One afternoon last week, Harika and I hobbled along the burning hot pavement to sit in the Market Area on Boulevard Raspail.  We go around the block, rue d’Assas, a little stretch of Cherche-Midi (Harika runs),  then find our bench beneath the trees at the Raspail market (in business Tuesday, Friday and Sunday mornings).  It was 90+degrees at 4 in the afternoon.

The armatures and awnings for the market  stands are shared between the markets at Raspail and Edgar Quinet, near Montparnasse.   A flat bed truck, commandeered by four very large black Africans and a Arab driver, ferry the equipment the eight blocks between the two (they have other gigs, as well).    They set the uprights, add the connector bars and finally put the awnings, rolled up, into place.  They must be very strong men, because all the bars are made of steel, very heavy.

This day, they discovered the large upright water spigot for the market:  one man fashioned a tool, and the next thing you knew water burst forth from the aperture where there is usually a faucet.  Wildness ensued:  these men, wearing surprisingly heavy jackets (maybe to protect themselves from the hot metal),  stuck their heads into the stream, creating a spreading effect of the water.  They scrubbed their heads, washed out their mouths; some took off their jackets and doused their shirts.  It was pandemonium and pure joy, culminating in each filling his cap with water, clapping it onto his head, and sadly, shutting off the tap.   Harika and I both went and stood, bare footed, in the remaining water.   

Yes, it’s been city hot here.  We rented a car and drove out to the country one day, to work on a “bid” for twenty workshop painters at Giverny next October.   We stopped along the way, looking for place to launch Monet’s painting boat (that’s heating up, too).  Harika and I dunked into the Seine at Vernon (she up to her chest, me just to my knees – I worry about getting that water inside of me).    It is hard to find “natural” swimming around Paris – there are umpteen pools, but who wants to swim in water fish can’t live in? 

On Friday, we spent the afternoon beneath our favorite tree in the bois de Boulogne, counting the insects and the breezes that passed. 

Laurie and Blair PESSEMIER
PS.  sold 31 out of 34 of our paintings at auction on Friday!

Sorry I'm late at putting this up, so much has been happening politically. We must fight for our country.
Artnotes: a Laugh in the Night
​   With three days in a row off this week, we hopped in a rental car for a trip to the Normandy woods.   I used to recall driving near the Foret de Brotonne, and gazing into a deep dark forest.   It was not quite as good as I remembered, but we did manage to paint a couple of tree pictures while we were there. 
   We slept overnight in a chaumiere:  a thatch-roofed cottage.  It was on a property with sheep (Harika seemed shocked at their size -- maybe she’s not a Pyrenees sheep dog after all) and chickens, apple trees and towering poplars.  The house was a solid structure, neat as a pin, everything in working order – and no sirens, car accidents or singing drunks all night long.  But it wasn’t as romantic as our own home.
   At first I was thrilled, but then I felt uneasy with the silence of the place.  I have always disliked living in a single-family house, and miss the comforting noise of a neighbors step in the hall, a door closing, a laugh in the night.   
   The days have blended together recently.  I can’t slow down enough to think, to pick out the details of life. I seem in a mad dash toward making a living, and in doing so am barely aware of what’s going on around me.    I might try mind-mapping events – I do that sometimes, and a friend recently  sent his own mind-map memory of his visit with us.
   I painted this week with a student who just couldn’t  ‘let go of the string’. She is a good painter, but so aware of what’s she’s doing she couldn’t soar into the magic realm.  It hearkens to my own insomnia, and the inability to break the thinking process.
   The Andre Malraux museum at nearby  le Havre was featuring a deStael show.  The museum itself is fabulous – flooded with natural light, right on the water.  DeStael was wonderful as ever – he provides that step between life and abstraction in color and form.  It was such an ideal show, we sat outside afterward trying to see the same way as him.
   ​We drove to St Valery en Caux, where stormy waves broke over the jetties:  we walked in pouring rain.  We visited Etratat, with its stony beach and white cliffs.  But I felt most happy when we left the woods and went to Trouville. Harika and I ran on the sandy beach.  I really love the ocean.

Don: Good luck with your auction in OH.

