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Posts tagged ‘Photography’

Small pleasures of my walk to work

As most Londoners will tell you, the commute to work (for all except those who are lucky enough to live in the centre of the city) is very frequently something closely resembling Dante’s vision of hell: People everywhere, packed tightly into incredibly undersized train carriages rumbling slowly in the subterranean layers of the city,  all dignity lost in these sardine-can surrounds as you become very closely acquainted with the smallest details of your neighbour’s facial pores, their morning’s perfume (or lack of it), and more often than not the opportunity to guess at what they ate for breakfast. Being used now to the commute, I tend to take it in my stride, delving like most fellow commuters into the depths of my subconsciousness during travel, ears indoctrinated by the ipod headphones pushed firmly into my ears, and mind transported to the other-world of whichever novel I am reading at the tim. However, when the commute is particularly bad, it can really exert the potential to ruin the rest of the working day that follows, not least when problems on the journey make you late for work.

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As with so many of the benefits that come with summer, one of my greatest pleasures and equally my greatest of reliefs is to be able to hop off the tube a stop early when the weather is fine, and take the walk, from Embankment station on the River Thames, through the grand streets adjoining Whitehall, and amble along with my freshly made coffee to my place of work on Parliament Square. One of the best things about this walk is the route it takes me along, through the Whitehall gardens which adjoin the embankment, and continuing past some of the grandest of the Governmental buildings, including the infamous entrance to 10 Downing Street itself.

Despite taking the same route ever day, I never tire of the sites before me: the red phone boxes lining Whitehall, and the lines of red buses which so often pass along the same street; the highly ornamented lamp-posts and building facades; and the flowers and verdant grass in the river-side gardens, including the old twisted tree whose branches have to be held up by huge crutches reminiscent of a painting by Dali. The charm of these sights are, like so many things, increased in the sunshine, and as we have been having many  blissful sunny days in London recently, the photos which follow are a small selection of the shots I took one particular morning as I took my usual stroll to work; coffee in hand, and this time my camera in the other. 

All photos and written content are strictly the copyright of Nicholas de Lacy-Brown © 2013 and The Daily Norm. All rights are reserved. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of the material, whether written work, photography or artwork, included within The Daily Norm without express and written permission from The Daily Norm’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. 

Summertime Sussex (Part 2) – Pre-birthday Garden Party

For me, the highlights of my childhood were the times spent outside in the spring and summer; my sister and I playing endless games such as flower fairies and thundercats in the daffodils, or picnicking under our lilac tree on a Sunday evening; sleeping in my tent on a damp dewy midsummer’s night; the smell of Avon suntan cream and the texture of my mother’s toweling dress; dragon flies hoping over the surface of our still reflective pond water, and the sound of their wings getting stuck underneath the netting which kept cats away from the fish. More recently, I’ve loved to indulge amongst privilege few in the elegant gardens of Glyndebourne opera, dressed up to the nines, a picnic basket in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other; and to this day my favourite thing in all the world is to dine al fresco.

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So being that it is approaching my birthday, and that this build up has fallen, fortuitously, within a period of unseasonably fine weather, I decided that when a visit to my family home in Sussex fell due, there could be no better way to celebrate my birthday that with an elegant garden party for all the family. This had parallels to a lavish do that I put on for my 12th birthday, when I transformed the garden into an Alice’s wonderland, painting a Cheshire cat to sit up in the tree, and bedecking the garden with playing card garlands. 18 years later, I got out that same, slightly tatty Cheshire cat that I painted as a boy, and sitting him in the very same, now slightly more slumped iris tree he sat in all those years ago, I went about decorating the rest of the garden for the occasion.

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The result was a slightly more elegant affair than the wonderland spectacular I conjured up all those years ago, and perhaps more suitable for the grand old 30 years I will reach on my birthday in two days time. Pearlescent balloons and large oversized paper chains that I made in the car journeying down from London (I wasn’t driving, I should note) were an easy but effective decorative option. But the real heart of the party of course was the table, where I wanted to build a focus while making the table cosy and intimate – something not easily achievable when dining out in the open air. This I did through the use of a large umbrella, from which I dangled single flower stems of every conceivable kind gathered from around the garden (much to my father’s horror). The result was an impromptu chandelier of flowers, forming an elegant canopy over the table and later reflecting the candlelight from the tealights set out in odd glasses on the table below.

