Artnotes: Don't fence me in

On a recent foray to Vergato, to stock up on second-hand winter clothes* (we were too early – the store still in the throes of late summer and back to school), we passed by the town of Tolé.    Well, we nearly passed by, but it was such a charming little town we’d thought we would have a look around for painting sites.  We parked and walked around the church, the hotel – there were many B&Bs.

Blair noticed a large painting on the side of one building, of a religious ilk, that resembled El Greco.  As we approached the car, I saw one on a fence, then, as I walked along, instead of finding painting subjects, we found PAINTINGS.  In addition to paintings were sculptures and many bas-relief sculptures in terra-cotta, some painted.  There was a relief of a car repair shop above the garage door; ladies getting their hair done outside the parrucheria, paintings of the trials of Pinocchio outside the school; and entire courtyard full of cats (sculpted, painted).   We walked up to the wash house and sure, enough, an ice wintry scene in there.

It is easy to pass by the little places in favor of the broad landscape, rocks as tall as the Eiffel Tower, the sky at a full 180 degrees. 

On most days, Blair and I venture out to paint.  We hem and haw, like dogs finding the right place to pee, and often end up turning the car toward home, where we paint the apples, the roses…   it is amazing for two Parisiens to have a yard with apples, pears, figs, walnuts, peaches and plums.   Harika has taken to sitting in the car in the yard, like it is a dog house.   All of us are overwhelmed.

We went to the Country Fest last weekend here in Rocca Malatina, where the locals put on a true Spaghetti Western.  There was a mechanical bull, games like “how many beans are in the jar”, and music by the “Wanted” Band.  We danced to Sweet Home Alabama.  Everything is so good spirited, you can’t go wrong.   We met folks we invited for dinner on Wednesday night.

Our life is full of many small events set in a big landscape.  We are getting ready to put on our own Rocca Malatina artshow in October (10,11,12) and are printing up painting workshop brochures to distribute at Bologna and Modena hotels (come and paint with us for a day in the country).   Will we ever adjust to being here?  Maybe. Or not.

Don: This is why I like Laurie's work, her colors are simple and strong. No black pigment, primaries, secondaries, nice gray.
Artnotes: Awfully Nice at the Sea
We went to Nice, France this week to return that ever-so-expensive rental car we borrowed in Paris.  Renting the giant vehicle was a must, to get our last belongings out of Paris. It cost more than 1000 euros, yikes!

We needed a way to unwind once we got to Nice, a 5-1/2 hour drive from here. I drove the new September rental car (700 plus insurance – Amex doesn’t cover Italy) and Blair drove the Paris car and we met at the airport.   I was thrilled to be driving, in Italy no less, going just as fast as the underpowered Fiat would allow.

I remembered a place we painted two Februaries ago while staying in Villefranche-sur-Mer.  It was in Nice, and I so wanted to jump in the water that foggy February morning.   This 85 degree sunny day fit the bill.

We got there and everything became finer than I could imagine.  There were bunches of people:  young men standing on a green signal buoy  out from shore, other young people trying to get on a large, square “raft of the medusa” floatie.  Fat men stretched out on rocks, young girls afraid to swim.  I put on my suit and went to the water, Blair staying with Harika on an out of the way shady set of steps.   I climbed down the rugged metal ladder into the water.  It was just a little cool, but slippery in the way of sea water.  I slid in, and floated and bobbed, swam a little against waves stronger than I remembered, but feeling great.  I returned to find Blair with my skirt on, putting on his suit underneath.  He went in just like I did and we both came away with such a wonderful feeling, like a well-preached sermon.  “It was so “slappy””, he told me.  I felt just the same, and we both felt we had found a place, an experience, where, had we stayed in the water any longer, we would have gone to another place, a perfect place.   It was like a transporter of our life, with all ideal elements – moments later the sky went all wrong and the magic fled.

We drove back to Rocca Malatina, and ate dinner at 11 at night.  If felt ever so ready for the next day.

​Artnotes:  More, more, more
Waterfall by Blair Pesssemier  Acrylic/linen  16 x 10.5" $250.00
Don: He is pre-mixing all his darks, I don't like that much. Also, when one looks at this painting you don't see any aerial perspective between the rocks and the waterfall.

Everyone I meet here in Rocca Malatina loves living here, or so it seems.  It is a bit of a “resort” town, in the sense people, mainly from Bologna, come up here as a respite from the heat.

We went with the most fun people on Wednesday up to Passo di Croci Arcano.    “Bring sweaters”, P cautioned.  I didn’t need my sweater, but others donned theirs.  I clamped a hat on my head, a refuge from sun and wind, and felt comfortable.  We were at 1,743 meters (5718 feet and  6.75 inches), where trees didn’t grow and grasses looked like the sea, over huge wave hills.  We ate wild raspberries and blueberries, the best we ever tasted.  We walked on the grassy mountain ridges, with shepherds and their flocks in the distance (black sheep!), and kestrels soaring overhead.  Half the party made the trek to the lake, and we roamed the hills.