Good Times
“Keep left then bear right”, our GPS ordered as we negotiated a winding country road.  We took a wrong turn, the machine froze.  Behind the technology wave, we still use our portable GPS plugged into the cigarette lighter of the rental car. The GPS works, at least most of the time. 

This week’s workshops took us to a remote chateau, an hour north of Paris.  A family, 18, wanted to paint –we ended up with 8 serious painters.    They were the COOLest of clients – a super fabulous chateau, artists between the ages of 6 and 60, painting on the terrace, and lunch.  Our client was a journalist, and we talked about right and wrong, and what mattered.  Wonderful stuff.

We had a painter this week from Detroit, two from Canada, two from Texas, a five-day workshop with someone from South Carolina, and today, Sunday, a really great young painter from Philadelphia.  We are exhausted, but I feel we are hitting our stride.    I am really enjoying painting with such a variety of people – our own paintings are here and there – I try to find new ways to look at the same scene.

The last two days have been cold and rainy – we’re painting under the bridge, near the Seine; in the pavilion at the Luxembourg Gardens.   Our young painter painted me as a second subject:  hat and raincoat.

Our five day workshop is on the modified American plan (does anyone remember going on vacation that way?  Here in France we call it demi-pension:  one meal a day at our house).   June and July are the months we have all of our guests, it seems.  We are drinking champagne and eating  hors d'oeuvres, letting the good times roll.

Artnotes: Eggs-actly

Over 300 people visited our show in Yerres last weekend.  One  of us painted outside the 18th century gatekeeper’s cottage:  the “hook” to draw people in.   We put our big yellow ART flag in the limbs of the little leaf linden out front and made a sign.  Browsers walked down the wood and stone path to the yard where we had about thirty works on display.

Beneath centuries-old trees on the banks of the river, we visited with people from all over France.  Harika lounged in the grass and we all hoped for a breeze, which obliged every so often.  I painted a picture of the house.  Sales weren’t robust, but we had a terrific time.   We drove back to Paris on Tuesday, relaxed and sated with country life.   Harika had to be dragged back into our apartment.

It has been pretty warm in Paris, and we bought an airconditioner, which will hopefully work once successfully installed.  Because we have “French” windows, we can’t really vent it there, so we have stuffed the exhaust hose up the chimney of the fireplace.   Now we need to “block”’  the bottom to prevent the heat from re-entering the room.  Nothing is ever simple here.

We had just one workshop painter this week, our last easy week of the summer.  We painted in the Luxembourg gardens, where we were plagued with chatty Americans wanting to visit.  Clearly not artists, they simply couldn’t understand that painting requires concentration – and that the joy of the experience lies in how far away one can be transported on the brush.  I must hone my technique for gently chasing people away.

Last night, over a cold dinner (my southwest facing kitchen is brutally hot, so I cook early in the day)  we visit with American and French friends.    On the way to painting this morning (just us), I tell Blair how glad I am that so much of my life was spent without a cell phone.  I love visiting around the dinner table.  I know how to say hello on the street, and read people’s expressions and body language.  I can’t always write a note or a letter that says how I really feel.   

While painting on the grass before Napoleon’s tomb, I visit with two Germans.  There are broken eggs all over the area.   He bemoans, “these kids” who are just wild.  But I tell him it’s only eggs.

Don: I added the bottom picture because it reminded me of Lauri's work in another medium.

Don) Today's paintings are about color, that's why I use Laurie's work, she paints with primary colors, mixes what she wants and is a good cook. Blair joined her a couple of years back, his work is more contemporary and fast enough now to join Laurie. He used to paint like me, very detailed. Neither of them use black pigment so I post both of them.

Art Notes: False Start
On the banks of the Seine, I set to drawing Henry IV on his horse.  Not only are horses difficult for me, but this horse seems to have a funny hoof.  No matter, it looks like I am drawing two men in a horse suit, with a too long gumby leg up front.  Henry seems to have a hunchback.  I move on to another subject. 

It’s been a week of false starts – we needed a car to go to Auvers-sur-Oise with a painter on Wednesday, so I rented a compact for a week (1 day 42 euros; 1 week 91).
Don) I'm glad Laurie now has students, she can rent cars, back when - she had to paint where she could walk or bus to.