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As for the dinner, well a barbeque made posh with all manner of Mediterranean salads and salsas and marinades delighted all family members present, but not nearly as much as the cake – something of a last minute gathering of a Marks and Spencer Percy Pig cake, surrounded by a mud bath of chocolate additions. Most importantly of all were every one of the required 30 candles, the heat from which made for our very own outside patio heater, at least for the short duration before my birthday wish extinguished them forever.

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So the moral of the post, apart from to show off my photos of course, is that with a  few single flower stems, an umbrella and a bit of ribbon or string, you can make a table centrepiece that will wow your guests before the food even hits the table.

All photos and written content are strictly the copyright of Nicholas de Lacy-Brown © 2013 and The Daily Norm. All rights are reserved. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of the material, whether written work, photography or artwork, included within The Daily Norm without express and written permission from The Daily Norm’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. 

Summertime Sussex (Part 1): Composition No. 6

One of the great things about gouache paint (the likes of which I rediscovered a few months back and am now totally in love with) is how quickly one can turn around a fairly detailed painting in a short space of time. Of course it helps that the paint dries within minutes of its application to the paper, allowing a detailed image to be swiftly executed. The result of this is that I am finding myself increasingly able to catalogue my life’s adventures in gouache paint, as well as through photography and the written word.

Consequently, no sooner had I finished off the last of my Provence-inspired gauche paintings, which in turned formed part of my “compositions series” (the idea behind the series being that the paintings follow a more abstract compositional styling rather than being constrained too heavily by accurate figurative representation), than I got to work on another, this time inspired by a short 24 hour trip I made to my home town of Worthing in Sussex for something of a pre-birthday celebration.

Composition No. 6 (Summertime Sussex: Taking a bathe) (2013 © Nicholas de Lacy-Brown, gauche on paper)

Composition No. 6 (Summertime Sussex: Taking a bathe) (2013 © Nicholas de Lacy-Brown, gouache on paper)

Having been languishing in the sultry summer sunshine of late, the UK has firmly entered the holiday season, and its many beaches have each become heavily populated by visitors taking dips in the English sea to cool off from the unseasonably high temperatures. The beach at Goring-by-Sea, the small suburb East of Worthing and where my family home is situated, is no exception. My mother and I headed down to the beach on a warm Saturday afternoon and, having made our way through the various groups of barbequing families, young children playing in the sand, and sun-lovers spreading themselves out in worship of the sun rays, we reached the shore whose waters were surprisingly warm and clear. Neither of us could resist a dip, and this 6th painting in my compositions series marks the moment when my mother was taking a bathe in the sea while I, looking after our things and taking in the surprisingly summery scene before me, sat on the water’s edge, this image building in my head.

The very next morning I began to sketch out the composition, complete with its curving wave-like forms and overlapping seaweed-covered groynes and within a few days it was done. The perfect testament to a perfect British summer’s day. I leave you with some photos of that little beach trip which, like my gouache, capture some essence of the British seaside in the summer.

© Nicholas de Lacy-Brown and The Daily Norm, 2001-2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of the material, whether written work, photography or artwork, included within The Daily Norm without express and written permission from The Daily Norm’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Nicholas de Lacy-Brown and The Daily Norm with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Provence Odyssey | Aix: Les Photos

Here at last, after some 22 posts and countless photographs, memories and verbose ramblings, I am finally at the end of my Provence Odyssey write up, with the last of my photograph collections. Of all the cities we visited in Provence, Aix exuded the most life, colour and pure unbridled spirit. While Aix had the pastels and warm colours of its fellow Provençal towns, these were combined with grand elegant palaces, wide boulevards, and an ever bustling abundance of cafes and shops, musicians and entertainers, and best of all a daily food market – a sight which made for such a stunning kaleidoscope of colours, sounds and smells that I could have devoted an entire post to it alone.

I know I sound like a broken record, but amongst these shots are easily some of my favourites of the trip – just check out those sunflowers, with their huge heavy complex faces, gathered in a bunch so rich in their abundance, their colour and sheer hopefulness that if they didn’t suit a room, it would be worth redesigning the room around them. Check out also the stunning old adverts which are painted onto numerous walls around the city, relics of an age when mass-marketing started coming to the fore, and when classic painted images predated the advent of photography. I also love some of the typical shots of life in the city, from the bride with her wedding dress all puffed up and ruffled, and the melancholy achordian player, singing his heart out in a tired little doorway.

