I try to keep the photoshop shenanigans in hand with all that I share with you here. No instagramy apps or lily-gilding. Call me old-school (by all means) but what motivates me, especially for this blog, is to share the abounding beauty of Provence. And honestly, that does not require any special effects. Just a simple point in any general direction and a click will do.
Hooowever. As we were whisking around our charming Australian visitor the other afternoon in the cold (“Olive groves to your left, vineyards to the right!”), some dial or other must have turned while I was pulling my camera in and out of my pocket. As we headed into the village of Les Baux, suddenly every little snap was tainted with a roguish glow and I didn’t know what to do. I desperately pawed at various buttons with frozen fingertips to no avail. Could I have simply asked Remi what was wrong? Absolutely. But then I would have been met with “Did you read the book that I gave you about the camera?” and I would have pressed my lips together impishly, defeated. So I said nothing and clambered over the cobblestones, trying to keep up.
I have written about Les Baux de Provence before, a few times actually and in various seasons. It is for most of the year one of the most frequented sites touristiques français in the region. Thousands upon thousands of visitors clamour for a hint of Les Baux’s grand past replete with warriors and troubadours, all while being serenaded by the mechanical hiccups of ceramic cicadas Made in China. But not today.
For we were completely and utterly alone. Surprisingly so. The shops were shuttered and only our footsteps echoed, bitten back metallic with the snap of the wind.
Stammeringly, I kept trying to explain how unique of a moment it was to our young Aussie friend but how could she understand?
That doorway that so many seek had somehow opened for us. It seemed like a private joke between Provence and I. So I kept the photos just as they are, me sweet on them, their little sepia lie and that indefinable something threading the in-between of time.
The colours are beautiful. They remind me of the colour of the buildings at sunset in my part of the world. BTW I read your previous post but have been unwell so I didn't comment. I wanted to say that it's a shame that your photos didn't get published but that you still take beautiful photos and just to have someone interested in them must already have felt like a reward.
Orange is a "warm" color yet somehow I can still feel the cold. What a treat to have the place to yourselves. Now the trick really is to figure out that button, so you can replicate this effect at will!
Nothing better than magic, Sue–thank you so much…
Well, that is exactly what it was! But somehow that mysterious button made it more so… 🙂
Bisous to you too EE! I miss hearing more from you and am hoping all is well, including with your French Folly. I must say that I do the basics of photoshop on my photos but only to give them the air of what they looked like when I took them. Plus, I have had an amazing teacher in Remi so there is no need to guess or exaggerate…
xoxo!
h
magic. thank you.
Coming from you that is a mighty fine compliment, I'll take it and merci…
I love them! They have that look of sunset when there's that reddish light in the air.
Just love them!
♥
Remi's comment about reading the camera manual sounds very familiar to me!
What a magical experience to have this wonderful village to yourselves. I, like you, do not photoshop my photos, but the accidental hues of your images give the stone work an inviting warmth in a very cold winter. Bisous.
These photographs are beautiful exactly as they are, Heather. And your words are lush.