It rained all morning in Auvers-sur-Oise.  Harika, who LOVES the country, chose the car after the “Vincent walked here” dousing along the path between fields and church.   Too wet to paint, Blair and our colleague visited Vincent’s room in the Hotel Ravoux.  I dried my wet pants and socks in the car.  Still too rainy to paint, we took our fellow artist to lunch.  Our hostess, bedecked in rat fur capelet tied with black grosgrain ribbon, welcomed us.  A sort of Edith Piaf gone to seed, she has been operating the restaurant for fifty-five years.  She has an assistant, another vintage woman, in the kitchen.  The place is lined in peeling imitation-van-gogh murals executed by one of her contemporaries in an early year.  They are now covered with newer paintings, on canvas, but still with a Vincent theme.  I ask about the bringing in Harika:  “I’ll beat her if she doesn’t behave,” she tells me, poker faced, and winks.   We have a big assorted appetizer plate, one quail, two rabbit legs, and a giant mound of au gratin potatoes, an aperitif, wine, apple tart and coffee:    48 for the three of us, and we’re on our way.  Eventually, the rain lets up and we paint Van Gogh’s city hall.
Don) I guess Van Gogh is my all time favorite artist, we lead similar lives, painting is number one and always on location. Laurie is like that too, she pushes her color with "color impressionism". She can make any color and chooses to make color brighter and more pure. She can't draw as well as Blair, Gogh or I, but we would not use a red tree when there is only a hint of red in the natural lettings.

Next day, we intended to go to Nimes, by car.  I searched the internet for just the right place to stay, to no avail.  We went anyway.   Two hours out of town, we changed our mind.  We stopped to visit the town of Auxerre, to walk Harika and stretch our own legs, before turning back.

Auxerre was a place I never thought of visiting.  It has a strong waterfront presence on the river Yonne.  A gallo-roman city, again it thrived again in medieval times.  We visited the church with a beautiful Joan of Arc window, and the ancient abbey.  Joan of Arc freed Auxerre from English rule in 1429.  Auxerre is in the region of Burgundy, and is famous for chablis (a much nicer wine than what we think of as chablis in the USA).
Don) When I think of Joan of Arc I think of Ferdinand Victor Eugène Delacroix and his painting and what he said in his journal, Gray is the enemy of painting. He meant don't use black pigment.

On Friday, we visited an exhibit at the Beaux-Arts museum in Rouen.  The theme was gothic cathedrals:  gothic seems to have a revival every so many years, so we saw works ranging from original bits of the churches, to “cathedral” themed decoration from the 1800s, to the pictures Monet painted of the cathedral in Rouen at different times of the day.  Marquet painted images of Notre Dame in Paris in the 1910s; Lyonel Feninger in the 20s.    Saturday was the fete of Joan of Arc, who was burned in Rouen in 1431.   Posters and announcements hung everywhere.
Don) That's what I love about Laurie, she knows her stuff and tells us about it. Too bad we don't burn politicians today.
   We drove on, to the country, in hopes of seeing flax (linen) in bloom.  It has a delicate blue flower.  We were two weeks too early.
Don) This week we have jacarandas blooming, I know what it's like being dependent on nature for timing.
I didn't know flax had blue flowers. http://www.realcolorwheel.com/jacaranda2014kulaglen5-5-14.htm 

Painting by the Seine on Saturday was a mix of cool and damp, with a little sun.  The rain held off until noon, allowing us time to paint a picture of the Pont Neuf, the oldest bridge in Paris.
Don) When I was on the road painting I didn't hesitate if it was raining. I had a sun/rain shield on my van, an overhead tarp I could erect in the woods and sun/rain umbrella for everyday location work. Rain and clouds are artists friends, but you have to stay prepared.

Artnotes: Week Unique
We spent all this week painting: in our usual workshop haunts, but with the fresh eyes of a new season.   The great thing about painting is, even in the same place, light and angles and scenes all look new.

We painted ponies and boules players in the Luxembourg Gardens.  We stood beneath the Pont des Arts with the added insurance of umbrellas, hung upside down on the bridge rafters, as we painted the river.  We sat BEHIND Notre Dame, where tourists rarely go, and painted the ever so complex cathedral – what were we thinking?  A man from Norway, a teacher, spoke to me about his “kids” who wanted to know why paintings cost so much.  I explained a painting was a unique item, which was the work of a single person, in touch with the subject, which could never be replicated.  It is a single moment in the universe.  His wife dragged him away.