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Shutters and fountains, roman artefacts and art nouveau palaces, renaissance sculptures and melancholy musicians – these photos tell the tale of a diverse city, which moves to the beat of its spirited undercurrent, but in doing so loses none of the charm which it exudes from its every fountain, square and boulevard.

This is Aix: My photos.

All photos and written content are strictly the copyright of Nicholas de Lacy-Brown © 2013 and The Daily Norm. All rights are reserved. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of the material, whether written work, photography or artwork, included within The Daily Norm without express and written permission from The Daily Norm’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. 

Provence Odyssey | Aix: Day 10 – Au revoir, not goodbye

As the saying goes, let us not say goodbye, but as the French have it, “Au Revoir!”, two words laced with the promise of a return, rather than the abject finality that accompanies the English alternative. Perhaps it is the romance of the French language which encourages such optimism in an otherwise sad parting, or the mere fact that the charm of France makes saying goodbye a near impossibility. Whatever the reason, as we prepared to bid Aix, and Provence farewell at the end of this incredible Provençal Odyssey, we knew, instinctively, that some day we would return. For despite the decent length of our journey, and the multiple sights seen and senses tickled, these days felt like a mere taster of a gigantic feast of pleasure still left undiscovered in Southern France, and for that reason alone, the assurance of a return tends towards reality.

With that ounce of optimism giving us back some bounce in our otherwise sad last steps in the incredible city of Aix, we were minded, as ever, to make the most of our last hours in the city, strolling, at times aimlessly, at others with purpose, in an attempt to take in the very last essence of this place before our departure.

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We started our day, perhaps rather morbidly, but yet appropriately I think, by following the last section of the city’s “Cézanne trail” towards the Cemetery of Saint Pierre where the great artist is buried. The visit felt appropriate, not just because, as the final resting place of so many people, it became somewhat symbolic of the end of our Provençal journey, but also because, having been inspired to visit Provence by the significant artistic connections it carries, it felt only right that we would pay homage to the father of them all in his final place of peace; a note of thanks to the father of modern art.

I’ve always rather liked cemeteries, particularly those in the Mediterranean, baked as they are by the glorious sunshine, yet emitting peace and tranquility amongst the shadows of dark cypress trees and pines. This cemetery was no different, providing an almost mesmeric experience as one walked from one elegant grave to another, aware of a family’s sadness in the multiple lives lost here, yet also feeling strangely at peace, somehow contented by the final rest of so many. The cemetery was much bigger than I had supposed, and looking up hill towards the far reaches of the site made for an incredible vista of crosses and little family mausoleums, collectively appearing like a great wave of stone and symbols.

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It took us some time to find the grave of Cézanne, a difficulty not helped by the lack of proper signage and the fact that he lies under a surprisingly innocuous gravestone when compared with many of his neighbours’ lavishly decorated headstones, and also strangely devoid of flowers or tributes from other visitors. This is perhaps testament to the sad lack of respect his city had for him in life, and yet he can lie in peace knowing how incredibly significant his life’s work has been for the art world since. Putting at least the lack of flowers to rights, I lay a simple sheaf of lavender upon his grave, feeling at that moment a great connection with the artistic heritage laid down by this man, an artist so often misunderstood but whose genius will live on forever, both in his own work and the work of countless others who followed in his wake.

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Heading back to civilisation for a final encounter with Aix’s bustling centre, we also felt as though we were resurrecting Cézanne along side us as we headed back to the world of the living. For strolling one last time down Aix’s most prominent avenue, the Cours Mirabeau, with its almost unbroken shelter of plane trees, we dropped in to the Café Les Deux Garçons, the very café where Cézanne would sit each evening to enjoy an aperatif, and where we now went about sipping our last coffee in Aix, gazing upon the chic residents of this city strolling past, breathing the warm fragrant air of Provence, and already planning how, and when we would return to this incredible part of France.

