Languedoc-ROUSSILLON August 2018

We went to see some good friends marry in a small village near Aniane. Both painters (and neither spring chickens it's fair to say) they had waited patiently and worked hard for the day when they could finally get up every morning and paint in the south of France. Their 18th century village house was rustic but they each had a good sized atelier at the very top. Climbing dark, uneven stairs to survey the studios I was hit by the smell of linseed oil, not in the nose but in the solar plexus! Such a powerfully evocative scent, of creativity, fun and even freedom. I was deeply envious and also brimming with happiness for my friends.

It was a lovely wedding, informal and full of family members gathered from all corners of the globe. Walking out and around the village at siesta time, the heat was intense and the smell of the fig trees and rosemary in the lanes was intoxicating. Like us, they'd had no significant rain for months and I was reminded of Jean de Florette and the knife edge existence of a farmer in drought. Fais qu'il pleuve...

Puechabon

Puechabon