Giverny was remarkably sunny – and there we ran into a friend who didn’t have a reservation for after-hours, but we had an extra slot.  So, photographer Meredith Mullins took this great picture of Blair’s painting.

Auvers-sur-Oise was a bit rainy, so we just walked around/drove around, imagining Vincent Van Gogh.   At Dr Gachet’s house, we looked at letters in Vincent’s very own hand.

When Friday rolled around, we brought one guest to the airport, and with the other, drove twenty further minutes to the chateau of Chantilly. Chantilly belonged to the Conde family for much of its history (the history goes up and down, with the chateau being destroyed/rebuilt/destroyed/rebuilt).   At one time, it had an art collection which was only second to the Louvre.  Now, it has some very choice pieces including work by Raphael and Ingres – but I find the collection of portrait miniatures and the library (which now houses (sadly just a facsimile of) the Duc de Berry’s “tres riches heures”) to be most interesting.  Chantilly’s gardens were designed by le Notre, and there is an actual water-filled moat.  Chantilly, however, is most noted for its stables. 

The seventh prince of Conde built royal stables, which, at one time housed 280 horses and 150 dogs.  This time, we saw about a dozen horses and a Jack Russell terrier – but the stables, and the ring (with a 28 meter high dome, hosting daily shows of dressage at 11 AM) remain.  There is also a racecourse.  The prince was convinced he (and his friends) would be reincarnated as horses, so he wanted to be sure they had decent digs:  they are.

After we dropped our painter off at the airport, Blair and I returned to paint le Notre’s gardens, under a rainy/sunny sky.

Don: When I was younger I could never remember the words of a song, so I remembered the popular song of the day. "Chantilly lace with a pretty face and a pony tail hanging down, with a wiggle in her walk and a giggle in her talk, made the world go round and round." I still only know the words to one song, Chantilly Lace. I wonder if there is a connection?

On Monday, I found four packages of hair dye on top of the trash container near the pharmacy – two were my shade!  I took all four – maybe I’ll feel like a change some day.  We colored my hair at once, I cut it myself, and voila, a new me for free.

We took our first trip of the season to Giverny.  Monet’s gardens were incredibly beautiful, so early in the season.  Every shade of tulip was in bloom, from deep butterscotch to red so bright it hurt your eyes.   We didn’t paint tulips, but rather the choice of our workshop painters:  the bridge, festooned with wisteria, just starting to bloom.

The show at the Impressionist museum at Giverny was truly fabulous:  John Singer Sargent at his best, Whistler, Twachtman, William Merritt Chase…  Blair’s favorite was a work by Sargent of Monet painting, and Monet’s painting hanging beside it.   I was so glad our group wanted to go an hour early to be sure to see everything.

It also reminded me that Giverny was not just the home of Claude Monet, but “a  lively colony of mostly American artists who travelled to France  at the end of the 19th century to take in the newest developments in art, especially impressionism.”

I envisioned a relaxing next day, painting on our own, but painting the river is a bigger challenge than I  imagined.  We took the 20 minute train ride from Paris to the Caillebotte estate and park in Yerres.   From our arrival at Gare de Lyon to our arrival at the park itself was more like an hour, but it was a great trip.  We are now offering that excursion as part of our painting workshops (http://bit.ly/1i40udL).

Harka, Blair and I lounged by the river and painted a couple of canvasses.  Young families and old people filled the park, and it was hard to believe it was a weekday in April.  We boarded the train back to Paris at five o’clock, tired from playing outdoors all day.

This week we visited “unseen” France.  We started out in Bennencourt, a small village across the Seine from the Normandy highway, not far from Giverny.   Here, Harika and I poked about near the river, while Blair chatted up “Jacques” about places to launch a boat and rent a small studio.   Jacques had lived all his life between Paris and Rouen.  He was most discouraging about the boat.  “Before the war, and during the war, everyone had a boat, but then no one wanted them anymore.  They are “out of fashion”, and besides that, there are the authorities”, he moaned.  This sort of discouragement is endemic here, which makes the eventual achievement of the goal even more satisfying.