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And with that our Odyssey ended; a finale effected with such efficiency that it was almost as though our story ended just as it had begun. For with holidays like this, each and everyone of us has the opportunity to truly live a dream, and when, like any dream, you walk amongst the pages of its imagination, it feels so real – like there is no other world beyond. But as with every dream, at some point you must awaken, as reality floods back in with the harsh light of day. And so it was that our Odyssey ran dry at last, and London life took hold once again. But not completely. For with this blog, through my paintings, my photographs, and of course the sachets of lavender now to be found placed strategically around my flat, the essence of our Provençal Odyssey still lives on, and will continue to do so, sewing itself into the rich patchwork quilt of our memories which will continue giving us comfort for years to come.

Thank you all so much for reading and sharing in our journey. But it’s not quite over yet – come back tomorrow for my last Provence photo collection. Until then.

The Cours Mirabeau

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All photos and written content are strictly the copyright of Nicholas de Lacy-Brown © 2013 and The Daily Norm. All rights are reserved. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of the material, whether written work, photography or artwork, included within The Daily Norm without express and written permission from The Daily Norm’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. 

Provence Odyssey | Aix: Day 9 – In search of Cézanne

You know that you are approaching Aix when you see the looming multi-dimensional silhouette of the Mont Sainte-Victoire rising up over the horizon. Thanks to the multiple depictions of this magnificent mountain by the city’s most famous son, Post-Impressionist Paul Cézanne, the city of Aix-en-Provence, cosmopolitan gem of Southern France, together with its ever faithful mountainous backdrop, has been placed firmly on the cultural map of Europe. They say that one should leave the best till last, and this we surely did when we made Aix the last stop of our 10 day Provençal Odyssey.

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It became immediately clear that Aix is a busy, bustling city, with the sense of something chic and Parisian about it, but at the same time maintaining the sleepy charm of the Provence region. In Aix, the shutters and pastel colours seen across Provence are here in their multitudes, but instead of narrow little streets, here they decorate vast plazas and long tree-lined boulevards. Like the verdant rolling countryside around it, Aix is abundant with plan trees and cypresses, pine trees and olives, yet those trees cast their dappled light not upon fields, but over the exquisitely decorated facades of churches and palaces, of museums and grand cafes, and over the broad pavements which facilitate the art of strolling along shop-lined avenues. And best of all in Aix are the fountains. Said to be the “City of a Thousand Fountains”, the real number is thought to be closer to 100, but Aix is truly abundant in water, in dancing leaping and trickling water, all caught in the great basins of these baroque fountain sculptures, which are at the centre of every square and street.

Aix’s resplendent fountains…

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No wonder Aix is so magnificent – it was the capital of Provence one upon a time, and today is an international students’ town, full of culture, cafes and a general air of excitement. And of course one of the greatest pleasures about visiting Aix is to indulge in all that excitement on offer, to perambulate along its fashionable streets, and to sit by its many fountains, sipping upon a coffee or cooling down with an ice cream or two – more about that later. But my first priority on visiting this city was to discover its most famous resident, the somewhat reclusive artist but often called the Father of Modern Art – Paul Cézanne.

Cézanne grew up and spent most of his life in Aix. Of course he did make a trip or two to Paris, and it was there that he first discovered impressionism. However, it was in the heartland of Southern France that Cézanne really felt at home, and it was undoubtedly the rugged scenery of Provence and the immediate surroundings of Aix that helped to characterise Cézanne’s development from the dappled light of Impressionist works, to the rugged geometric depictions of his Post-Impressionist oeuvre. The origins of cubism had been born.

Cézanne’s Mont Sainte-Victoire

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Aix, perhaps predictably, relishes its connection with this foremost artistic genius (although sadly it didn’t at the time Cézanne was painting in the city) and today its tourist office provides an excellent and very comprehensive walking tour both through and around the city, picking up on all of the various places of relevance to both Cézanne and his family along the way. Sadly we did not have time to do the whole tour (although I think we may survive not seeing where Cézanne’s mother’s brother’s friend lived), not least because with Aix basking under the reflective glory of nearby Marseille’s status as European Capital of Culture 2013, there were plenty of cultural activities we wanted to pack into our short two-night stay. However, what we did prioritise was two integral aspects of Cézanne’s life and work in Aix: His studio, and the view of Mont Sainte-Victoire itself.