Two cousins of our landlady brought us there.  The one I rode with, G, was much like my friend Sal, who has been my friend since age 4.    We drove fast, on winding roads through the mountains, past Monte Cimone, the highest peak near our house (2165 meters = 7103 feet);  there was no time to be scared at that speed and we talked about all sorts of exciting things on the way.

All of this made me think that when one is DOING things, there is no possibility of feeling sad or worried.  G is always doing things:  he has horses he rides all around the area, he has four dogs, travels everywhere.  I love this attitude.  It made me want to do more, more, more, and I relish the arrival of a Paris/American friend next week, who we will take to Urbino, and other smallish Italian cities.  Italy is great for visiting little places, as it was made up of city states until its final unification as a country in 1870.   Each city is unique, and people are terrifically proud of their particular region.

More “things” we have done this week -- a trip to the waterfall at Lizzano with P.  It was a hearty but achievable hike into the falls, where the water was like ice, and the air significantly cooler than in Rocca Malatina.   I painted trees and Blair painted the waterfall while we were there.   I loved seeing people, several walking with their dogs.   Harika stayed at home this trip, while we did reconnaissance for future forays. 

Artnotes: 
Hemlock Lodge  Blair Pessemier  Acrylic/panel  11 x 14"  150.00

​I am happy to be internet-connection-free these weeks in the USA.  People feel sorry because I don’t have an iphone, but I am actually glad my smart phone is too expensive to activate here.   I am FREE.  No Facebook with its puppy videos and selfies; no marketing; no time wasted deleting junk emails.   Hallelujah!

I listen to the radio.  On Saturday morning, on our way to the Madison Art Society show at the Library, I heard the sound track of the Apollo XIII movie.  It was the 47th anniversary of that thrilling mission around the moon.  Blair points out that the cellphone has more computing power that NASA had at that time. 

I am not one to look back, but I thought of how amazing it was that the US was actually DOING SOMETHING in 1968.   We seem to have no outreach programs now – no thought to the future.  I hope someone out there shows me I am wrong about that.  All I seem to hear about is Donald Trump’s blunders, Hillary Clinton’s emails, and speculation as to what motivated that wretched person to shoot people at the movies.   Meanwhile, foreign governments run ads on TV against US policy.

Before I came to the USA, a couple of French friends told me to be careful.  One said, “Don’t go to the cinema, they shoot people there…”.   Others cautioned about churches.  Actually, there have been several shootings since I have been here, from Tennessee to Louisiana.  The other day, not far from my sister's home, a nutcase holed up in a house with forty guns held the entire neighborhood in lockdown.  What’s going on?  I think we need another trip to the moon.

​Artnotes:  This Country (USA)

I wake up every day wondering what language to speak.  My gains in Italian were thwarted by three weeks in Paris; now I breathe a sigh of relief when I realize I can talk to the kids at the beach in English.  On the rare occasion when the Internet works, I try “memrise” or an Italian video, in anticipation of August.

Harika and I spent the morning on the beach.   I painted these boys three years ago; two have become men, the other two aren’t far behind and now there’s two more little ones.  The girl seems to have moved on, maybe in marriage, or to a boyfriend of her own.  I can dazzle them with my painting – the two little boys, the boat, one of the grown ones in the deck chair.

We’ve been coming here to Hemlock Lodge for fifteen years now – the age of my nephew Henry.  The first year he was only four months old, sat in the water in the “shrimp boat” – a foam baby chair which floated.   My father can no longer make it up the hill.   When we went out for lunch, I tried to help him out of the car – he is so light (or maybe I am strong from moving out of Paris), I seemed to have lifted him off the ground.

I love America – from speaking my own language, to visiting with women at the thrift store (we bring no clothes here, only paintings, and must buy a wardrobe each summer), to sitting on the porch electrocuting bugs and reading books.   Going to the grocery store is easier than anywhere else we have lived.

We’ve been coming here to Hemlock Lodge for fifteen years now – the age of my nephew Henry.  The first year he was only four months old, sat in the water in the “shrimp boat” – a foam baby chair which floated.   My father can no longer make it up the hill.   When we went out for lunch, I tried to help him out of the car – he is so light (or maybe I am strong from moving out of Paris), I seemed to have lifted him off the ground.

I love America – from speaking my own language, to visiting with women at the thrift store (we bring no clothes here, only paintings, and must buy a wardrobe each summer), to sitting on the porch electrocuting bugs and reading books.   Going to the grocery store is easier than anywhere else we have lived.

On Friday, I went to the store to buy lamb chops for grilling on the barbecue, and ingredients for a carmelized garlic tart (new/old cookbook: Plenty).   They had everything I needed in one place – imagine it – and I smiled as I placed my purchases on the cash register belt.  Lo and behold, my credit card didn’t work.  It was the only means of payment I brought.  I was most disturbed, told them I could go to my father and borrow the money – they said they would keep my basket.  Then I started to think more about it, and went for the cash machine, which didn’t work either.   I looked toward my basket.  Just then the cashier called me over – “this woman”, she said, “wants to pay for your groceries”.  What?  I told her I could send her a check. She told me not to worry about it, she was just paying for them.  $70.00!  I choked up, I was so struck by her generosity.   

What a wonderful country!
Don: I got the image posted by putting the image on my site and putting a url to the image.