He sent us on to Roche-Guyon, 5 kilometers down the road.   Here we ate a terrific lunch at the Les Bords de Seine, and painted pictures by the river.  Harika rolled on newly-mown grass and drank water from the river (yes, she’s still alive).  Roche-Guyon is known for its 12th century chateau, which incorporates the rocky hillside into its structure.  The castle is quite impressive, not clearly beautiful.  Field-marshal Rommel used it as his headquarters in the fight against the Allies in Normandy.  There is a magnificent organic orchard across the street, open to the town citizens (550).  Roche-Guyon was an interesting place to visit, but came up null on the rental house or boat launch fronts.  I might eat there again.

We visited Vertheuil, where Monet once lived; we painted at Les Andelys, an island in the Seine.  On April 1, we turned south to Barbizon and the Loing river, but the joke was on us:  we weren’t as happy there, and the one house we inquired about did not respond to our messages.

Harika got gobs of exercise, and we breathed clean air.  Our best bet for a studio at Etretat, where we could rent an entire house for less than 500 euros a month.  Unfortunately, it was further than we wanted to go:  2-1/2 hours by train; the 120 euros round trip train fare really squelched it.

We had a wonderful adventure looking around for our house/studio in the country. To get the ball rolling often results in a solution down the road.  Meanwhile, we can get an air filter for our city apartment as we await the keys to our castle. 

Don) Blair did a fine job with his "ariel perspective"
Don) I wonder hoe much 500 euros a month is?

The best way to write is just to start writing.  It’s that way for lots of stuff, I think.  Yesterday we painted with four students and their teacher in the Luxembourg Gardens.  It took effort to pick the scene and get started.  First attempts weren’t perfect, but as we pressed on, we produced some wonderful paintings.

On Wednesday morning, we drove home from our wonderful two day sojourn at the Baie de la Somme.   While we were there, I saw so many birds – following fish from the sea to the river.   The Bay of the Somme is famous for migrating birds and huge sections of the land are set aside for preservation.  It wasn’t unusual to see hundreds of birds in the sky.  Our room in Saint Valery sur Somme looked out on the river, where the tide was significant each day.  Birds would ride the incoming or outgoing current, rushing along.  Others scooped out fish, whenever the occasion arose.

This put me in the mind of river fish, fresh water fish, something I rarely see in the market.  So for our guests on Friday night, I selected two “Fera”, deep water lake fish found only in the lakes on the French/Swiss border.  We had scallops as a starter (in a blue cheese and whiskey (for want of bourbon) sauce), followed by this white fish which I poached in a white wine and served with roasted potatoes and leeks.  My cousin’s daughter and her friend came over – both young and brave with ideas about many things.  Good eaters.  She (my second cousin) is such a confident person, I sometimes feel she is more grown up that me.   It was lots of fun.

Artnotes: Observer
Spring has tumbled down like a ton of bricks here in Paris.  Suddenly, people are back on the street:  flower sellers, babies in carriages, lovers hand-in-hand.  We are eating outside whenever possible.  It is predicted to be 20C/68F degrees today.

There is a steady stream of “flaneurs” passing by our gallery at 102, rue de Cherche-Midi.  Many come in to buy:  the picture from the poster, Blair’s boat builders, his boats, my oranges…ten paintings have been sold in the first three days.   It is so encouraging to know people like our work.   “You are selling it too cheap,” a friend scolds.  But I am happy to be selling my paintings in these economic times.

Blair has been in the gallery most of the time.  I shuttle back and forth, the kilometer between the two, bringing new pictures, carrying lunch, walking Harika (she’s not so good at the gallery, her welcoming bark is a bit off-putting).

I love this new neighborhood, full of restaurants and small stores.  Young and old people frequent all the establishments, from the hardware store to the “salon de the” next door.   

On my walks, I see the gypsies are back in Paris.  I know most people don’t like gypsies but I love them for their look, and for their difference.  Amidst the dull back plumage of the Paris girl (constantly preening), the gypsy sports pattern and color.  Big skirts, shiny black hair in a bun, scarves, high cheekbones – thrown together in a most interesting array.  Their patterns have a way of blending into the urban scene, providing fodder for my paintbrush.