Cézanne’s studio 

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L’Atelier de Cézanne (the studio of Cézanne) is a good 20 minute walk uphill out of Aix, but it’s a walk taking the earnest visitor gradually out into the verdant pastures of suburban Aix, with views of the city growing gradually more impressive as the road rises. The studio itself provides an absolutely fascinating insight into Cézanne. It’s essentially just a one room museum devoted to Cézanne, but not a museum with story boards and animations – this is simply the artist’s studio, with the various props scattered around which he used in his many still life compositions. Of course Cézanne is as much famous for his still life depictions of apples and oranges as he is for the Mont Sainte-Victoire, but those paintings were more often than not depicting fruit clustered around other objects – old pots and bottles, and a broken mannequin.

It was consequently fascinating to walk into the studio and see before you those same objects which have now become so well-known to the art lover through Cézanne’s works. That broken mannequin for example was immediately recognisable from the Courtauld’s Still Life with Cherub, and there too were the skulls from his Pyramid of Skulls. It was also fascinating to see the methods of his work in this studio which still smells of oil paint and turpentine – his tall ladder to work on larger paintings, and a large vertical hole in the wall through which larger canvases such as his Bathers series (which were painted at this studio) could travel in and out. Meanwhile, outside of the little studio house, the overgrown gardens really give the impression of the kind of solitude and reclusiveness which Cézanne preferred to maintain throughout most of his working life.

Still Life with Cherub (1895)

Still Life with Cherub (1895)

The Basket of Apples (1890-1894)

The Basket of Apples (1890-1894)

The Pyramid of Skulls (1901)

The Pyramid of Skulls (1901)

Still Life, draper, pitcher and fruit bowl (1893-4)

Still Life, draper, pitcher and fruit bowl (1893-4)

The Bathers (1898-1905)

The Bathers (1898-1905)

Studio done, and the creative air of Cézanne breathed in deeply, we headed up hill for about another 20 minutes to visit what is now called “Le Terrain des Peintres” – literally Painter’s Ground – said to be the exact spot where Cézanne would go to paint the magnificent view of the Mont Sainte-Victoire. Today, the space takes the form of pleasantly manicured garden, with some reproductions of his paintings set around the walls of the gardens. But other than that, it is a quiet spot, blissfully free from the tourist hoards who frequented his studio, probably because of its distance from the city, and its lack of parking for coaches.

And the view? Just stunning. In that moment, turning around and catching the view of the glorious pastel-shaded mountain rising out of the field-covered horizon, I felt my breath sucked away from me as in this moment of epiphany I felt myself somehow drawn back into an artistic past – a period of artistic revolution, when the dominance of nature was recognised, when shape was reinvented, and when colour rose to the fore. For me, it was a highpoint of this Provençal Odyssey (both physically and metaphorically), the moment when I realised that  a whole century of artistic progression and development owes its dept to this place, to this artist, to the path from impressionism to cubism which he opened up through his genius and his insight, starting as he did so perhaps one of the most important revolutions of all time.

The magnificent Mont Sainte-Victoire

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More information on visiting Cézanne’s studio can be found here.

Provence Odyssey | Saint-Rémy: Les Photos

You’ll excuse the photo overload, but of all the photos taken on my Provence trip, I think Saint-Rémy inspired the very best. Below I enclose 30 more of my favourite shots from this stay of 3 nights in the midst of the Provençal countryside, and as those photos aptly portray, it was a time surrounded by the very best of Mediterranean nature, by the quintessentially French sights of street markets, of savon, and of cafes, and an opportunity to be exposed by the Provençal landscape at its very best.

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I think these photos pretty much stand alone in expressing the unbridled beauty of the region, and of the ravishing colours which met our every gaze. Of all the shots, I think the image of (what looked to be) a Monarch butterfly perched upon a lavender bushel is one of my favourites, the deep terracotta orange and black lace-like overlay resembling a wash of marmalade on toast upon a bed of the most fragrant lavender pillows. And then there were the bees and the cicadas, the buzzing of the former inescapable wherever lavender burst forth, and the chirping of the latter, the intrinsic accompaniment to paradise; the melody that partners a balmy Mediterranean afternoon.

From soft pony faces to the neon cerulean of a sun-dappled swimming pool, old rusty shop adverts to twisted freshly-harvested garlic bulbs, I present to you my third series of Provencal photo collections – Enjoy Saint-Rémy at its best, for we are off to Aix!

