Today I am going to try to satisfy two itches with one scratch: I am posting travel photos AND a painting. So there. A couple of weeks ago, Stoney and I took a weekend in Provence. Ish. We revisited the Pont du Gard, the highest and one of the best preserved Roman aquaducts surviving.
We stayed in a truly lovely little hotel north of Arles, between the Pont du Gard and St. Remy, our other destination. I can recommend the Hotel Mistral. Although the proprietor spoke English, he willingly conversed with me in French when I asked for help practicing. Very lovely location.
My goal was a pilgrimage to St Remy and the steps of Van Gogh, sort of a completion of the one begun with Sherry in Arles. The difference here was a cleaner, prettier, more touristy town, with a LOT less connection between the photos and the actual scenes. To some extent this is the fault of much growth for St Remy, but some is just that they little placards were placed to lead you up to the sanitarium where Van Gogh convalesced more than to inform his paintings.
The St. Paul Asylum/monastery was well worth the trek up the hill on this trail, though. It is still a working art therapy center, and had not only giant tableaus of Van Gogh’s paintings on the garden walls and elsewhere, but also paintings and other artwork by modern patients. We were greeted by a bronze statue of Van Gogh titled “The Sunflower Thief.”
We also got to see, supposedly, Van Gogh’s room at the asylum, or at least one made up to be. It very well could have been, as the views of the gardens from the windows on that floor seemed kind of familiar.
We had a lovely time, bought interesting chocolates at a renown shop that still couldn’t compare with Cocoa Dolce back home, and was only spoiled a little by the girl who didn’t understand or care that I really CAN’T eat wheat flour in my sarrasin crepe galette. I only ate the insides, but was still sick enough the next day that I almost lost my breakfast in the car on the drive back.
And speaking of the drive back, we made a detour to see the famous Camargue wetlands. What we saw were a LOT of horses and lovely salt-grasses, and rice fields, but no flamingoes. A little disappointing. But we walked the beach at Saintes Maries de la Mer, where the sun was risen but low, and the clouds were low, toying with the sun, wispy and kind of like cheeks filling and emptying, blowing long and softly. The sun sparkled on the sea like diamonds that were floating above the water, just out of reach. And the rocks and sand were so solid, anchoring us to the ground, very different in feeling. I tried to paint this scene, but all the greys turned purple and blue for me, and the dark, dirty sand turned almost golden for me, and I love the painting. It is really reflective of the way the morning made me feel.
And there you go. I had fun with this. I hope you like it, too.