One can’t make any eye contact, or the mystique is finished:  the demand for money ensues.  I have to be careful as I paint the girl on the corner.  I am backed into a table at one of the cafes, pretending to paint the building across the street.  Ten minutes into the picture, the lovely girl’s crabby husband uproots her -- he looks like a mean dog.   I finish up, using my memory.  I wanted to give her a little something, but not her husband.

I give all my favorite fixtures on the street a small coin, welcoming them back.  I buy their daffodils.   They protect the neighborhood from more serious menaces.    It is one of the advantages of a busy street: there are many observers.

Daffodil Seller  Laurie Fox Pessemier  Acrylic/linen  12 x 24 inches  275.00
Everybody knows by now that Laurie and Blair don't use black pigment, never did, never will.

I had my first workshop date this week in Paris.  R and I walked up to the Atelier Grande Chaumiere near Montparnasse at 2:30 and waited for the 3:15 session to begin.  A few older French women were waiting, too, hoping to get a choice spot, or at least your usual spot.  We settled in on the second tier.

Because this is officially a drawing session, there are three tiers of rails to lean a sketchbook on.  We pick three stools (one for layout) and settle in.  We called earlier to see if we could paint, too, and the manager told us, yes, if there was room.  R had a great new watercolor system – a pen of sorts with a water well, and a soft brush at the end.  It seems the Louvre has forbidden water (oil and acrylic paint is prohibited except to those officially approved by the Louvre), but if one uses a pen like this with color, it’s ok.  R takes classes with a lady at the Louvre, too. 

I set up my acrylics (I could paint in a phone booth) and we both got underway as soon as the model struck her pose.  She was a cross between Elke Sommer and Barbara Eden.  Honestly – a little thicker in the hips maybe, but that blonde, good-natured look.  I liked her at once.  She tried to include a ruffle around her neck, which I thought was great, but an incensed Frenchman demanded she remove it.  I thought him rather crass, and he wasn’t a good artist either.

I got so incredibly involved with painting here at the Grande Chaumiere, I was quickly transported to another level of consciousness.  I realize that sounds funny, but it was the case.  It rarely happens to me anymore because I am usually assuring in the comfort of everyone in the workshop, but today I was on another plane.  When I was maybe thirty years old, and I used to paint, I used to get scared when that feeling of euphoria happened.  Then another painter, Ray, said to me, “you’re Catholic, aren’t you?  Don’t be ashamed when you get those feelings, go with it.”  I did go with it and I have been happier ever since. 

Blair had surgery this week for a hernia (carrying Harika and I up all those hills in Villefranche-sur-Mer, I say), so I’ve become chief cook and bottle-washer.  We rented a car beforehand, so we drove up the Seine looking for painting/boat sites.  Unfortunately, the rain set in and we only got to get out of the car once – a former quarry on the Seine, filled with water and cut off, like a lake.  This boat-atelier project is really big, and I have some doubts it will be realized anytime soon.  It’s still fun to work on, and maybe we’ll follow the path forward, just slower.

On the way home, the on-strike taxi drivers had blocked the main route into Paris through Porte Maillot.  It was the first time I have ever really been afraid in Paris – it looked like a scene out of a movie, with protesters banging on cars, being trapped in a traffic jam.  I had a very difficult time with it.  I swore I’d never take another taxi again, but lo and behold, after Blair’s operation, I had already returned the car (he doesn’t like my driving) and we were forced to use taxi service.  I asked the driver about the strike.  “Imagine”, he said, “if they tried to take away your retirement savings (he added “you can, your’re from America’) – what will I have if they deregulate taxis and I can’t sell my license?”   

Artnotes:  Inspiration Foundation Maeght

Don said, This visit was exceptional, so is this weeks artwork. Laurie, thanks for the 3 primary color painting and the night scene of the bay which is fabulous.  I was just working on my page of watercolor night paintings. Talking about your time on the computer.. that's all  have done for the past year, so much to do, so little time. Don

A major path through the sculpture garden was roped off.  I thought I would just ask the gardener to read me the sign indicating the artist.  “Which sculpture?” He asked.  The one with the ladder, I pointed out.  “Oh, that’s Dietman,”  he continued, “and that one is Calder, and the mosaic is Tal-coat.”  I knew then we were in a very special place, where the apparent maintenance crew knew all about the art.