All photos and written content are strictly the copyright of Nicholas de Lacy-Brown © 2013 and The Daily Norm. All rights are reserved. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of the material, whether written work, photography or artwork, included within The Daily Norm without express and written permission from The Daily Norm’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. 

Provence Odyssey | Saint-Rémy: Day 8 – Picture-Perfect Provence

Much has been said about the surroundings of Saint-Rémy – the startling archeological remains of Glanum on its outskirts, the tranquil beauty of the Hospital of Saint Paul de Mausole, and the incredible beauty of nearby Les Baux – but I have said very little about the little town of Saint-Rémy itself. And it would be unfair not to give this little Provençal gem its fair mention, even though, as perhaps the photos below will demonstrate, the beauty of this town is better illustrated through photos than words.

For Saint-Rémy is one of those picture-perfect little towns about which the guidebooks rave, and the midwinter daydreamer, wrapped up against the cold, can only dream: A town of only 8 or 9 main streets, each winding around a charming central square with a trickling fountain at its centre, and a single local café covering the old cobbles with tables and umbrellas for those seeking solace from the sun. Radiating out from this centre point are clusters of little boulangeries, fish shops and delicatessens, while gift shops sell stylish selections of Marseille soap and bundles of lavender, all wrapped up and ready to go home where their sweet floral scent will imbue even the most dreary of homes with a Provençal perfume.

Saint-Rémy streets

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Between the little boutiques, an impressive selection of high-end galleries are to be found – for Saint-Rémy has built itself a reputation as a rather chic Provençal destination, a town whose souvenir shops sell well-packaged, pastel-toned quality nicknacks of France, rather than the garish trade of lesser towns. And in its restaurants, freshly made cakes and pastries line up in the windows like the latest models of a fashion show, and menus de jour almost sparkle with pumped up prices and all the pomp of the promised culinary show.

Chic boutiques

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Yes, Saint-Rémy is truly a gem of Provence, a town which is small enough to be unspoilt, charming and deeply atmospheric, yet sufficiently well-developed on the tourist map to bear all of the hallmarks of a sophisticated polished holiday destination. We were pretty much enamoured by the town from our first walk through its centre – by the narrow little streets, the delicately perfumed shops, the pastel-coloured shutters, old shop signs and bustling street markets. And on this, our last day in the town, we returned to those now accustomed haunts, once again gazing through the windows of the little boutique shops, enjoying the gentle pitter-patter of water in the fountain outside the town hall, and having a noisette or two (macchiato coffee) in the shady central square.

In short, we had found picture-perfect Provence, and were determined to make the most of it. For later that day, our planned departure would whisk us away once again, voyaging south to our final destination: the city of Aix. But before that, I leave you with some more of my photographic moments. Adieu.

All photos and written content are strictly the copyright of Nicholas de Lacy-Brown © 2013 and The Daily Norm. All rights are reserved. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of the material, whether written work, photography or artwork, included within The Daily Norm without express and written permission from The Daily Norm’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. 

Provence Odyssey | Saint-Rémy: Day 6 – In search of Van Gogh (Part 2)

As Van Gogh neared the final climax of his prematurely shortened life, his movements around France, and the paintings which resulted, became more and more dominated by his health needs. In May 1889, after his famous ear self-mutilation incident in Arles and the hospital stay which followed, Van Gogh moved to Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, some 20 miles North-East of Arles in the foothills of the Alpilles mountains, in order to voluntarily commit himself into the care of an asylum. That asylum was the hospital of Saint Paul-de-Mausole, set within the tranquil grounds of a former monastery to the south of Saint Remy, and was where Van Gogh set up home, with one room and an adjoining studio, for the next year of his life. Come May 1890, Van Gogh was off again in pursuit of medical assistance, moving to his final destination of Auvers-sur-Oise, this time to be nearer to Dr Paul Gachet. He would be dead some 3 months later.

Despite the nature of what some could see as a mental crisis dictating Van Gogh’s relocation to Saint-Remy, there are two undeniable factors about his stay in the town and the output that resulted. The first is that the asylum and the town to which he relocated are both exceptionally beautiful examples of Provence at its finest. The second is that, understandably, the paintings which resulted from this time are some of Van Gogh’s very best.

