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.
Simply gorgeous Heather, I love the artistry in your images and it is all put there by God and his guidance!
xoxo
Karena
2013 Artists Series
Beautiful as always, Heather! Love the rose tint. Very evocative! It looks very quiet, almost like a ghost town! Did you feel that you had to whisper, as you tip toed through the town? Cheers, Deborah – Melbourne.
I think I have been here!Your photos are loverly as you are………………………I must find out if indeed I have been there…………..back in a flash as I FORWARD your comment on to one who would remember!Sits on a hill with a river down below?
GORGEOUS Heather.. and I agree.. some things aren't meant to be touched. The sepia tone is lovely.
Oh my gosh that last photo you took is positively breath taking. I love all the architectural photos as well. I am pinning away. You are so lucky to be surrounded by such beauty!!
The golden glow befits such emotional stones – honours them almost. Sometimes, things are just meant to be, it seems. And I'm sure Henrietta would have seen them with a golden glow anyway! xx
What wonderful pictures, I wish I could find a button on my camera to make a mistake & produce such great pictures as yours.
So beautiful Heather – who needs Photoshop in Provence???
I had to laugh when I read that you wouldn't ask Remi about how to remedy it – and what his reply would have been to you about reading the books he gave you!! That's my husband! He's given me books about my camera – and I know I should look at them every now and again – but there's a big part of me that loves to make mistakes and then learn by them (and sometimes my mistakes – like your orange crush – make the pictures even better!).
Great post!
Linda
Funny, I was just reminding my daughter at bedtime tonight about our October visit to Les Baux. It was quietish when we were there, but you must have been able to hear the ghosts on this day. You're photos are lovely. Did you ever figure out which button you pressed?!
You captured Les Baux in a different light, in more way than one,
meaning unlike the usual post cards.