Yesterday we visited the Foundation Maeght in St. Paul de Vence.    If I knew how great it was, I would have gone sooner.

I went because I thought the life size figure painting retrospective for  Djamel Tatah looked interesting, and it was.  Since the 1980s he has been painting life size (anonymous) people, arranged in groups, or singularly, on different grounds, using photography, wax, paint, wood…   The hanging of the 50 or so works in the show was phenomenal – when you looked up the stairwell, the portion of the painting with a single man seemed to stand at the head of the stairs.  White background work was hung in the sunny room with a stained glass piece by Miro, so the image appeared to have come in a on sunbeam.

The architecture, by Lluis Sert, was remarkable.   I can’t do it justice with words – the building was built to house some of the greatest artwork of the twentieth century.  Artists, architects and benefactors (Marguerite and Aimee Maeght) worked closely together to realize the project.  There is a sculpture garden by Gaicometti, and a “labyrinth” by Miro (this is phenomenal), works by Pol Bury, Chagall, Joan Mitchell, Bonnard, just to name a few.

We started the tour at the chapel of St. Bernard.  The most minimal, abstract, stations of the cross were executed by Ubac. There was a stained glass window made for the chapel by Braque.  All of these things were made in the 1960s for the dedication of the museum in 1964 (thanks also to Andre Malraux).

I have never seen such a “single thought” running through a contemporary property.  When one visits Versailles, or Malmaison, one can say “oh, there’s that wonderful theme”, but most new museums, houses, properties are designed on a computer, by a “team” and there is inevitably an incongruous element (not to mention the overwhelming souvenir shop).  Not so at the Foundation Maeght.  Yes, in the shop were actual signed lithographs (not posters) by the artists represented in the museum, but no Monet pencil boxes.   

I was overwhelmed by the perfection.  I am tempted to become a member so I can access their library.

I was so thankful for this Monday at St Paul de Vence, sunny and bright.  The rain started again on Tuesday afternoon, and continued, with few small breaks until today, Saturday.  I managed to get out last night and paint a large view of the lighthouse at Cap Ferrat and the bay.  Blair has taken each opportunity to dash out and add a stroke or two to his work.   These are heavy art headwinds we are dealing with.

I have artnotes piled up for the coming weeks, spending much time before the computer.  When we’re not watching Mr. Moto movies (or Broadway Danny Rose, my favorite movie, thank you V for bringing it), I am writing you art letters.

Don: Laurie has been here for a long time, I don't know how many years offhand, but as long as I remember. Blair was painting in his "old" style, very realistically, but I never saw his work. It was Laurie's primary palette that first got me interested. We have been virtual friends for a long time. Now they both paint several painting a week in Laurie's style and both use a primary palette. I'm learning to cook but I'll never be in her class. Yesterday I talked to Richard Neumyer in Germany for 55 minutes, he used to live on Maui. For the past several months I have been working on my website "All About Color" http://www.realcolorwheel.com/AllAboutColor-Ebook.pdf  I've made into an E-book, all on one page. Now I'm making it easier to navigate with page links. My painting has taken a back-seat for awhile, 3 sit here unfinished, but I will get to them, eventually.

Art Notes: Beached
We moved to a new vacation rental apartment.  No ladder this time, more room.  Despite much rain, we are happier.

On Thursday, in the rain, we drove to Aix-en-Provence to see the studio of Cezanne.  We arrived just as it was closing.  Aix might be the final bastion of closing between noon and two.  We took advantage of the situation, and went to lunch.  With Harika, we narrowed it down to two restaurants and decided on the bigger place, more populated.  I spread my coat on the tile floor and Harika settled down.

We are not big eaters-out.  In Paris and Villefranche, all but the most expensive restaurants are using packaged, premade sauces.  Today I am making lunch at home:  a bonita fish (a small tuna), with a grapefruit sauce; rice.  We started with little calzones, one filled with swiss chard and pine nuts, the other with spicy peppers (I bought these at the market today).