Painted in Saint-Rémy…

Wheatfield with Cypresses

Wheatfield with Cypresses

Irises

Irises

Mountainous landscape behind the hospital Saint Paul

Mountainous landscape behind the hospital Saint Paul

The Olive Trees

The Olive Trees

Cypresses

Cypresses

It was consequently to Saint Remy that we proceeded on this third leg of our Provence Odyssey, as much guided by the promise of a pretty mid-countryside town as by the legacy of Van Gogh which seeps into its very foundations. While a stroll around the pretty boutique-filled village proved that the town is abundant with its own Provençal charms, albeit on a far smaller scale than Avignon or Arles before it, it was in pursuance of Van Gogh’s story that we begun our explorations of Saint-Rémy, and the out of town stroll which this trail required.

Unlike Arles, whose exploration of the Van Gogh story left me somewhat wanting (there were postcards sure, and a café mock up on the Place du Forum, but where were the museums, the recreations of paintings, the story?), Saint-Rémy’s small but ample tourist office provides an excellent self-guided Van Gogh walking tour, which takes you out of the village and into the stunning surrounding countryside, in order to visit the Saint Paul-de-Mausole asylum where Van Gogh lived, and see recreations of his many Saint-Rémy based paintings along the route.

Right where he painted it - the Van Gogh walk brings his paintings to life

Right where he painted it – the Van Gogh walk brings his paintings to life

Van Gogh's hospital bed and easel

Van Gogh’s hospital bed and easel

Taking this route, we were delighted with the pastures new before us, strolling as we were along small residential and field-lined roads which we may never otherwise have discovered. While much of the landscape is a little more developed now than it might have been in VG’s day, as we neared the asylum, wide expanses of olive tree-lined fields started to open up before us, and with the wild craggy outline of the Alpilles mountains in the backdrop, and swirly dark cypress trees popping up all over the landscape, it really started to feel as though some of Van Gogh’s most famous landscape paintings were coming to life before our very eyes. For as the little VG walk soon made clear, the artist produced some of his best works in this little town, painting at his swirliest (for example his famous Starry Night and his depiction of cypress trees and swirly leafed olive trees) and his most imaginative.

Painted in the Saint Paul hospital…

Trees in the Garden of the Hospital Saint Paul

Trees in the Garden of the Hospital Saint Paul

The gardens of Saint Paul hospital

The gardens of Saint Paul hospital

The gardens of Saint Paul hospital

The gardens of Saint Paul hospital

Stone Bench in the garden of Saint Paul

Stone Bench in the garden of Saint Paul

Entrance Hall of Saint Paul

Entrance Hall of Saint Paul

And no wonder. As we turned into the high-stone walled gardens of Saint Paul-de-Mausole, filled with multi-coloured flowers moving slowly in the light breeze, I could not help but feel inspired myself. This reaction only grew, as we wandered through the former monastery, gazing in wonder and the beautiful sun drenched cloister, and then, behind the building, the stunningly manicured Provencal gardens, loaded with rows of lavender, sunflowers and poppy fields, creating the kind of floral backdrop which would have had Van Gogh painting feverishly all day long.

The landscapes and the hospital that inspired Van Gogh…

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With only a camera to hand, Dominik and I met our own inspiration through the medium of photography, taking hundreds of photos of the flowers, the lavender, the old monastery and the surrounding landscapes, strolling around the gardens, mesmerized by the scent of flowers, and the low murmuring of hundreds of bees buzzing around the lavender bushes. This was true Provence – the true stunning countryside that the guidebooks had all promised.

Eventually we broke away, not only from the asylum, but also from our Van Gogh trail, for what we found just down the road from Saint Paul was an entirely unexpected, quite stunning historical treat – a find of such exciting archeological proportions that I’m going to devote an entire post to it! For that – see you tomorrow. And in the meantime, I leave you with the lavender, the poppies, the olive trees and the sunflowers that so inspired Van Gogh, and now me in equal measure.

Provence at its finest…

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A demain.

All photos and written content are strictly the copyright of Nicholas de Lacy-Brown © 2013 and The Daily Norm. All rights are reserved. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of the material, whether written work, photography or artwork, included within The Daily Norm without express and written permission from The Daily Norm’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. 

