On the way back,
a message from a dear friend
lights up in the dimness,
as we pass fields, woods and quiet bays.
It's strange how in the half light
you often see the clearest.
We talk about how we both
want to create more beauty in this world,
and how that feeling has intensified lately
with all that's going on.
A mission to dwell on what's good.
So we make some plans.
Now those plans
tingle a little in the stomach.
Monday, 18 July 2016
A visit to Paul Cézanne's atelier
on the outskirts of leafy and elegant Aix-en-Provence.
A studio of silence and light.
Despite dodging the crowds with my camera
during a hot day,
this is the place where once only he would enter
to reflect & work in peace.
His atelier is filled with light
and objects
(although some recreated I'm told)
he would use as motifs in his works -
overcoats, hats,
three skulls,
porcelain, fruit, fabric, bottles.
"People think how a sugar basin has no physiognomy,
no soul.
But it changes every day,"
he once said.
Crumbling layers of paint,
the walls the most soothing tone of grey,
kissed by the passing years.
He had initially painted everything white,
the guide says,
but the reds reflected from outside
had clashed,
and so he painstakingly mixed pigments
that would form the perfect backdrop.
Despite the crowds,
you sense his presence
& feel inspired by his passion,
enduring hard work
and humility.
"I could paint for a hundred years,
a thousand years without stopping
and I would still feel as though I knew nothing."
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