The restaurant in Aix did make everything “a maison” (in house).  I had the “Gardianne de taureau” (beef in the style of the (bull’s) shepherd) and Blair had the Seiche au pistou (squid with basil sauce).  Both were super, Harika leaning toward the beef, of course.  But the best, most super-duper thing was an older lady sitting two tables away from us.   She looked at us with sparkly eyes when she came in, giving Harika a glance.  Two lackluster men sat between us, both glued to their iphones throughout the meal.  Despite their not-more-than thirty years, they looked dead waiting to be buried.  They didn’t say hello.

As soon as the dullards left (shovel food in, pay, get out), she and Blair and I fell into conversation.  She took over their table.  She was a regular here – no problem.  She was a little girl in World War II and lived in our neighborhood in Paris, at 11, rue Servandoni.  We got on like a house afire.  We exchanged addresses at the end of our meal, and I felt happy to have talked, really talked, to a new person this week.

Cezanne’s studio was just exactly as one would expect it;  scattered props from his paintings, but neat, clean, architectural.  I imagine he was an orderly child who kept all his pencils sharpened, and his pencil case still had that new smell in May.   (Unlike me, who kept a white glove in my first grade desk, which I used to mop up milk spills on my desk and my friends’ when we ate lunch at our classroom in the winter.  Weeks later, passing by my station was like going into a cave at Roquefort.) 

The studio was upstairs, the building on a wooded lot – and as the receptionist pointed out, this was the weather Cezanne liked – overcast, grey definitely no sun.

The Bonita came out again for dinner in a kind of Mediterranean seafood carbonara: ras-al-hanout, a bit of pancetta, lemon zest (I really needed pine nuts, but alas, this isn’t a city) with penne pasta.   Olives.

This trip to the south has been nothing like we planned, but sometimes more comes from the unexpected.

   

This of course, is interesting to me as we pursue our bateau-atelier idea.  Yes or no?  My business plan is percolating along.   The big question seems to be where, as in France (near Giverny), or in the USA (I fear insurance costs could kill it).  Our mission statement as follows:  To earn money by recreating a boat similar to Monet’s studio/boat and offering painting workshops on the vessel. The Bateau-Atelier could also be used as a floating art gallery to bring our paintings to fairs and events in areas by water.  It would also be rentable for dinners and small events.

I’ve much time to THINK  about all this as more rain is predicted.   So, like coyotes, we’re adapting to our environment:  we rented a car.  We drive fast on winding roads, play the radio, run the heat, honk the horn (well, Blair doesn’t honk, I would, if I drove).    Our first foray was to see where Renoir lived – his house has just been renovated and it’s super nice.   It’s how you might imagine his house:   set among the olive trees, light interior with art nouveau-ish (he was just a tad early), soft paint colors.   We can actually paint on the grounds, were it ever to stop raining.

I felt terrifically inspired, and I felt even better about some of my recent work that I wasn’t sure of.   We are hoping to return there to paint, if the weather clears slightly, as it is predicted.

We visited two other marvelous museums: the Fernand Leger Museum in Biot and the Chagall Museum in Nice.  Fernand Leger was a product of the cubist movement, but preferred a sort of “genre” painting.  He painted large people, thick fingers, often with bicycles, decidedly French.   The work they had on display was huge:  five by six foot canvases, on average, I would estimate.  The building was a tribute to his epoch:  made in what I would describe as a communist-looking 60s style.  He lived through World War I and II, and died in 1955.  The building was big, square, open-spaced simply ideal for his work.

The Chagall museum was less architecturally interesting, although they had an exhibit about it’s conception/construction taking place while we were there.  It is in nearly downtown Nice, and squeezed onto a site.  Only because it was a pouring rain day in January were there few visitors and we found parking.   There were fabulous Chagall paintings on view.  I am not really a Chagall fan, but spent extreme time in a little almost chapel-like room dedicated to paintings for his wife, Vava.  They are RED and inspired by the Song of Songs.  His color is so terrific, in all of work, including the monumental  Old Testament canvases.   It made me think what can be painted  IN THE STUDIO, still using color.  I am not sure I have that much imagination, but am going to let those wheels turn in the remaining weeks while we are on our own.

Downtown Villefranche-sur-Mer  Blair Pessemier  Acrylic/canvas  16 x 24 inches  400.00