 

Provence Odyssey | Avignon to Arles: Day 3 – From Popes to Emperors

When I was considering an itinerary for our Provence tour this summer, it felt a bit like closing my eyes and pinning a pin on the donkey. With so much beauty ripe for exploration, where on earth would we go? One of the first factors was transport – not wanting to incur the costs of hiring a car, nor least the fear factor of driving on the opposite side of the road, we had to be in places that were public transport accessible. And given that we were taking the Eurostar down from London, Avignon – the first Provence stop on the high-speed line – seemed like a very good place to start. But beyond that, the rolling purple hills of Provence were very much our oyster, so to speak. So following my great passion for art, I decided to plan our itinerary following something of an art historical theme, taking the trail from Arles, which today has become synonymous with both Van Gogh and Picasso (who loved the bullfighting there while in exile from his beloved Spain), and onto Saint Remy de Provence – where Van Gogh self-admitted into an asylum, and finally ending up at Aix-en-Provence, the city of Cezanne, and this year a key player in the Marseille-Provence European City of Culture festivities.

Starting off a new day

Starting off a new day

So today it was onto Arles, the city famous for being the location of so many of Van Gogh’s paintings, from his Yellow House and Night over Arles, to his iconic sunflowers, and for generally being the reason why his paintings metamorphosed so markedly from the dull browns of Holland to the bright vivid colours of Provence. But it’s a city famous too for its Roman heritage – the great Roman amphitheatre standing at its heart is one of the best preserved amphitheatres from Roman times, and has literally dictated the shape of the town, whose streets wind so perceptively around it. But before we wind back the clock from medieval Avignon to Roman Arles, let me take a moment to bid a farewell to Avignon, whose charming ancient streets bore further fruit on this morning of our departure – a few hours further to explore this surprising city before our 20 minute train journey south to Arles departed at 2pm.

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Indeed, before parting with Avignon, further treats were indeed in store. For a day which started off with a deliciously simple, vividly colourful and dangerously buttery breakfast at another typical local bar continued with similar sensual ravishment, as we walked out towards the city’s old dyers district, where the tiny River Sorgue emerges from underground and runs alongside the Rue des Teinturiers reminiscent of a dutch canal. In the glinting sunshine, this street was charm in urban form, providing the perfect platform for a laid back and tranquil walk along the very manifestation of the old historical city itself.

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But just as the River Sorgue pours outwards into the wider dominant Rhône, so too did we head to that same main artery of the city, bidding adieu to this city by crossing the river on a bridge that is, mercifully, in one piece, in order to capture the best vantage point of Avignon, which of course had to include the Papal Palace and the famous broken Pont d’Avignon. Photographs collated, and luggage picked up, we headed to the city of Arles, back a few centuries to the time when the Roman Empire extended its special brand of classical civilisation to what was then savage Gaul, and developed towns such as Arles into little gems glinting on the far reaches of the empire.

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Just as all roads are supposed to lead to Rome, so too do the narrow maze-like streets of Arles descend upon the imposing form of this almost perfectly intact amphitheatre, and it was to this great monument that our paths inevitably led within hours of our arrival in the city. Into the great monument we went, which in stark contrast to Rome’s iconic amphitheatre, is very much in use for bull fights and other theatrical festivities, so consequently what we were viewing was an auditorium in the round, set up with a floating metal seating structure, away from the now ancient and only partially constituted former seating of the original stadium. Like any amphitheatre, the building doesn’t differentiate much from one arch way to another, but walking around the great 360 degree structure was attraction enough to enable us to appreciate the magnificence of this surviving structure, and revel in this modern day connection back to our ancient past.

C'est Moi - at the Amphitheatre

C’est Moi – at the Amphitheatre

Having had our fill of Arles’ beating heart, we could do little else but take in the inherent character and charm of this city, whose houses are similarly shuttered like those in Avignon, but somehow more colourful and often more decorative. Arles lacks the great impactful squares which Avignon boasts, but that is because here, a city has very clearly developed around history, rather than making history in its own construction as in Avignon. The result is a maze-like development, which is not always straightforward to explore, but getting lost in these charming narrow streets is half the fun of the adventure. And ripe for adventure this city surely is, a venture now begun in this second leg of our Provence Odyssey.

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More from Arles, coming soon.

All photos and written content are strictly the copyright of Nicholas de Lacy-Brown © 2013 and The Daily Norm. All rights are reserved. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of the material, whether written work, photography or artwork, included within The Daily Norm without express and written permission from The Daily Norm’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.